The Things Nobody Tells You About Grief
A note to the reader: This piece contains references to grief, death, mental health, anxiety, burnout and disordered eating, which some readers may find triggering. This is a personal reflection on my own experience of grief, not medical advice or a guide on how to grieve. Everyone experiences loss differently, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. And if you’re struggling, please reach out to someone you trust or a professional who can support you.
Death. Grief. Mourning. Grieving. WTF is it? And how do you do it?
You’ll be at the hottest restaurant, having the best time, with the best company, the best dishes, the best wine. Then, randomly, you have a thought.
You remember.
Remembering is painful.
Fast forward three hours and I’m tucked up in bed with tears stinging my eyes. I miss you. I miss your smell. I miss your presence. Oh, how comfortable your presence felt. It felt like home.
I can’t remember a reality without you. Is this why it hurts so much? Is it because if I can’t remember life before you, I can’t cope with life after you?
“It’s not a linear journey.”
Yeah, no shit.
Three days later I was sat in back-to-back meetings. But now it’s coming up to a month and leaving my bed hurts. Waking up hurts. I still call for you and speak to you as if you’re going to magically reply one day.
Denial? Sure. Crazy? Maybe.
“We’re here for you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I’m sorry too, because I don’t care.
I know it sounds bitchy. Selfish. Whatever. I don’t.
You won’t bring them back. No one can.
I don’t want to speak to anyone and I want to speak to everyone at the same time. I don’t want anyone to ask me about it and I want everyone to ask me about it.
Indulge or don’t indulge.
Have the ice cream. Have the tub of Nutella, like every Hollywood actress ever. Do back-to-back hot sculpt classes because you’ll be too busy thinking about physical pain to think about emotional pain. Get sick from burnout. Continue.
A toxic cycle starting.
I know it.
Should I stop it? Maybe.
Do I want to stop it?
No. Not really.
Sign up for a marathon? Maybe. Sign up for HYROX? I don’t know.
Cry. Shout. Scream. Blame.
Blame. Blame. Blame.
Yes.
So yes. It’s not linear. I mean, so far, no, if you haven’t realised yet.
One thing I know is promised in life is death. It will reach everyone at some point. That’s promised.
Does it make it easier to deal with?
No.
Am I depressed? Is my anxiety back? Is this a new eating disorder?
I don’t know.
But what I do know is that there is hope.
I hope one day I come home after a wonderful day and don’t think negatively about it.
It feels so guilty to say that. It almost feels like a sin.
But I hope slowly I don’t feel it.
I hope when I hear their name, I smile and move on. Move on with the next thought. Say a silent hello in my head and move on.
Not want to curl up and scream.
I really hope.
I hope everyone who is grieving gets that.
I hope we reach peace with death. And that it just becomes a little story we can grab every once in a while from our bookshelf of hundreds, thousands of other wonderful stories. A story of a life occurrence. A story of love.
And remember it simply as a special time we had with our loved one.
And think:
How lucky I am to have met you in this life.