Dear Grief Guide, I Feel Guilty For Grieving Well

Hello and welcome to Dear Grief Guide,

A podcast where each week I answer one anonymous letter from a listener feeling lost,

Stuck,

Heartbroken,

Or overwhelmed in the midst of grief.

My name is Shelby Forsythia.

I'm a grief coach and author,

And I'm here to help you create a life you love from the life loss forced you to live.

Let's get to today's letter.

Dear Grief Guide,

I find myself in a paradoxical situation where I am genuinely happy and thriving after the loss of my mother,

Yet plagued by feelings of guilt.

Despite the immense effort I've put into overcoming my grief,

It feels wrong to be okay so soon after her passing.

I have worked tirelessly to reach this point of contentment,

Attending grief groups,

Getting therapy,

Spending lots of time figuring out how best to carry my mother's memory forward with me,

But my contentment is accompanied by a sense of unworthiness.

It's as if I can't allow myself to feel happy after experiencing such a significant loss.

I can't shake the feeling that somehow,

I'm cheating in the game of grief.

What exacerbates these feelings is that I'm part of a grief support group that includes several people who are still intensely struggling with their losses.

As Mother's Day approaches,

Their pain is strong and palpable,

While I find myself feeling real joy and cheerfulness most days.

When I'm around them,

And even when I'm alone,

I feel guilty for grieving well,

As if my happiness is some sort of betrayal to everyone who is still deep in their grief.

How do I reconcile these conflicting emotions and allow myself to fully embrace the happiness I've worked so hard to achieve,

Without feeling guilty for moving forward?

Sincerely,

It's complicated.

I hear ya,

It's complicated.

It is complicated.

This is a question that so many grieving people have after losses.

Not just,

Am I allowed to be happy,

But is it okay?

Is it okay that I'm happy,

Especially in groups where other grieving people are still so incredibly deep in the pain of what it is to lose somebody that they love?

I want to softly push back on the language that you're using to describe the experience you're having,

Because guilt is a very specific word.

I think that a lot of people use guilt when they mean something else,

And this is very normal in Westernized or Euro-colonized societies especially,

For guilt to have this meaning of,

I feel ashamed of something I feel.

In the book Atlas of the Heart by Brene Brown,

She says that guilt is defined as a moral issue.

I did or said something bad,

And I need to apologize or gain forgiveness for something that I did.

I did something that I knew was wrong,

And I need to get some sort of forgiveness or make reparations for something that happened.

The example that people often use is,

I stole a candy bar,

I knew that was wrong,

And I need to be forgiven for something that I did.

And I'm not sure that's exactly what's happening for you here.

I think the question you're asking or what you're looking for is,

Do I have permission to feel so joyful,

To feel so happy,

To feel contented,

To be reaping the benefits of all of my hard work while I am still very much a part of groups and circles that are in so much pain?

And my answer to you is yes,

Of course.

There is nothing I needed more in my grief journey than evidence that other people made it out of grief alive.

And I know that's extremist language to be using,

But that is exactly how I felt after my mother died in 2013.

I was so convinced that her loss ruined what was left of my life.

And I was 21 years old,

So I had a lot of life left to live.

And I was convinced that nothing could ever be good again.

And the thing that saved me,

And I know this is true for so many other grieving people because they follow me in my work,

They follow so many other people in the grief space,

They read the memoirs,

They listen to the podcast,

They are looking for signs that things can be good again.

That knowing,

Or that,

It's kind of a hope,

That oh my god,

There is something beyond the agony and the pain and the distress and the despair and the powerlessness that I am feeling right now.

And I'm not saying you need to show up to these spaces being all sunshine and rainbows,

But I wonder if you could allow yourself to have the benefits of what you've been working so hard for,

If you can reap the harvest that you have so tirelessly sown for yourself,

If you can allow yourself to receive that.

I know receiving is really hard for so many reasons.

You have put in the work,

Receive the bounty,

Receive the harvest,

Receive the lightness,

Receive the joy.

You have put your pain and your heartache and the story of the loss of your mother and the sense-making of what to do with it into the grand recycling machine,

The grand compost churner of grief,

And come out with soil that grows fruit and flowers and beautiful things that you are just now learning how to appreciate and love.

And my god,

Does that still give me hope?

And I imagine people around you are the same.

So I encourage you to reframe what you are feeling,

Not as guilt,

But maybe a shame that needs permission,

A shame that needs empathy in order to be released,

In order for that pressure to ease its grip off your heart.

Because shame,

Guilt tells the story that I did or said something bad and I need to make amends.

Shame is I am bad.

And a story we can often tell ourselves when we're grieving is I'm a bad person for feeling joy.

I am a bad griever for finding happiness.

I am not worthy of being in circles where other people are mourning when I carry such a song of lightness in my heart.

And I encourage you to remember that it all belongs.

Grief is not just the bad and the sad and the pain and the agony and the distress,

Although that's a story that society very much tells us,

That grief is a collection of negative emotions.

Grief is also joy.

Grief is also healing.

Grief is also nostalgia and meaning-making and ease-finding and remembering and cultivating happiness.

It all belongs under the grand umbrella of grief.

I do not believe with one cell of my body that you are betraying anyone who is grieving.

If anything,

You have made your way through the hardness and the darkness that so many people are still struggling with and you are just beginning to light the lamps at the end of that path so that other people can see them.

You don't have to brag about it.

You don't have to give people your 10-step plan for how I got here.

You don't have to preach about it.

That's what I'm getting at.

You don't have to preach about it.

But to enter these spaces and to say,

I'm not where you are,

But I have been,

So I can validate this.

I can see this.

I can honor this.

I can comfort you as you are here and I can share in your sorrow so that you know you're not alone,

Even though you're in darkness and I'm just a little bit further up the road.

My goodness,

Do we need that kind of hand-holding when we are so deep in grief?

I encourage you,

I don't know if this is helpful to you,

It's complicated,

But maybe writing yourself some sort of permission slip or some sort of get-out-of-jail-free card to offer yourself this permission you need to genuinely feel what you are genuinely already feeling.

To not feel like you have to put on some sort of mask of suffering to perform grief and to not feel like you have to hide your joy in order to be allowed to show up in grieving spaces knowing that you belong regardless of what you are feeling in each moment.

So maybe something along the lines of,

Dear It's Complicated,

Insert your name here,

Today I,

It's Complicated,

Grant myself the permission to feel the joy and the contentedness and the peace that come from working through my grief.

Of making grief my friend,

My companion,

My mentor,

My guide.

I honor all the work I have done to get to this place,

And I welcome every experience that every other grieving person around me is having,

From the deepest of sorrows to the highest of joys,

Because I know,

And we know,

That in grief,

It all belongs.

And please tape this somewhere where you can see it,

Bathroom mirror,

Kitchen cabinet,

I don't care,

Car dashboard,

Put it somewhere where you are seeing this often,

Because I think the allowance that you need is this knowing that you don't have to be ashamed for being here,

For being in this place,

At this milestone in your grief,

For being happy.

I think that the lanterns you are lighting could serve as inspiration to others,

Or hope to others,

But they are also reminders to yourself that that is possible.

So in seasons where it inevitably feels hard again,

Because it will,

Because grief is grief,

You know that this kind of joy and contentedness and peace is possible because you've already gone up the road and lit that lantern for yourself,

You can return to this place over and over and over again.

You have not cheated in the game of grief,

Because there is no game to be played.

There is no winning or losing,

I think to see grief as a game implies that,

That it's possible to win or lose at the game of grief,

But we all simply muddle through,

We find our own ways,

It's more of a never-ending hiking trail than it is a marathon race,

Something with a finish line.

But you have found your place in the woods,

It's complicated,

Where you can set up camp,

Where you can be cozy,

Where it is not dark all the time,

Where you can erect memorials and practice rituals that help you feel safe and find ways to honor your mother,

Even here in these woods of grief.

And may everyone who passes by your camp know that what you have achieved is possible for them too.

Not because you're better than them,

Not because you knew what to do and they don't,

Not because there's no room for emotions like pain and overwhelm and exhaustion and despair,

But because every experience,

Every emotional experience is welcome and belongs under the umbrella,

The grand,

Large,

Expansive umbrella of grief.

May you continue to grieve well.

May you sit beside others with softness and empathy as they find their way there too,

Sending you love.