We’ve all heard the phrase ‘fake it ’til you make it.’

It’s a phrase used to inspire us to jump into action in the face of trials or accomplish a seemingly insurmountable goal.

On the heels of my mom’s death in 2012 and even this year following my dad’s death, many people offered advice about how to cope with grief. Some argued the importance of taking care of myself along the journey. On the other hand, most suggested (at least after my mom’s death) that the only way to ‘get over’ death was to ‘fake it ’til I [made] it.’ Like somehow if I just pretended that everything was OK, after a while, things would be OK.

Now that I look back on the latter advice, I can see its absurdity. At the time, however, I applied the grit-filled method for a while, in hopes that I’d quickly bounce back from devastating loss.

But what happens when you fake it ’til you make it … until you can’t anymore?

Despite my best effort, grief bogarted its way into every aspect of my life. Concentrating became increasingly difficult, a side effect of ‘grief brain.’ Memories flooded my mind at every turn. Sleep evaded me, in spite of my desperate attempts to partner with it. And my chest felt as if a brick sat firmly on it with no relief in sight.

I tried to fake it. I really did.

Fake smiles. Fake focus. Fake listening. Fake laughter.

This is what so many told me would help. It’s what I thought I needed.

But friends, this simply wasn’t the case. All my faking did was land me in the doctor’s office over and over again, with him stating matter-of-factly, “Mekel, everything looks just fine.”

But things were FAR from fine. I felt grief’s grip in my bones, my heart, and with every breath I took. ‘What is the problem?’ I continued to ask myself.

Little did I know that the answer to my question would be found in a therapist’s office. Months after my mom died, I sat across the room from a talented professional who listened to depths of pain I’d never shared with others at the time. Session after session, I resisted grief. It wasn’t me. I hated it. So I faked my way through week after week after painful week.

After a dozen or so sessions, I continued to feel exhausted, complaining about a host of physical ailments. Headaches. Insomnia. Stomach upset. I shared, and my therapist listened. Until she leaned towards me in her chair one evening and gently asked, “Mekel, what would it look like if you relaxed into the pain of your mom’s death?”

In other words, “You won’t be able to fake it ’til you make it’ with this one, Mekel.”

I’d love to say that in an instant, I dropped the veil I’d worked so hard to hide behind and surrendered.

What really happened is I became angry. ‘How dare she ask me to do something so impossible!’

But it became clearer — as my stress continued to mount, and my body didn’t relent — that I could no longer fake my way through grief.

This compassionate and caring therapist taught me, over the course of several sessions, how to FACE IT until I made it. How to relax into the pain of grief. Sit with it. Express my feelings in the midst of it.

I know, I know … this sounds impossible! But read on, my friend.

Here are the three tools my therapist offered in the summer of 2013, ones that I’ve applied this year in the wake of my dad’s death.

• Get raw honest, and tell the truth about what’s happening inside. Though this may be tough for you, it’s critical. The way I’ve focused on this tool is through journaling. Not the cute, fluffy type of expressions, but the unedited feelings that bottle up inside of me on a regular basis. The anger, irritability, and other ‘unsexy’ thoughts and feelings. There’s no point in expressing yourself to yourself if you’re not going to be honest, right? Truthfully, being able to free myself from editing and self-judgment in the writing space has been quite liberating. I think of journaling as the releasing of air from a tight air-filled balloon. With each truthful statement, I can come back to myself so grief doesn’t consume me.

• Schedule time to sit in your feelings. We set aside time for everything else — daily appointments, work, exercise, etc. Why not schedule time to feel? It certainly beats walking around trying to avoid the obvious internal aches and pains, right? My practice involves scheduling 15-30 minutes a day to ask myself, “How are you feeling in this moment?” Sadness may rise to the surface. Or anger. Or fear. No matter the feeling, I don’t try to convince myself that it’s not true. I simply allow it. And when the alarm on my iPhone goes off, I neatly pack up my feelings and set them aside so I can continue with my day. What’s the key here? Acknowledging the feeling. So often, when we’re ‘faking it ’til we make it,’ we respond from a space of denial or avoidance. This only creates more internal distress and if you’re like me, physical and spiritual distress.

• Choose one way to celebrate your vulnerability. Let’s face it! It’s a BIG DEAL to get raw and real with how you feel. And whenever I do big things — be it completing a project or accomplishing some personal goal, I love to celebrate. Right? It’s just necessary, and we deserve it. Just the other week, after acknowledging the depth of anger I’ve carried inside throughout 2020, I treated myself to a two-hour Hulu binge. It was my way of telling myself, ‘You’re a brave woman, and now that you’ve named the problem, you deserve a little time to chill.’ Vulnerability should be met with celebration, always! It’s a way of toasting to yourself, confirming that you can do hard things on hard days through hard times.

What are you facing today? Grief and loss? Anger? Disappointment?

Whatever it is, don’t fool yourself into thinking that ‘faking it ’til you make it’ is the way to feel better. It. will. not. work.

Repeat after me: I will not fake it ’til I make it anymore.

Make today the day you FACE IT ’til you make it. Decide to look into the mirror of your pain and take action.

You’re not alone, my friend. Not today. Not any day.

Know that as we move along this journey called life, facing what life brings head-on will only bring us closer to ourselves and our peace.

XOXO,

M.

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