Barbara Bruno, CPC, CTS’ Post

Please Don’t Say, “I understand”… because you don’t. While grief is an emotional experience that we will all eventually endure, it remains a personal experience. Many are quick to respond with, “I understand” because they have also experienced grief and they may not know other words to say. Yet hearing “I understand”, is like only hearing their “I” statement, which minimizes the bereaved grief experience. While the other may have lost a parent, they did not lose your parent or the complexities or uniqueness of that dynamic. While they may have lost a significant other, they did not lose your significant other or all those loved-filled/fight-filled moments. No other person is experiencing your loss even when you are mourning the loss of the same person. No, they do not understand. They do understand from their lens, but they do not understand your loss or all the emotions that arise with it. When the bereaved hears, “I understand”, they hear that there is no further reason to share their feelings because the speaker “already knows”. They hear that their emotions are either not valued or are devalued because the other person has already felt them. They hear that their grief story has just become consumed by the story of the other person and they are not responsible for holding space for them. Please do not say, “I understand” when a person shares their loss. Other, more compassionate responses may include “My heart is with you”, “You are in my prayers”, “Sending you love”, “Holding you and your loved ones”, and the list goes on. Please say something other than “I understand”, because I assure you, you do not! https://wix.to/PKYdBZw

Grief Has Two Parts The first is the loss. It's the immediate heartache, the overwhelming sadness, and the wave of emotions that follow when someone you love is no longer with you. This part is raw and painful, as you navigate the reality of their absence and the profound impact it has on your life. The second is discovering who you are now. It's the journey of healing, where you begin to find new strength and redefine your identity. In this phase, you explore how to live in a world that has fundamentally changed, uncovering new aspects of yourself and finding ways to honor your loved one's memory while moving forward. Both parts are essential, both parts are challenging, and both parts shape who you are. Through the pain and the healing, you transform and grow, learning to integrate your loss into your life. To all those on this journey: You are not alone. Your grief is a testament to the love you hold, and your journey of self-discovery is a tribute to your resilience. Share with us: What has helped you in the process of discovering who you are now?

This is dedicated to one of my team currently, I personally resonate with this explanation of grief: "'As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.” ~I/GSnow

We are very creative at dealing with things which feel too painful to address. Whether it is our grief, anger or hurt, we suppress or hide a feeling hoping it will magically disappear over time. Often, we are afraid to explore it more fully as it is unknown and we like to be in control. We choose not to speak about our loss as we know that it becomes real when we do. Shakespeare wrote, "Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak knits up the o-er heart and bids it to break". There have been countless people I have met with who have never touched that pain only to discover decades later that it was as fresh as if it just happened. There isn't a map for how we mourn. However, when we allow our grief to have its' voice, it will reveal what calls to be expressed. We will need both courage and trust to navigate such waters. When looking directly at a loss we know we may be enduring deep heartache. We can surrender to the ebb and flow of sorrow as we come to know that we will be ok. There are those who may seek to "shield us" by not mentioning a loved ones' name. The mirage of this effort may mask the needs of the mourner to speak about a beloved who has died. When others don't, the bereaved feel as if their loved one didn't matter. It is not just our grief that needs releasing. We are collectors of hurt placing them in scrapbooks of resentment. We may choose to let a relationship end rather than express it. When I meet with couples there is often a long list of grievances that were never surfaced. Love is eroded in the absence of truth. We may not feel seen or heard despite having chosen to remain invisible. We can always say, "I need to tell you something that is hard to say. Please just listen without defending yourself". We can do this without an "indictment of blame". While letting go is a superpower, we need to understand what we may be suppressing. Perhaps we have hidden it so well that we can't find it. We can gently knock on such doors. The light we use to illuminate our fears can also guide us through the path of releasing. There may be a "goodbye" you never said that can be written or verbalized. Forgiveness helps us to change our relationship to the hurt we carry. May we find a place to put down that which doesn't serve us while resting our souls in the abiding peace that will arise. #suppression #fear #mentalhealth #courage #grieving #sharing

About grief, I feel everyone should be allowed to face it in whatever way they wish, as long as they're not taking their lives or harming others. Don't tell people to "man up" or "that they're doing too much" because you have the capacity or frame to handle yours. This is something you can't pretend about. I've read how Adichie handled grief, and I can say it affects everyone regardless of class, achievements, or age of the deceased. When someone quite intelligent started having many carryovers because he lost his mom to cancer, I didn't go advising him with empty words, because it's only the one who's grief-stricken who knows the depth of what has hit them. •••••••••• •Some go through addictions in this phase. •Some people experience a complete disappearance of empathy towards others. •Others lose interest in existence. And so on. It's even more devastating if you witness a loved one suffer a debilitating illness before their passing. Or if they die a tragic death? How can you simply tell the grief to go away when you've seen your friend, spouse, mother, or father shot by a robber's bullet, brutally murdered by kidnappers, or crushed by a heavy truck? How can you return from work and learn that a once vibrant person is now lying lifeless, never to be seen again, except for the warm comfort of Heaven and freedom from the pains of this world? ••••••••• For some, it takes a year to heal; for others, it's a long-lasting scar in their chest. Sometimes we dwell on our fights with our parents and forget that one of the reasons for such fights is because of the love they have for us. So when we witness their death untimely, it can create an unexplainable guilt, because you'd live all your life wishing you'd have done better, been better, or said "I love you more" or "Thank you more." Grief is powerful and subtle at the same time. It is a roller coaster. Don't try to avoid it, or run from it, or try to numb it. Realize that grief has its own schedule and timeframe. Nothing is set. Don't listen to others when they tell you there is a right way, or that you should be over it by now, or not so sad. ••••••••••• Give yourself permission to grieve. Make space in your life, as this is the biggest challenge you may face on this earth. And you owe it to yourself, and perhaps to your loved one. Grieve in your own way. Without expectations. Without boundaries. Some days, grief is a low level feeling, you're aware of it, but it doesn't stop you from getting things done. Other days its like a concrete slab lying across your chest. ••••••••••• Death is Inescapable. Acknowledging this, kills your ego around your loved ones. Makes you hold back no compliment, love more, give more, withhold nothing. It also helps to tell the stories of the impact they made while alive, telling their Stories help you relive their life's even though dead. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.💐 #Onyinyechukwu #Mentalhealth

We are very creative at dealing with things which feel too painful to address. Whether it is our grief, anger or hurt, we suppress or hide a feeling hoping it will magically disappear over time. Often, we are afraid to explore it more fully as it is unknown and we like to be in control. We choose not to speak about our loss as we know that it becomes real when we do. Shakespeare wrote, "Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak knits up the o-er heart and bids it to break". There have been countless people I have met with who have never touched that pain only to discover decades later that it was as fresh as if it just happened. There isn't a map for how we mourn. However, when we allow our grief to have its' voice, it will reveal what calls to be expressed. We will need both courage and trust to navigate such waters. When looking directly at a loss we know we may be enduring deep heartache. We can surrender to the ebb and flow of sorrow as we come to know that we will be ok. There are those who may seek to "shield us" by not mentioning a loved ones' name. The mirage of this effort may mask the needs of the mourner to speak about a beloved who has died. When others don't, the bereaved feel as if their loved one didn't matter. It is not just our grief that needs releasing. We are collectors of hurt placing them in scrapbooks of resentment. We may choose to let a relationship end rather than express it. When I meet with couples there is often a long list of grievances that were never surfaced. Love is eroded in the absence of truth. We may not feel seen or heard despite having chosen to remain invisible. We can always say, "I need to tell you something that is hard to say. Please just listen without defending yourself". We can do this without an "indictment of blame". While letting go is a superpower, we need to understand what we may be suppressing. Perhaps we have hidden it so well that we can't find it. We can gently knock on such doors. The light we use to illuminate our fears can also guide us through the path of releasing. There may be a "goodbye" you never said that can be written or verbalized. Forgiveness helps us to change our relationship to the hurt we carry. May we find a place to put down that which doesn't serve us while resting our souls in the abiding peace that will arise. #suppression #fear #mentalhealth #courage #grieving #sharing

Waves of Grief As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks. - Unknown

One of the best (and helpful) descriptions of grief I’ve ever seen is from a Reddit user I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see. As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

Losing loved ones is hard. 5 grieving lessons that can help: 5 years ago, my father passed away, setting off a major realignment in my life. Here’s what I learned from that journey: 1) Grief can feel like it’s all-consuming. If you’re in it, give yourself extra care—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Let yourself slow down. — 2) The pain will lessen over time. I remember thinking I’d never get through it, but I did. It takes time, but trust the process—you’re not alone. — 3) Some won’t get it, and that’s okay. Not everyone has faced loss or knows how to support you. Seek support where it feels natural. Sometimes, it comes from unexpected places. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. — 4) Grief holds hidden lessons. It may not be clear until later, but grief has a way of highlighting the gaps, misalignments, and resentments in our lives. Use it as a signal for personal growth—it’s painful, but it’s powerful. — 5) Don’t let your grief go to waste. Channel the pain to fuel your next chapter. It’s hard, but transformation often starts here. One final thought: When people are grieving, they’re often not great at asking for help. So reach out—call, offer help, just be there. It could mean the world to them. P.S. Share this with someone who might be going through a similar journey. — Found this helpful? - repost it. ♻️ Follow me, Misha Rubin, for more content like this.

I was browsing a local charity shop when I heard a lady say her Nan had died. The deceased was 92 and known to many in the area. One of the volunteers was talking about it, and he said this: 'You're happy she's no longer suffering and is at peace, but you also cry a lot. It's selfish really.' On the walk home I was pondering his words: Is grief selfish? It fascinated me. I mean, you are mourning something YOU lost. You do only think about yourself for a while, it's hard to do anything else. And we expect grieving people to be selfish, don't we? I suppose in a situation where an old life has been well lived, where it was right and timely for them to die - then yes, grief is selfish. It's us, mourning something WE have lost, and our feelings are entirely for ourselves, not the person who died, who might be in a better place. Now, this doesn't mean it's wrong! Grief is actually a kind of self-care (which could also probably sneak under the definition of selfish 😆, but let's ignore that for now). And self-care, just like grieving, is very good for you. Necessary in fact. But there's a thin line between these and selfish (which we have to be careful of sometimes). The more I pondered, the more I thought about circumstances where it's not entirely selfish. Mixed into our own grief is sometimes grief on behalf of others. When someone dies young, or untimely, or in a preventable/unexpected way (plus loads of other scenarios), then the feelings, sadness and emotions aren't just about our loss, but also the loss others go through, for what could have been, for the future, for ways it could have been different. Sometimes we might cry when we see a child lose a parent or visa versa, even if we don't know them, but even then I thought - are we crying for them specifically, or for our own imagining of us or someone we know in that situation? It's been an interesting thought process to explore, and it's good to be aware of the fact there are lines we shouldn't cross. E.g. when we take grief fully into selfishness (hurting those around us) or grieve unnecessarily for a situation that isn't ours to grieve (hurting those that are). Is #grief selfish? Yes and no. You can find more fully conclusive thoughts on my blog! 🤣 www.thesilentwhy.com/blog