I am grieving. And that's okay.

I am grieving. And whew, it's a doozy.

Many of you know from some of my recent emails that my grandma — the woman who raised me throughout much of my young adult life — died on July 22nd. 

Since then, I have felt angry, sad, joyful, confused, disconnected, completely normal, and so much more. Some days I forget my grandma died. Some, I feel a level of connection to and with her that carries me through my day. And others, it's like a rock in my heart that is too heavy to lift. 

To say we had a complex relationship is an understatement. 

We had an intense love and connection — she could see me in ways the rest of my family couldn't and tried to preserve my childhood to the best of her ability. She raised me when my mom was in treatment facilities and incarcerated due to substance use issues and undiagnosed mental illness. She opened her door to me without question and gave me the love she could in the ways she knew. 

She was there in every way she could. She went to every event. Listened to every story. Played the games. Asked the hard questions. 

She gave me consistency in a world filled with chaos. AND, she had a lot of baggage that made our relationship hard. 

As a therapist, I can understand much of who she was and how she showed up was a result of her own trauma and healing that impacted how she could and was able to be with me during my own points of trauma. 

And the practicality of having to manage that as an emerging adult was hard. In the last few years, we moved through a lot of healing together and had an amazing bond — albeit mostly virtual due to COVID. The most notable part was seeing her develop a relationship with Everly. Whenever she was on the phone with her, she radiated love. She wanted Everly to feel seen and heard and gave her space to share her whole self with my grandma the way she used to do those things with me. That was special. 

Just a few weeks after her passing, we got on a plane to Wisconsin — a trip we had hoped would be for Everly to meet her great-grandmother in person.

But that didn't happen. We were 3 1/2 weeks too late.  

And while I am still glad we had that trip and that Everly got to meet so many other members of her family and loved ones we have back in the Midwest, it was a very surreal experience. She went to my house. My grandma's house. The house I called "home" for the longest part of my life. While we were there and as time passed, I continued to invite grief in however it needed to show up so I could move through it fully and find peace in her death.

From weird — and overwhelming — dreams to randomly crying at the table while eating snack with Everly to feeling a wave of urgency to run away from my life, it's all relevant and necessary as my mind, body and soul try to move through the process of grieving. 

Grief is such a complex experience in which a whirlwind of emotions present themselves. 

You have to try and make sense of something that doesn't make sense — a loss that doesn't feel real. It's a process with no clear endpoint and even though countless people have tried, there is no actual step-by-step process for how to move through it. 

Making the space and showing myself grace are the most challenging parts of the process.

We are a culture founded on quick fixes and productivity with abysmal coping skills related to distress, loss and endings. We are motivated by shame and "do-ing" and have a hard time with being, feeling and processing. 

Whether its a death, the end of a relationship, life changes and transitions, the loss of your pre-parent self, letting go of a dream or goal, or working for something you no longer want, endings are hard. They can take the brain a long time to integrate them into the context of your full story — much longer than societal norms suggest. 

As the person grieving, you feel a constant pull to be "fine". You don't want to overwhelm others or have conversations feel awkward as you talk about your grief. This is made worse because others get so lost in their fears of "saying the right thing" that we end up taking care of them in the process of moving through our grief. 

I don't want to perpetuate that system of belief anymore and I invite you to do the same. 

So let's make space to agree on the following:

• There is no right way, timeline or process to grieve. I am learning quickly that I process grief differently than I was taught and expected. And both for myself and clients I have worked with, there is this constant questioning of, "Am I doing this right?". Instead of worrying about "right", let's ask ourselves if we are allowing our whole selves to exist and take up space. Are we suppressing or repressing or allowing ourselves to feel and heal?

• The only way through an emotion is through it. We must decondition our fear response to allow an emotion to sit at the table. If you are angry, be angry. If you are sad, be sad. It's okay to feel what you are feeling. Feelings them is never the problem. It's the shame and secrecy that we carry with them that consumes us.

• You can still be "on top of it", capable and high functioning while in grief. I may have it all together, stay on top of everything on my plate and still not be fine. And I don't want to feel like the choice is either/or. We all need to have moments where we drop everything and allow ourselves to lay on the floor and embody the pain and loss we are facing. And, there are also times I still feel that way even with everything seemingly fine on the surface.

Grief has historically been a very isolating experience because of the way we assume we should carry it. And that doesn't have to continue. You are not alone in your grief. You do not have to be fine. Because allowing yourself to not be fine is the only way to guarantee that you will be soon.

If you haven't yet, check out the episode I did on the Your Daley Pass podcast on Grieving & Grieving.