Five years of feeling griefy
/When someone asks me how I am feeling, and I am in a state of more acutely missing my mum, it can be hard to know what to say. I can’t exactly go: ‘Oh I’m just currently experiencing a big wave of grief, how about you?’ because that just sounds a bit ridiculous. But I also don’t want to reply with the more palatable: ‘I’m ok’ because that’s just not true. So, I’ve begun to say I feel a bit ‘griefy’. It allows me a degree of sincerity, but not at the cost of making things awkward.
‘Griefy’ is my more-frequent-than-flu, but less-frequent-than-hunger, state of being. It peppers my days and weeks to different degrees. Sometimes, it’s an undetectable lapping at my feet and I just get on with my day. Other times, it comes up to my ankles in cold little bursts. And then, on some days, it is an all-encompassing, full-on soak. I ache for Mum. I feel sick with sadness. Suddenly the fact that I will never see her again comes burning through my consciousness and I can’t believe I’ve made it this far knowing such an awful thing.
Naturally, a large part of grief is missing someone you love. But attached to this, already momentous, task is a huge lump of complicated and messy sadness. It’s a sadness that disrupts everything you’ve ever known. Nothing can be the same, because suddenly everything in your life is viewed and experienced through the lens that is grief. And that view is everchanging. As well as the despair at not having Mum around anymore, I dreaded this uncertainty. I wanted to know what I might feel and when. I wanted to know how long it would last, and when it got easier. Grief is understood as a ‘natural’ response to loss. But in its organic depiction, it first seemed to me more like a weather system where my options were to just sit there and battle the elements, or shelter from it completely. There was no in-between.
When Mum first died, I wanted to google how to grieve…which didn’t really help very much
Over these past five years, I have found a degree of control over my grief and how it manifests. I am not as helpless as I first thought. To continue with the weather analogy, I know when to bring a brolly outside… or what clothes to wear when it’s drizzling. I also know when to shelter completely and lean into the brain’s dangerous, but wonderful, ability to distract itself.
What I am trying to say is, I can’t always predict my weather system of grief, and I definitely can’t – and won’t – ever stop missing Mum, but I can find control in how I respond to the duller aches and twinges of it. I can untangle this huge lump of sadness and find words to explain how I am feeling to myself, but also to other people. I can figure out what helps me feel better, so when I have to ride the wave of deep, dark emotion that can be grief I don’t get drenched in the process.
Here’s a little bit about what griefy means for me, 5 years on.
Symptoms of feeling ‘griefy’:
I’m oversensitive to small, insignificant things (this is a big sign I’m feeling griefy – it’s my brain trying to latch onto things that can be ‘fixed’ and controlled).
I am constantly tired without having had any late nights (emotions are really draining).
I crave quiet home time. I almost want to hibernate.
I am reminded of Mum at every moment. It’s like when you really fancy someone and can’t get them out of your head. I think of Mum and how she’s not here all the time.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel weighed down by emotion, even though there have been lots of moments in which I have been free from it all. My brain forgets that truth, and all I can think about is that this is for forever.
I harbour a quiet frustration at the fact my Mum died when I was 20. Perhaps if I was experiencing the same feeling aged 5, it would result in me stamping my feet and screaming (but because I am 25, I don’t do that). I feel it is deeply unfair that I have to miss someone forever.
I flit between being ready to cry at the smallest of things, to feeling quite out of touch and numb with emotion.
There is also a lot that I can’t distil into bullet points because it sometimes just doesn’t make sense. Missing someone can leave you with this messy mass of feeling that makes it hard to pinpoint where exactly the feelings even came from in the first place. So here is a rough attempt at untangling some of the mess that can’t be bullet pointed.
beautiful mum
It’s missing someone when you know you can’t see them ever again. And rarely does forever mean anything until you have to miss someone forever. It’s like trying to comprehend how large the universe is, because that’s the only thing I can think of that goes on forever. And that is impossible. So, it feels a bit impossible sometimes. And the impossibility of missing someone forever is daunting. And then because it is daunting, and impossible, it is exhausting. It feels like this never-ending task. And when you’re exhausted it’s harder to rationalise with yourself. And then your brain does this clever thing where it fixates on a really small insignificant thing because that thing can be controlled. And that thing is less impossible and forever than the bigger thing you have in your way. And then because you are feeling less rational, you are less able to recognise that the small insignificant thing is not actually that important. But still, you waste energy thinking and caring about it. And then you become sad and bothered by the smaller thing. And you know you shouldn’t. And you question what that means about yourself. Where is your positive mindset! Where is all that emotional wisdom! Not to mention the fact that you have had an experience that lots of people say gives you perspective… but your perspective has all but gone. So, then you think you’re not grieving properly. And alongside these new despairing thoughts, you are still caring about a seemingly unimportant thing. And the one thing that will help with these conflicting feelings, is talking to the person you are missing. And then you remember that that’s an impossibility. And then you miss them even more. And it goes round again. And all the things I’ve just written mean it’s suddenly hard to pinpoint that what’s really making you sad is you miss someone. And it is that simple. It’s just the feelings that come with it can be nonsensically blinding.
Some antidotes to feeling ‘griefy’:
Croissant moments
I spent the first year after Mum died wanting to know when and how I would feel better. I now accept that I won’t ever not miss Mum, so I need to have a toolkit of things to help alleviate the missing. That is where I can find control and manage the life-long condition that is grief. It’s a care, not cure, situation.
Here are some of the things I have found that help me:
Grieving is tiring and there are the well-known antidotes to emotional exhaustion (early nights, hot baths with candles, quiet alone time to recharge…).
I run a lot when I feel emotionally sticky and that helps me feel less weighed down by heavy emotions.
If I am really drenched in emotion, listening to a sad playlist, with an eye mask on (I’ve got a lovely lavender scented one) and candles lit in my room gives me the little nudge I need for a cry. I create the space for sadness and try and lean into it (rather than overthink the feeling or push it away). I really recommend this for when you feel paralysed with emotion and don’t quite know what to do with yourself. Of course, there isn’t a genre of songs about people dying – or maybe there is, and I haven’t found it yet - but the classic heartbreak, sad, minor and melodic songs will do.
Finding a ‘Mum moment’ in my day. A Mum moment is essentially a treat that reminds me of Mum. For example, Mum loved warm croissants with marmite and butter and when I feel a bit low, I will carve out some time for this treat. This delicious moment gives some joy and relief to an otherwise sad feeling.
Having a big, gut wrenching, cry (this is the antidote of all antidotes).
Knowing my grief ‘triggers’. When I know what things mix badly with grief, I overthink the feeling less. Rather than thinking ‘I feel really low’ and berating myself for my lack of energy, I think ‘No wonder I feel a bit funny today, I did x, then y and also didn’t sleep well the night before last…’ It gives me the permission I need to feel what I am feeling.
Anticipating when I will feel a bit sad and preparing for it. This is why it is good to know your triggers, as then you can plan for them (like bringing an umbrella outside if you think it might rain). For me, tiredness is a huge exaggerator of grief, and so I am careful to avoid late nights ahead of days that I know might be more emotionally taxing.
Making a concerted effort to have ‘quiet’ days and knowing when to say no to plans. Grief requires a lot more energy than people might ordinarily have to give, so I try to be very conscious and deliberate with where that energy goes.
Actively making ‘good’ days… like on the 15th February. The 15th February is the anniversary of when Mum died, and naturally isn’t the highlight of my calendar year. However, I have so many days that are coloured by sadness, so on the 15th I will do the opposite and fill it with treats. It is a day in honour of Mum, and Mum would definitely want me to have some indulgent days because of her. She’d hate to think that her death has only given me the excuse for sadness. I have taken the day off work (as I plan to do for the rest of my life – I can’t bear the thought of treating this day as any other). My day will be filled with croissants, coffee, olives and champagne as well as a hugely indulgent facial and manicure (outrageous). It is a day I have actively been looking forward to.
‘Mum moments’ - a wonderful print by my wonderful friend amelia
After Mum died, I wanted to ‘google’ grief, and maybe everything I have just written is what I hoped I would find.
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Grief will forever be the little thorn in my side that I get used to (and can’t quite understand how), until I move ever so slightly the wrong way and I feel its sharp point. The feeling of hitting that sharp point is when I feel ‘griefy’. I still cry, I still miss Mum and I still have days of utter sadness. But I am definitely less afraid than I was by it all. I feel more in control, even if that control is all just an illusion.