When Caregivers Hurt: Embodying Grief

When Caregivers Hurt: Embodying Grief

What does a caregiver do when they go through their own tragic losses? Although we don’t often admit it, many of us caregivers go into the line of work we do because there is something cathartic about helping ourselves through helping others. There is a natural tendency in all humans to want to avoid pain. Caregivers can be particularly good at masking their own pain through the perceivably commendable actions of putting other’s first. Quicker than others, caregivers can often see the pain on the horizon, due to our knowledge of grief, and run fast and far away to avoid confronting it head on. Or, we as caregivers can choose to give it the welcome space it deserves.

I admit, I am GUILTY of this avoidant and detachment posture. I’ve been contemplating around it these last several days of personally grieving.

When we recently received our new-to-us, one year-old rescue lab a little less than a month ago, we saw signs of a cold. The doctors sent her home with antibiotics, but as the days went on and the antibiotics lacked, it became apparent she was much worse than that. This past week, our family watched our poor girl suffer from the overwhelm of continuous and paralyzing seizures. Over the course of just one week, her whole body went from a playful young pup, into a non-stop foaming, and catatonic-state canine. Doctors could not understand the reasoning or where they were coming from. In just a matter of days, we saw her body deteriorate to an unrecognizable state. In the last 12 hours of her life, her seizures increased in length and duration. Her body violently flopping around the floor, a traumatic sight I never wished anyone, especially my kids would see. After praying with fervent hope just days prior, we made the calculated decision to put her out of her misery,

Just 3 weeks. That is the total duration of time that we had her. And sadly, that is the same amount of time we had our last dog. 3 short weeks. It was a similar scenario with different manifestations leading to death. We learned both had incurable diseases we would never have known when we adopted them.  

7C6277D5-A80E-45E7-8CE2-751AFC63D427.jpeg

We now mourn the loss of both of these unjust and bizarre scenarios, where all we wanted was a furry new family member. And what we got was a list of losses a page long. Both Tracker and Azula were sweet animals with a lot of life left to live and a home where they were wanted and loved. It still makes no sense to us but here we are presented head on with the death of a loved animal and the grief that remains.

Grief doesn’t make sense. It is laden with unanswered questions and deep heartache around what never will be. 

Yesterday as I let the tears stream down my face, I had little energy to do anything else. And yet surprisingly after we cried and shared together as a family, my 7 & 11 year old children wanted to dance! DANCE! If I didn’t know better I would be angry at the insensitivity of the moment. But my knowledge of embodied grief told me that this visibly happy energy is as natural as tears. Kids demonstrate for us logical, linear adult-types that our body will naturally find ways to hold or release our feelings. If we learn to listen to it, we will be able to respond to the cries and needs are body is trying to communicate.  

Not only do we seldom see healthy expressions of grief we are fighting against what is the "right way" to grieve. We hear judgment statements like, “She was handling the loss so well. She was so put together as they buried him. He seems to be over it!”

Simultaneously, how can we criticize when we don’t know how to embody grief in healthy ways.  With the rise of modern psychology there is value given to talk therapy as an outlet for grief.  While talk therapy has proven beneficial in many ways, we quickly learn the limits of the left logical brain. While it’s not necessarily easier to talk about trauma or loss, it has become our adult form of dealing with the pain. 

Even as I write this, the words lack in explanation and healing power of the pain we recently experienced. The words lack, because words are meant to lack. We are not meant to experience grief in a logical, analytical, figure-it-all-out kind of way.  And yet that is often the only “culturally appropriate” model of healing that we are given.  We can’t talk our way out of the pain. The knowledge that our brain has a limit to how it can logically interact with trauma or grief directs us to discover other ways of dealing with grief. We must integrate our whole brain and consider how the right, creative brain can teach us to be active in our bodies as a means of release.  

Now known, but seldom practiced, is the understanding that grief can get stuck in the body…our bodies know and need permission to let go! Think of a recent blow up you’ve seen in a child or adult. This is an expression of built up grief. Doctors have noted there have been direct ties to headaches, stomach problems, back pain and heart attacks correlating to unresolved grief the body has absorbed and not released. 

In the well-known book, The Body Keeps the Score, Bessel VanDerKolk challenges us that we can circumvent the speechlessness that comes with trauma, grief and loss by releasing it through the healing powers of art, music, dance and movement. Bottom line, you have to feel it to heal it!

You have to feel it to heal it! 

As my colleague Eve Austin, a professional counselor friend reminded me recently, grief needs an outlet. She said, “______it out (dance, sing, cry, shout, run, walk, hike, stretch). Give your grief a physical and tangible outlet.” In times of grief we must find a physical outlet that allows your body to healthily engage and release the intensity of emotions that come with it. It’s not as natural for me as for my children. But it is persistently on my radar to listen well and discover new ways to release my body from carrying the burden associated with loss. 

Here are a few other ideas on concrete ways to “grieve well”:

1. Take a long silent walk with a friend.

2. Create a list of losses (i.e. the loss of dreams, the loss of money, the loss of voice, the loss of hope). Both the tangible and the intangible losses need a release.

3. Acknowledge these losses and schedule time to “work them out” via exercise or alongside a trusted friend.

4. Create a ritual such as lighting a candle once a week and space to think about the losses.

5. Do simple stretches while you create this space, thanking your body for how it has been with you in all of this.

6. Shake it out!

7. Dance it out!

8. Read the Psalms of Lament and write your own.

9. List off the gifts that came with what you lost.

10. Use color or drawing to engage.

Grief is really gratitude in response to a gift. My wise friend Eve also reminded me that “Holding both, the grief and gratitude, eventually starts to balance me out so I don’t tip over into the abyss of loss.”

Living includes loss. There is no way around it. I am to find my way into grief and allow myself permission and safe spaces to go there. This is the ongoing work of grieving that us caregivers must especially do. We must embody the grief and disembody the grief by letting it go. This is an act of care for ourselves and a model for those that we care for.

Grief is really gratitude in response to a gift.

For further thought:

What does grieving look like for you? What have you personally found helpful? Where do you struggle most?

Embracing the Pain of Transition using Art & Movement

In my recent season of intense stuckness, where every path forward was cloudy and unclear; I often could not see past my own pain. Rather the still small voice invited me to sit in the fullness of confusion on a day-to-day basis and just wonder. My choices became noise cluttering my already full and naturally-analytic brain. I would feel flooded easily. I could not think my way in or out of this complex transition. I sought to not just simply exist, as I daily felt that was all I had the energy for. Ultimately I desired to gain healthy momentum past this painful season. But how could I, if decision-making was so impaired?

As I sought the way out, I was subsequently enveloped in new, but familiar pain...residual from both my recent and distant past. Lessons I had to return to and learn in a new way. The depth of my experience of pain, I prayed, would enrich the empathy I felt for others—equipping me to better come alongside. Yet in the midst of my own soul-aching darkness, I truly could not imagine the other side of the pain. And even more troubling was the nagging thought that I may never have a capacity to work with others in this painful painful place.

IMG_5772.jpg

A wise mentor of mine consoled me in this season, "Sara, if there was ever a top 10 list of things people (and especially workers) experience on the field, you're basically learning the dictionary and becoming proficient in it! If anything, your experiences of painful transition broaden your capacity for the work that you are called to do." How dreadfully dark to base a career on the most intense seasons of pain! Yet the reminder of feelings of intense isolation, and those that accompanied me in it, propelled me toward but a sliver of hope that maybe this time would be redeemed to help someone else in their dark season. I desired hope and ultimately purpose in it all. Not to push past the reality of the pain, but to learn to embrace what God wanted to teach through the intensity that could only be learned by going directly through transition.

As my thoughts became noisy and I couldn’t analyze or strategize my way out of my transition, I in turn took to walking. My body was required to pick up where my thoughts left off. Walking, hiking, biking and yoga became my outlets to hold my pain. This bodily engagement afforded me time and space to NOT have to figure life out. These outlets became a life source for me.

My sole purpose in the pain became “fighting” to learn all that I could; about my own weaknesses, my own woundings, my past, and how my body needed acknowledgement and outlets for carrying my pain. A far more poignant and intense classroom than theories, concepts or textbooks could convey were these lessons I was learning in a visceral way. The experiential learning, unequivocal to the conceptual knowledge, catalyzed me to engage the learnings of transition in new and deeply profound ways—through both movement and art.

I began playing with ways of using transition tools and art to process using the right & left brain

I began playing with ways of using transition tools and art to process using the right & left brain

Because transition requires all of our being, I've become convicted through my own learnings that navigating these seasons should be approached with our whole self; our whole brain. The holistic approach includes experiences of physical, spiritual, and emotional encounters to integrate our often-felt disorientation and disintegration. Alongside body movement, finding and creating art that resonated with or spoke to the pain became my goal: “Look for art that captures the heart” became my mantra!

Visual art and kinesthetic movement became powerful outlets for the overwhelm I would feel in my brain. I played with words and color despite the negative voices from my past discouraging me to do so.

The most comforting voices in transition are those who have gone before us and can genuinely say “keep going,” “it won't last forever,” "YOU ARE NOT ALONE on this pilgrimage,” “THIS TOO SHALL PASS.”

Despite not being entirely out of my own current transition journey (and question if we ever really are) I am grateful to be in the direction phase; trusting God that He will use my scarred stories similar to the way in which he has redeemed other's wounds for my growth. I pray that I would be used to provide a healing balm where the wounds remain so raw and open in others.

Therefore, my goal for the creation of both the Art of Transition and The Long Camino Walk is simply: To use art and movement to learn the unique lessons God is inviting each of us into as we continue to unpack our unique calling in this world. May we together embrace these transitions as a normal process the Creator intended for us. And similar to the transition cycle that all of creation is subject to, may we see the mistakes, the time of seeming unfruitfulness, as a vital and necessary season on the journey of making something more beautiful and abundantly fruitful. I am still on a long journey of embracing this season of the way between.

A Transition Prayer of Lament

Injustice, Sorrow, Tears

A deep well of seemingly never-ending grief

Keeper of my heart, beautiful Jesus

Humbled, I bow

You wrong the right 

It is all yours

That others would see your love—

not my pain, my anger, my shame or my sin.

Brighten my face that your wisdom would shine through

Redeem my experience in worship to you

 

FOR REFLECTION AND DISCUSSION:

·       What change has precipitated your entry into your current transition? 

·      What do you sense God is trying to address in pushing the pause button on your journey?  

·      How are you currently receiving it?