Come and Sit With Me and (Don't) Talk a While

When I talk about grief, it’s not about everyone’s grief. It’s about my own. I know that the things I’m saying have often resonated with others and meant something to them as well, and I’m really glad when I get to hear that (mostly because it means I’m not as alone as I feel). That gets complicated because of the fact that I want to assure everyone that I’m not an expert in grief and loss, and often DO say that—but then I remember that yeah, I kind of am sort of an expert in grief and loss. I’ve been specializing in that kind of clinical work for well over ten years now.

So professionally, I guess I’m at least a moderately-skilled expert in grief and loss. And personally, I’m an expert in my own grief and loss (at least ten weeks’ worth). I get really nervous about anyone thinking I know everything there is to know about the topic, though, because I’m never going to feel like the world’s biggest expert in anything. The division between what I know professionally and what I know personally is an uncomfortable place for me, and maybe always will be.

I’ve been thinking about Irvin Yalom’s family a lot today. If you’re a mental health professional, you probably know who Irvin Yalom is, but in case you don’t, here’s his Wikipedia page. He’s 95, and is a very famous therapist and author. He wrote The Gift of Therapy, which most of us have read many times. His sons are also therapists, and one of them was Victor Yalom, who has spent decades educating new therapists (and who founded psychotherapy.net). Another famous therapist. His family confirmed several days ago that Victor’s death this last February was actually due to suicide. Here’s a family of famous therapists who are all renowned for their work, who know a whole lot about grief and loss, and are now navigating the very public reactions of folks to their family member’s death by suicide. I’ve been thinking about how they’re processing their own clinical knowledge of suicide loss survivorship in combination with their own grief and loss reactions. Kellie didn’t take her own life, but there are parallels with my situation. (No, I’m not comparing myself to Irvin Yalom on a skill level. Settle down.)

I know so much about companioning those who are in the immediate or long-term aftermath of sudden traumatic losses. I teach workshops on this stuff. I’ve spent more time with folks struggling with loss than anything else in my career, without a doubt. But the way my head and heart are twisting and turning these past ten weeks are like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My view of the universe has forever been changed. It’s hard for me to articulate just how earth-shattering this experience has been for me. And that only makes me less confident in my own clinical skills, because of the vast ocean of grief that has suddenly opened up beneath me. Anything I could possibly do to help someone else in this position now feels like facing a dragon in a duel armed only with a thumbtack.

I know that’s not completely true, okay? I know that I’ve been an agent of healing and growth for an awful lot of people. But I also feel wholly inadequate in both my personal and professional life, and that is very destabilizing and anxiety-inducing. Very unsteady on my metaphorical feet these days, folks. My professional identity is hanging by a thread, and that sucks.

I started my day feeling great. I had three very good hours and got a bunch done, including going to the post office and getting some big things marked off my to-do list. That was followed by two of the very worst hours I’ve had in the past six weeks or so, which was NO FUN.

I went and grabbed some burnt ends and smoked mac and cheese, and then spent some time at Lake Erie Book Company in Geneva, an independent bookstore that has been on my list for quite a while. They were delightful! I picked up a lavender vanilla dirty soda on my way out, and that was also pretty delightful.

This afternoon was quiet, contemplative, and a good time. Not much sadness, not many tears, and no clue of what made the late morning so horrific. Just one of those things.

I told a friend that one thing I hate most is that I feel like I have zero control over my emotions at the moment, and she said that she thinks none of us really has any real control over our emotions at any given time. That might be true, but I know that this is a different state of being for my brain and my heart and my soul, and that this state of being sucks really bad sometimes. If it was this bad all day every day, I don’t think I could live through it. I honestly don’t.

I see plenty of widowers speaking about their experience online who report that they are in a state of continuous misery, day in and day out, years after their loss. I’m certain that I couldn’t handle that weight, and I feel fortunate beyond belief that I have an awful lot of good days. Even today, which contained those two horrible hours, was a pretty great day. If my entire day was as bad as that part of it, I wouldn’t know how to cope.

I don’t think that I should get the “best coping” award. Please don’t send me a sash, I wouldn’t wear it. I don’t want anyone to think I’m saying that I’m doing this okay because there’s something special that makes me better than anyone who has a harder time of it. I don’t know why I am managing as well as I am, but I don’t think that’s because I deserve happiness and so many others do not. But whatever I’m doing is letting me keep going and also experience a fair amount of joy and humor and even hope, and I am grateful to the universe for granting me all of that.

One of those ingredients is my support network—if you’re part of that, thank you.

Please keep telling me you do, in fact, like me and would like to spend time with me. Even though I’m probably going to turn you down lots of the time, please keep asking me to make plans.

I miss touch, and believe that’s something that we take for granted when we’re in a long-term relationship. I’ve been researching local massage therapists for a bit, because I miss touch. Not sexual touch, but just casual hand-holding or all the other aspects of touch that go along with cohabiting with a long-term partner. I’ve spoken about rubbing Kellie’s feet for an hour or two every night, and I miss that more than I can say. (No, I’m not taking sign-ups for foot rubs.) It’s very healing to get a hug from friends periodically, and I look forward to those. I think that regular massage could be a way to get some of that in a healing environment, so I’m looking for a place that I’d be comfortable with. If you know someone with experience in massage with grief and loss, please let me know.

When I think about social time, I usually feel lonely. Then I remind myself that I’ve turned down social invites from several people just today, and so it’s my own fault. I want to be with other people, but simultaneously do not at all want to be with other people. I don’t want to engage in social time, but I sure would like to just be in the same room as someone else. I’ve started wondering whether it would help me with my recent reading problem if I had someone who would just come to my house and let me read with them around. Body doubling is a real thing, and I wonder if the element I’m missing now that I’m unable to get into any serious reading is having Kellie in the room with me while I did it, which I’m used to doing for several hours per day. Going out to hang out with people is also complicated for me because I start to feel bad when I leave Coco and Ivy along for too long, since they’re not used to that and it’s not fair for me to abandon them to scratch my own friend itch.

So just as I’m considering paying a professional to give me a massage, I wonder if I could pay any of you to just watch TV or a movie or read a book with me sometime? You wouldn’t have to do anything besides just exist in my house. I also don’t want you to live here (sorry to anyone looking for a roommate). Just hang out and let me absorb your passive presence. Anyway, think about it. There are several recent horror movies that I’d love to watch, but I’m reluctant to do that without someone else here (unless I give it a shot early in the morning with plenty of sunlight in the world). So if you’re looking to see either Obsession or Hokum, let me know. Maybe getting to stream them at my house instead of renting them yourself would be payment enough for you?

So that’s the rundown. I’m looking forward to a friend and her kids spending the night with me tomorrow on their way through town. Other than that, I do not have plans for the 4th of July. If Kellie were here, I’d be making all kinds of fun picnic food, but Kellie’s not here, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like making a big holiday dinner again. To be determined.

Give yourself some grace, and I’ll try to give myself the same kindness. Deal?

Matt