The Importance of Putting Shoes on My Feet

About a month ago, I returned to work after taking time off to grieve the death of my friend Avery. During my leave of absence, I learned so much about bereavement and what true self-care looks like. (Spoiler: it is hard work and does not simply consist of taking a bubble bath or buying yourself a treat.) Here are just a few of the lessons I hope to take with me as I continue to adjust to my usual routines.

It helps to sleep without a phone, actually

Screens are a huge issue for me – one moment I’m sending a text to my grandma, then suddenly two hours have passed and I’m doomscrolling about societal collapse. To mitigate this during my leave, I decided I would keep my phone in the living room at night and rely on a good old-fashioned alarm clock to get up in the morning.

I am almost ashamed to admit how anxiety-inducing the idea of not being able to immediately check my email in the morning or fall asleep scrolling Tumblr was. However, this anxiety wore off after a few weeks, and I grew to love the change. I’ve been able to get my morning routine going with less procrastination, reduce my social media time, and move throughout the day with greater intention. If sleeping away from your phone is something you’ve considered trying and you’re similarly nervous, give it a shot! I promise it’s worth it.

People want to help, but you’ve gotta be direct about it

Asking for help is not one of my strongest skills. Out of a desire to look like I've got my life under control and avoid inconveniencing anyone ever, I either don’t reach out to anybody or communicate something like this:

• “Hey! How’s it going?” *desperately hope the conversation turns toward the topic I need help around and I can then make a natural segue, feel disappointed when it doesn’t*
• “Hi. So. I need something. But it’s not that big a deal if you can’t do it. What’s your capacity at right now? Are you sure I can ask you for something?” *person is now on high alert about what I’m going to ask and conversation is awkward*
• “I’m so fine, I’ve never been more fine, don’t think about me!” *is not fine and would like person to think about me*

When I inevitably don’t get help by talking like this, I fall into a shame spiral that then reinforces that I shouldn’t ask for help.

Preparing for my leave, I tried to change the pattern. On Instagram, I directly named that I was struggling with grief and asked my friends for their favorite resources. When some people who saw the post offered to talk about their experiences with me, I took them up on it instead of ignoring them. I also emailed some friends that I was going on leave and wanted to prioritize social time, and I scheduled a ton of hangouts that brought me joy over the month. I felt connected to my friends and family in a whole new way.

My experiences of asking for and receiving help reinforced that people do care about me and will come to my aid. I just have to take the hard step of clearly naming the need and accepting the vulnerability that comes with that.

Your brain is gonna brain, and that's OK

There's only a certain amount of control you can exert over your thoughts and emotions. Yes, this is true even if you set up a meticulously planned schedule of self-care tasks, social connection, and healing activities.

My hope was that my days with no work and plenty of fun would result in zero mental turmoil. That was incorrect! As I realized:

1. You can't create totally ideal conditions for yourself. Sometimes stuff just goes wrong.
2. Even in totally ideal conditions, painful emotions and thoughts will show up.

Cue a typical reaction to one of these stressors, like crying or acting snippy with my spouse. Then, cue the distress that I acted like this during my "healing time."

Then I remembered that brains are gonna brain. Feelings and thoughts don't arrive on your schedule, and it's more important to acknowledge them, validate them, and move on with the day instead of getting caught up in a guilt/shame spiral.

If you are experiencing totally ideal conditions and having a mystery meltdown, try eating a snack

While you can't always predict when your brain is gonna brain, it turns out that sometimes you can. Let's just say I learned several times that Snickers was right; you’re not you when you’re hungry. (My apologies to Kimberlite.)

It’s better to put shoes on your feet than to cover the whole world in leather

This quote is from a teaching by 8^th century CE philosopher Shantideva:

“Where would I find enough leather
To cover the entire surface of the earth?
But with leather soles beneath my feet,
It’s as if the whole world has been covered.”

As Megan Devine writes in It’s OK That You’re Not OK, after a death many people seek safety from further loss. Unfortunately, the world is unpredictable and you can’t guarantee freedom from loss. Worrying doesn't help, and trying to control every part of your life is ultimately futile. Instead, you can acknowledge the anxiety, listen to the needs your fear is communicating, address your needs as best as you can, and recognize what you can and cannot control.

Clancy Martin also uses the teaching near the end of How Not to Kill Yourself when explaining the habits and routines that help him minimize suicidal thoughts. You cannot control when suicidal thoughts appear. You can, however, practice habits to make it easier to deal with them. There is no quick fix, but having the time and space to prioritize eating regularly (see the snack thing) and other self-care tasks made navigating grief easier during my time off.

My leave gave me a great opportunity to construct my shoes. I hope I’m able to keep them on moving forward.

“Everything you’re feeling right now, name it love”

This quote from Andrea Gibson in Come See Me in the Good Light was crucial in shifting my perspective of grief. Like everyone who grieves, I’ve been feeling a complicated mix of emotions for Avery. A large part of my work this month has been learning to accept them and how big they feel without pushing them away.

Andrea’s words reminded me of the reason for my pain: a deep connection with someone who is not here anymore. Understanding that these emotions are present because of my love for Avery made them easier to accept. “Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground,” Oscar Wilde wrote in De Profundis. Grief connects us with what’s important, including love.

Don’t mistake pebbles for boulders

Yiyun Li wrote the brilliant book Things in Nature Merely Grow after the death of her son, James. At one point, she describes some wisdom her friend shared with her after she asked if she was the worst mother in the world. Her friend said this is a pebble of a question and advised kicking it out of the way. Yiyun observes that many automatic thoughts, particularly when one is wrestling with grief, are pebbles. “If one is destined to live as a Sisyphus in an abyss, there is good sense in distinguishing a meaningful boulder from insignificant pebbles,” she writes.

This concept reminded me that I don’t have to give credence to every thought that enters my head. There’s a difference between accepting painful feelings and thoughts and increasing distress by lingering on distractions like self-blame.

My therapists are right about self-compassion

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, self-compassion is a very popular topic among mental health providers. Once, I participated in a PHP where whichever therapist was leading psycho-education would play psychologist Kristin Neff’s TED Talk “The Space Between Self-Esteem and Self-Compassion” any time they weren’t sure what to talk about. It’s a fine talk and you should check it out if you’re unfamiliar… but it gets really old when you’re hearing it ten times in three weeks.

So what is self-compassion? The legendary Kristin Neff is a leading scholar and practitioner on the topic, and she identifies three elements:

1. Being kind and encouraging to yourself helps you cope with life better than being judgmental or critical (self-kindness)
2. All of us suffer, and we are all connected by this suffering (common humanity)
3. It is important to step back from painful feelings and thoughts instead of getting caught up in them (mindfulness)

In sum, it’s treating yourself the way you would treat a friend. It’s telling yourself “wow, this is hard” when you’re in pain instead of brushing past it. It’s making changes in your life out of care and hope instead of punishment and shame.

(You can see why a therapist might like this.)

I didn’t go into my leave planning on practicing self-compassion, but each principle came up organically in several situations. Self-compassion helped bring me closer to other grieving people and understand that the heartbreak I feel when reflecting on Avery's relentless self-judgment is a sign that I should ease up on my own. It's the bedrock of several lessons in this post. It's a key method of reducing suffering, and it's served me well as I navigate my loss.

Will I continue to roll my eyes every time my therapist brings up self-compassion as a solution to my problems? Probably. But jokes aside, it's a good muscle to strengthen. If you're interested in learning more, check out Kristin Neff's website for information and resources.

My grief is not “resolved,” and that’s okay

Francis Weller writes in The Wild Edge of Sorrow that we don’t “recover” from grief. Grief transforms us. We are not meant to go back to who we were before the loss.

I found this very empowering and accurate to my experiences. I have grown in so many ways this month. This is because I’ve wrestled with my grief, not in spite of it. I’ve realized that if you embrace grief instead of suppressing it, you open yourself up to transformation. I would rather embrace that transformation, even if it carries pain, than try to revert to a version of myself that no longer exists.

I feel better in many ways after my leave. My thoughts and feelings are no longer dominated by missing Avery. But I am absolutely not “over” what happened. I will always miss Avery. I will always love them. I will always hold their memory close. And I hope to always carry the resilience I've found in my mourning with me to whatever the universe has in store for me next.