"Grief, apparently, is water-soluble." I love this. Thanks for sharing this deeply raw piece, Alexander. It's so resonant and I can't imagine anyone not learning deep fundamental truths. We always seem to be waiting for something. The new partner to feel better, the permission to speak our truth... but life keeps doing what it does. We sort ourselves out, not by waiting to be sorted, but by living each day from wherever we are and allowing experience to shape us.
I love this: "We sort ourselves out, not by waiting to be sorted, but by living each day from wherever we are and allowing experience to shape us."
It's true. And it is such a perfect way to put it. We sort ourselves out so naturally by just LIVING! The mind has such a beautiful way of just helping us move through life when we let it.
Absolutely, Bronce. I like the analogy of a rocket. Released from its silo it travels 1000km's (for this example) and due to friction of atmosphere and wind speed, its off course 98% of the time making micro corrections the whole way to the target. If we looked at the math, theoretically we'd never fire it (a discussion for another day-but, how cool would that be), but because we know it can correct itself more times that it can be off course the # of times it corrects is inconsequential.
Alexander's deeply human (and in my opinion, beautiful) piece, shows through his own vulnerability, what happens when we're afraid to leave the silo. And we are all afraid to leave the silo in some part of our lives. Life is so bittersweet. Through beautiful work like this and the support of each other, we can see that the bitter is always so much easier to swallow when the sweet is just on the other side.
Oh, Alex, this took me back and also keeps me in the now. "Back" is 15 years ago when my husband died and grief was deeper than I knew existed. Then came a day a few months in where I declared "Permission granted. To me, by me, for me." And it was my beginning to live again, with the loss, the grief, the overwhelm, the occasional sliver of joy, the healing that is never completely done, and the reshaping of my life. The "Now" is remembering that permission is mine to give myself every single day! Thank you again for your honesty and vulnerability, you are most gracious! ✨
"The 'Now' is remembering that permission is mine to give myself every single day!"
That is SO powerful. We just have to make that choice to live in the now. To be present to aliveness and our life. To live, even if it is messy, hard, and confusing.
"And if I could access that quality of presence in devastation, why couldn’t I access it in ordinary moments? In joy? In uncertainty? In the messy, unfinished middle of rebuilding a life?"
Yes. This. The very honesty that paves way for sorrow is the honesty that also paves way for joy.
Thank you for this terribly hopeful essay, Alex. 🙏
Thank you, my friend! It was terribly hopeful, indeed. It is a perfect way of describing my decision. A terribly hopeful decision. It was one I didn't want to make, but eventually felt I had to do. I appreciate you reading and also responding!
Nancy, thank you for sharing this inspiring journey with me (and everyone else). I know it must resonate with so many. When we allow ourselves to feel "all the hurt, sadness, and pain," it indeed opens a channel of so many emotions within us. Yes, there is a vulnerability to opening ourselves up to the hurt and sadness. It is painful. But if we do, we are rewarded with greater ability to feel joy, happiness, and so many other things too. If we remain closed off, we become so numb.
“Heal first then live” is like the classic voice of control. It’s that part that wants everything tidy and neat and together. Packaged, digital, and in the lines. I love this post because I’m such a fan of life outside the lines, the analogue, the messy, tear stains on the basement couch. That’s living. Messy and raw with pain and transformation. Thanks Alex 🙌
Thank you for reading and sharing 🩵 I am a bit of a rebel, and I like to live outside of the lines too. Living is so much more rewarding, but it does take a bit of practice to resist succumbing to the voice of control. At least it has for me. My inner rebel was stifled for a while.
Oh, Alex, my friend. Another beautiful, heartfelt, honest, vulnerable piece from you today. This glimpse into your inner world is such a gift, truly. Thank you for that.
I want to say that what you wrote about grief is one of the truest things I've ever heard. We don't heal, then live. We live as we move through grief, through love, through both together.
I once wrote an essay (don't think I published it) entitled, "Once Grief Enters our Lives, it Never Goes Away."
I also wrote another called "Grief, the Unwanted Guest."
I like to think about grief as just one of many friends, or at least companions, walking with me in this life. I used to think it was going to harm me. Now I understand it wants to teach me something. And I began a grief journal about a week ago, recording daily "Today I grieve..." which has been incredibly insightful and powerful, because I am noticing that grief exists within almost everything I see, feel, think, hear, believe, understand, and experience. It's not this tragic heavy cloak. It's just present within the wonder, within the gratitude, within the joy, within the love.
Somehow the healing pathway for me looks a lot like integration--the coalescence of all ups and downs, shadows and light. All of it.
As always, my friend, thank you for your insightful comment. I love this daily practice of, "Today I grieve..." What a truly interesting thing to do. I bet so many fascinating insights have been popping up! I'm not surprised that "grief exists within almost everything I see, feel, think, hear, believe, understand, and experience." Grief is such a normal part of our lives, and it isn't limited to what we often "think" it is.
I believe I'm supposed to read each and every of your posts now, Alex! Most days it feels like I've transformed and changed so much that I don't remember or feel connected to the old Shruthi. She feels like a distant echo.
But on days like this where I read your work...I'm reminded again...with so much gratitude and reverence...of the grief I underwent when my grandfather died. When the numbness dissipated and grief for all the childhood versions of me hit me in full force. Grief for not saying no, and putting myself through shit for 6 months when my family forced (or emotionally manipulated) me to have a child. Grief for putting my body through so much shit, and just not being able to look at myself in the mirror at one point.
Our last house, the one we stayed for 5 years in, held me through it all. The panic attacks, the breakdowns, the numbing, the addiction every single thing. And at one point there was a strong message: your time here is done. You need to move out. So we did.
But it didn't feel like we're leaving a place. It felt like closing of a chapter you know?
Thank you so much for writing this! You're touching a lot of souls:)
Thank you, my friend, for reading and commenting! I definitely understand what you mean. Sometimes it does feel like the closure of a chapter, rather than leaving. And that feels so relieving. There is such a beauty to that feeling! Things must come to an end, and that is okay. Closure is normal, and healthy. Thank you for sharing such beautiful truths in your comment. It was profound to read them today, my friend. I appreciate your vulnerability and strength. 🩵
You're a master at writing something deeply personal that becomes powerfully universal. I am very acquainted with waves of grief that show up and require space to express. This touched me, Dr. Alex.
Thank you, Laury! I really appreciate that. I often hope to share personal stories that can connect to something more universal. I'm so glad I accomplished that with this piece! 🩵
Strangely I didn’t shed a tear during my annulment and divorce. Instead I rejoiced at freeing myself from a captive marriage conceived of need rather than any semblance of real love. It was still hard because of its semantics but never sad. One would think my sensitive empathetic nature would have taken me over. Yet it never surfaced. For awhile though I seemed lost in a surreal existence unsure what to allow myself to dream or even think beyond the moment. Eventually reality of my new existence emerged and life became easier, simpler, and kinder. I’m not really glad to have had that experience but grateful I found away out of it. I hope your life becomes ever present in every moment you wish to be in whether sad, happy or surreal. ❤️🌼
Well, I think we each have a different reaction! I know some of my friends that celebrated (and I certainly celebrated with them!). 🩵 I think we all simply have the reaction we need.
What a poignant, heart-breakingly honest post. The kind of changes you went through -- divorce and selling your home -- were such major, life-altering changes. It's so difficult to endure during such life-changing events. I love so much about your moving essay, but these lines hit me:
"The house didn’t ask me to be reasonable about my grief. It didn’t suggest I should be “further along.” It just held me. Witness without judgment."
Society expects us to be further along in our grief, like there's some sort of magical timeline for grief. This is a misconception. There is no timeline. I'm glad you found your basement to bear witness to your suffering, without the judgement of society. People can be so judgemental.
The idea of your basement being a sort of sanctuary, where you could let down your guard and be yourself is so moving. It's so difficult to hold in emotions all the time, so releasing it is a huge process.
All one can ever do is hang in there, day by day. You are right: living doesn't pause so one can process grief. We have to do this simultaneously.
People can be so judgmental. Sometimes we need a place, rather than a person, to be our witness. The basement was that place. It held me. I was so grateful for the service it provided. And it also needed to go. 🩵
Alex, this is such a powerful insight and breakthrough moment, amid others in this experience: "What if I just... lived? Right now? Even though I’m not healed yet?" It feels like a rebirth and a portal, and shows me how aliveness and presence because such highly cherished qualities in your life. "Qualities" isn't even the right word, because aliveness is life.
I loved the title of this piece. It's been sitting in my head for days. I'm so thankful for this quiet Saturday morning, when it brought me back to your piece, when I could read it fully and take in all the grief and all the possibility.
I am grateful that you had a morning to read it. Thank you for finding the time and space. 🩵 It means the world to me!
Aliveness is life, but qualities is still an appropriate word I think 🩵 They are both highly cherished, because I cherish life as both life, and as a quality too.
"Grief, apparently, is water-soluble." I love this. Thanks for sharing this deeply raw piece, Alexander. It's so resonant and I can't imagine anyone not learning deep fundamental truths. We always seem to be waiting for something. The new partner to feel better, the permission to speak our truth... but life keeps doing what it does. We sort ourselves out, not by waiting to be sorted, but by living each day from wherever we are and allowing experience to shape us.
I love this: "We sort ourselves out, not by waiting to be sorted, but by living each day from wherever we are and allowing experience to shape us."
It's true. And it is such a perfect way to put it. We sort ourselves out so naturally by just LIVING! The mind has such a beautiful way of just helping us move through life when we let it.
360 Kindess - because it matters and what else are you going to let shape you.
Absolutely, Bronce. I like the analogy of a rocket. Released from its silo it travels 1000km's (for this example) and due to friction of atmosphere and wind speed, its off course 98% of the time making micro corrections the whole way to the target. If we looked at the math, theoretically we'd never fire it (a discussion for another day-but, how cool would that be), but because we know it can correct itself more times that it can be off course the # of times it corrects is inconsequential.
Alexander's deeply human (and in my opinion, beautiful) piece, shows through his own vulnerability, what happens when we're afraid to leave the silo. And we are all afraid to leave the silo in some part of our lives. Life is so bittersweet. Through beautiful work like this and the support of each other, we can see that the bitter is always so much easier to swallow when the sweet is just on the other side.
Oh, I love the analogy of a rocket. It is so perfect! I so appreciate your kind words, and also such beautiful additions like this.
You are inspiring.
Oh, Alex, this took me back and also keeps me in the now. "Back" is 15 years ago when my husband died and grief was deeper than I knew existed. Then came a day a few months in where I declared "Permission granted. To me, by me, for me." And it was my beginning to live again, with the loss, the grief, the overwhelm, the occasional sliver of joy, the healing that is never completely done, and the reshaping of my life. The "Now" is remembering that permission is mine to give myself every single day! Thank you again for your honesty and vulnerability, you are most gracious! ✨
Thank you for sharing this, Nancy.
"The 'Now' is remembering that permission is mine to give myself every single day!"
That is SO powerful. We just have to make that choice to live in the now. To be present to aliveness and our life. To live, even if it is messy, hard, and confusing.
Beautiful, Alex. 🙏💚
Thank you, my friend.
"And if I could access that quality of presence in devastation, why couldn’t I access it in ordinary moments? In joy? In uncertainty? In the messy, unfinished middle of rebuilding a life?"
Yes. This. The very honesty that paves way for sorrow is the honesty that also paves way for joy.
Thank you for this terribly hopeful essay, Alex. 🙏
Thank you, my friend! It was terribly hopeful, indeed. It is a perfect way of describing my decision. A terribly hopeful decision. It was one I didn't want to make, but eventually felt I had to do. I appreciate you reading and also responding!
Alex, after Sheila died, I walked a tissue box of tears on that awful day.
It was the following day I realized I needed to stay present in my grief; allow myself to feel every messy feeling in the moment.
Giving myself permission to feel all the hurt, sadness, and pain opened a channel for love, laughter and happiness, too.
I cried every day for days, but that wasn't the only feeling.
It was a new way of dealing with grief for me.
I appreciate the rawness and beauty in your powerful essay.
Nancy, thank you for sharing this inspiring journey with me (and everyone else). I know it must resonate with so many. When we allow ourselves to feel "all the hurt, sadness, and pain," it indeed opens a channel of so many emotions within us. Yes, there is a vulnerability to opening ourselves up to the hurt and sadness. It is painful. But if we do, we are rewarded with greater ability to feel joy, happiness, and so many other things too. If we remain closed off, we become so numb.
I appreciate you so much!
“Heal first then live” is like the classic voice of control. It’s that part that wants everything tidy and neat and together. Packaged, digital, and in the lines. I love this post because I’m such a fan of life outside the lines, the analogue, the messy, tear stains on the basement couch. That’s living. Messy and raw with pain and transformation. Thanks Alex 🙌
Thank you for reading and sharing 🩵 I am a bit of a rebel, and I like to live outside of the lines too. Living is so much more rewarding, but it does take a bit of practice to resist succumbing to the voice of control. At least it has for me. My inner rebel was stifled for a while.
Oh, Alex, my friend. Another beautiful, heartfelt, honest, vulnerable piece from you today. This glimpse into your inner world is such a gift, truly. Thank you for that.
I want to say that what you wrote about grief is one of the truest things I've ever heard. We don't heal, then live. We live as we move through grief, through love, through both together.
I once wrote an essay (don't think I published it) entitled, "Once Grief Enters our Lives, it Never Goes Away."
I also wrote another called "Grief, the Unwanted Guest."
I like to think about grief as just one of many friends, or at least companions, walking with me in this life. I used to think it was going to harm me. Now I understand it wants to teach me something. And I began a grief journal about a week ago, recording daily "Today I grieve..." which has been incredibly insightful and powerful, because I am noticing that grief exists within almost everything I see, feel, think, hear, believe, understand, and experience. It's not this tragic heavy cloak. It's just present within the wonder, within the gratitude, within the joy, within the love.
Somehow the healing pathway for me looks a lot like integration--the coalescence of all ups and downs, shadows and light. All of it.
As always, my friend, thank you for your insightful comment. I love this daily practice of, "Today I grieve..." What a truly interesting thing to do. I bet so many fascinating insights have been popping up! I'm not surprised that "grief exists within almost everything I see, feel, think, hear, believe, understand, and experience." Grief is such a normal part of our lives, and it isn't limited to what we often "think" it is.
Believe I was supposed to read this, Thank you! 🙏
Very broken for a while now, layers and layers of so much has become overwhelming.
Sometimes it’s everything at once, like I need permission to fall apart and not be ashamed of all the pain, loss and grief.
Thank you for reading, being here, and also sharing. I'm glad this piece found you when it was supposed to find you!
You have permission to fall apart and not be ashamed.
I believe I'm supposed to read each and every of your posts now, Alex! Most days it feels like I've transformed and changed so much that I don't remember or feel connected to the old Shruthi. She feels like a distant echo.
But on days like this where I read your work...I'm reminded again...with so much gratitude and reverence...of the grief I underwent when my grandfather died. When the numbness dissipated and grief for all the childhood versions of me hit me in full force. Grief for not saying no, and putting myself through shit for 6 months when my family forced (or emotionally manipulated) me to have a child. Grief for putting my body through so much shit, and just not being able to look at myself in the mirror at one point.
Our last house, the one we stayed for 5 years in, held me through it all. The panic attacks, the breakdowns, the numbing, the addiction every single thing. And at one point there was a strong message: your time here is done. You need to move out. So we did.
But it didn't feel like we're leaving a place. It felt like closing of a chapter you know?
Thank you so much for writing this! You're touching a lot of souls:)
Thank you, my friend, for reading and commenting! I definitely understand what you mean. Sometimes it does feel like the closure of a chapter, rather than leaving. And that feels so relieving. There is such a beauty to that feeling! Things must come to an end, and that is okay. Closure is normal, and healthy. Thank you for sharing such beautiful truths in your comment. It was profound to read them today, my friend. I appreciate your vulnerability and strength. 🩵
Whew! I can’t stop reading! Your writing and honesty is addicting. Thanks for being human and sharing it.
Thank you for reading and sharing, my friend! Sure miss ya! I hope you are doing well! 🩵
Thanks for sharing all of this…it helped me today.
I'm so glad this found you when it did 🩵 Thank you for being here.
You're a master at writing something deeply personal that becomes powerfully universal. I am very acquainted with waves of grief that show up and require space to express. This touched me, Dr. Alex.
Thank you, Laury! I really appreciate that. I often hope to share personal stories that can connect to something more universal. I'm so glad I accomplished that with this piece! 🩵
Beautiful writing -deeply moving and helpful. Thank you :)
Thank you, Elizabeth. Welcome to my little corner of the internet! Know that you are welcome here 🩵 I appreciate you reading, being here, and sharing!
Strangely I didn’t shed a tear during my annulment and divorce. Instead I rejoiced at freeing myself from a captive marriage conceived of need rather than any semblance of real love. It was still hard because of its semantics but never sad. One would think my sensitive empathetic nature would have taken me over. Yet it never surfaced. For awhile though I seemed lost in a surreal existence unsure what to allow myself to dream or even think beyond the moment. Eventually reality of my new existence emerged and life became easier, simpler, and kinder. I’m not really glad to have had that experience but grateful I found away out of it. I hope your life becomes ever present in every moment you wish to be in whether sad, happy or surreal. ❤️🌼
Well, I think we each have a different reaction! I know some of my friends that celebrated (and I certainly celebrated with them!). 🩵 I think we all simply have the reaction we need.
Hi Alex,
What a poignant, heart-breakingly honest post. The kind of changes you went through -- divorce and selling your home -- were such major, life-altering changes. It's so difficult to endure during such life-changing events. I love so much about your moving essay, but these lines hit me:
"The house didn’t ask me to be reasonable about my grief. It didn’t suggest I should be “further along.” It just held me. Witness without judgment."
Society expects us to be further along in our grief, like there's some sort of magical timeline for grief. This is a misconception. There is no timeline. I'm glad you found your basement to bear witness to your suffering, without the judgement of society. People can be so judgemental.
The idea of your basement being a sort of sanctuary, where you could let down your guard and be yourself is so moving. It's so difficult to hold in emotions all the time, so releasing it is a huge process.
All one can ever do is hang in there, day by day. You are right: living doesn't pause so one can process grief. We have to do this simultaneously.
People can be so judgmental. Sometimes we need a place, rather than a person, to be our witness. The basement was that place. It held me. I was so grateful for the service it provided. And it also needed to go. 🩵
Alex, this is such a powerful insight and breakthrough moment, amid others in this experience: "What if I just... lived? Right now? Even though I’m not healed yet?" It feels like a rebirth and a portal, and shows me how aliveness and presence because such highly cherished qualities in your life. "Qualities" isn't even the right word, because aliveness is life.
I loved the title of this piece. It's been sitting in my head for days. I'm so thankful for this quiet Saturday morning, when it brought me back to your piece, when I could read it fully and take in all the grief and all the possibility.
I am grateful that you had a morning to read it. Thank you for finding the time and space. 🩵 It means the world to me!
Aliveness is life, but qualities is still an appropriate word I think 🩵 They are both highly cherished, because I cherish life as both life, and as a quality too.