How I Invited Loss and Joy to Join Me

Photo by Louis Hansel

You’d think I’d have so many more things figured out now that I’m a woman well into mid-life, especially regarding grief and loss, wouldn’t you? 

Well, the truth is that I don’t, despite all the years behind me and the effort to work through each layer of whatever’s attempted to hold me back. 

I’ve made good progress, though.  I’m able to acknowledge and tap into the wisdom I seem to have accumulated along the way to mid-life, the intuition I have at my fingertips, and the compassion that I’m now able to muster for myself when I wobble. 

It could also be that these things are more likely to happen anyway as we age and realize that so much of what we used to fret over is no longer worth fretting about!

The one thing that catches me off guard each year is the anniversary of my brother’s murder.  It seems that life after loss holds more complexity than expected.  Two weeks or more before the date I find myself unsettled, my nervous system activated, and I put on a bit of weight as I nibble my way throughout the day trying to settle – without success. 

At the beginning of April this year I reminded myself that the anniversary was coming but with other things happening during the month I focused on them and forgot. 

Healing trauma stored in our bodies can feel overwhelming and complex at times.  I’ve spent a lot of time working through all the feelings, thoughts, reactions, sensations, and beliefs surrounding his murder and kidnapping.  I’d hoped by now, at this stage in mid-life, I’d be free from it all - it’s easier but not gone. I realize that facing milestones when it comes to grief and loss isn’t a one-time event or limited to a time frame.

As I clued in to what was happening and why, I found myself breathing, tapping more, writing and allowing the feelings and sensations to exist and then dissipate, much like mist over water that gradually dissipates as the sun appears, warming everything it touches. 

And then, there’s room for memories and moments of joy, light in the midst of loss – John standing at the counter making a fruit salad for breakfast, me teasing him about how long it was taking him to chop each strawberry and that maybe we’d have it for dinner instead of breakfast; or the phone call when he encouraged me to “just do it”, referring to my fears about becoming a coach, and the laugh we had as he sounded like a Nike commercial; or the hugs he gave that felt like a warm blanket wrapped around me. 

One’s ability to hold both joy and loss at the same time is a gift, and one I appreciate more now that I’m in the third and final chapter of my life.    

Alex Elle, a writer I follow, writes about Joy (read her post HERE).  In her post recently she said this: 

“It is a conscious decision to pay attention, to stay soft, and to not let the beauty of life get buried under the noise of survival or stress. This month, I've been reflecting on the quiet bravery it takes to stay open to joy even when our environment doesn't feel easy.”

I love the idea of “quiet bravery” – to allow all the hard feelings without censorship, brave enough to sit with and in the discomfort, choosing to turn away from numbing with food or wine (or whatever your thing is), voicing the pain and feeling grateful for joy, even as joy arrives in micro-moments and disappears with equal speed. 

It’s easy to “get buried under the noise of survival or stress”, to be held in the grips of guilt that whispers “who are you to feel pleasure, bask in a moment of ease, or even seek joy?”. 

Writing Through Loss and Joy

Writing has been a gift, a way to discover and explore how both joy and loss co-exist.  My words have been healing and helped me honour the experience of holding space for deeply felt and yet opposing experiences.  There’s something about a blank page, a clean slate, where words can express those thoughts and feelings that are hard to speak out loud, may not be for sharing, or need sorting through.

I believe writing has saved me, releasing me from long-held burdens or stories that have no longer served me.  And writing has allowed me to explore what’s been hidden from conscious thought; words have appeared as if by magic, seemingly transported from another realm into my hands, arriving on the page with ease.

Could it be that noticing moments of joy despite the pain, is the catalyst that gradually, gradually helps us move forward, one step at a time towards more joy, more peace, more of the “good” stuff, just like Hope is the catalyst for creating a future? 

Finally, today, as I remember you, I raise my glass:

“To John – you may be out of sight, but you’re always in my heart.  Until we meet again…”

Thank you for reading! I’m grateful!

I invite you into The W.I.S.E.R. Woman’s Guide where you’re invited to explore themes and write from carefully crafted prompts - and you’ll be the first to know about upcoming Tap and Write Circles.  

Won’t you join me? Sign up HERE!

Joan