How many of you have uttered the words, “It’s fine” when deep down there was no part of you that actually felt that way? Whether coping with a loss, dealing with the pain of recent wrongdoing, feeling burdened, isolated and hopeless, we have all done this.

We have hidden our pain, belittled our experience, and taken on the responsibility of maximizing harmony and minimizing distress in the world around us.

Why? 

Because, as a society, we are incredibly grief averse. 

Tirelessly, we fight to keep any negative emotion, experience, thought or idea beneath the surface — an effort that is nothing short of trying to keep a beach ball underwater in an ocean of surging waves. Whether it be our own or someone else’s suffering, we have eroded any place for it.

Part of this is a result of our biology. Our brain’s fear response surveys the world around us for threats — real or perceived — to our survival. Which is good. We want our brain to find and squelch threats, but only when they are actual threats.

See, over time — this is the part that is on us — we have internalized a belief that our survival depends on our ability to “keep our sh*t together” and be “fine”. As such, it is a threat to our social-emotional survival to inconvenience others with our pain or to stop “doing” to “be”, in this case, “not fine”. And not only do we hold ourselves accountable for this BS idea but we hold others to it as well. Mantras and beliefs of:

“Get over it”

“It’s not that big of a deal”

“You/I should be fine by now”

“It’s been [insert ridiculous timeline here], how come you are/I am not over it?” OR

“It was only…”

consume us. They are the bumper sticker beliefs to which everyone adheres. 

Don’t get me wrong, it is not that we can never feel pain. We aren’t that robotic. We can. But only in socially acceptable and approved ways, timelines and presentations.  

And over time, because we do not get the opportunities to really get curious about and process our pain, we begin to believe that if we allow ourselves to feel it, we will get stuck. We worry if we start crying, we will cry forever. We worry if we get angry, we will never stop being angry. We fear the judgment from others if this thing we “should” be fine about is something we are not fine about. And, compounding this is the fear that others around us cannot tolerate our grief or will be too overwhelmed and so, in addition to judging us for our grief, they will leave us in it. 

So we tell ourselves the lies of being “fine”. We create masks and perform our best “put together” look every day. Like when the pandemic hit and a bomb of toxic positivity went off throughout the world, forcing happiness down our throats before we could even make sense of what we had lost.

But a gold-covered turd is still a piece of crap and we have to face and deal with the crap in our laps (sorry for the gross image), no matter how much we wish we could leave it behind. And, honestly, that is NOT A BAD THING. In fact, it is powerful. You deserve to grieve that loss — whatever it is. You deserve to not be okay. It is your right.

We all know bad things happen. Scary things happen. Hard things happen. Whether we want them to or not. Whether we lean in or run away. 

We will experience loss, in all forms — ambiguous loss, certain loss, living loss, anticipatory loss, etc. We will lose people, our sense of self, our “normal” (like in the case of a global pandemic), the life we thought we wanted, the life we have, etc.

And, hard truth time: You CANNOT get through any of these things without actually grieving. But in reality, why would you not want to? Grief is also an honoring of who you are, what you have lost, and makes space to reflect on where you want to go, who you want to be, and find meaning. Sure, it is painful. But the good news is that grief is a transient, or short-lived, experience (obviously different for everyone) and when dealt with, causes significantly less long-term distress than hiding from it. 

So, in short, loss is inevitable. Grief is necessary. Strength and perseverance come from moving through our grief not running from it. 

And, it is universal. If we can make space for our own grief, we will inadvertently make space for that of others and the more we all allow space to feel and heal, the greater sense of connection, hope, and power can be found in the collective.

So what can you do? 

Simply put, stop being “fine”. Even on good days. Fine has no place in our lives. It does nothing but put emotional distance between us and those around us and ourselves and our emotions. 

Be however you are. Get curious about your emotions. Label them. Explore them. Feel them fully — mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Stop trying to delete this chapter from your life. It only results in an incomplete story. I love Harry Potter and the chapter where Dumbledore dies (spoiler alert but hey, it’s been 20 years) is incredibly painful. But if you take that chapter out (or the chapters that follow it) then the story loses its power and the meaning of the story and all that is done after that is lost. 

Stop comparing loss and circumstances. When I was in 6th grade, my boyfriend broke up with me. I was heartbroken. I thought I would never get through it. If an adult came up to me and told me that I did not have a right to my pain or that “I don’t know what real pain is” or that someone else has it worse, all that does is invalidate my pain and lead me to believe that only certain pain is worthy of feeling. The worst pain or loss you can experience is your own. there is no scale to compare it to. Whether it is a break-up, a health diagnosis, pet loss, divorce, rejection from a school, job, event, etc…whatever it is, your loss is valid. And your loss not only gets to be but needs to be grieved. 

Get support outside of your normal system. Whether that is a therapist, support group, spiritual leader, or whatever calls to you. Find someone whom you do not feel pressure to be “fine” around or whom you feel responsible for making sure they are fine. Find a place you get to be as “un-fine” — that’s a real word, right? — as you want to be so that you can explore what you are really feeling.

Trust the process. Remember what I said in the beginning — humans are preprogrammed to avoid discomfort. And nothing breeds uncertainty like ambiguity. Not knowing how someone will react to your pain, how long your grief will last or what it will look like can be some of the hardest unknowns to endure. Do it anyway. Trust that you will get through it. Trust that it will not last forever. Trust that it will be messy and filled with “I don’t know” and “I cannot keep doing it”, take deep breaths and simply show up in it. 

However I can support you in this, I am here. If I can be an anchor to help you feel less alone and to debunk the belief in your head that your pain will destroy you, I will gladly hold out my hand.