No one can grieve for you, my friend.

Ahem (clearing my throat) … please don’t shoot the messenger. Let me explain.

After my mom first died in 2012, I found myself feeling angry about friends and family not showing up in ways I appreciated. Some called when they learned of her death. A few stayed in touch after her memorial service. But as time moved forward, the calls and check-ins diminished.

As my anger grew, the more I focused on my expectations of others … UNTIL I realized that no matter the support received from them, no one could grieve for me.

It was a tough wake-up call, to say the least.

As I stood at the bottom of life’s escalator, if you will, there was no doubt that I wanted family and friends to carry me. Push me. Drag me even, just to make it to the top. And I won’t lie. Some of them desperately attempted, in the form of annoying me about scheduling therapy appointments or meeting up for coffee or drinks.

The truth was, however, that none of their poking and prodding made a difference. It couldn’t at the time. I just wasn’t ready in the moments they attempted to push.

No one can grieve for you.

My ‘rock bottom’ moment occurred on a trip from LA to Washington, DC, where I was scheduled to participate in a grant review and deliver a keynote speech. The plane ride to DC was riddled with tears and emotional discomfort I’d never experienced before. And by the time I arrived at my hotel, I felt completely undone. I spent the majority of the night into the wee hours cradled on the floor, crying uncontrollably and calling out to God.

The ‘funny’ thing was that I tried calling a few close friends. Yet lo and behold, my desperate attempts were met with their voice mails. It was a harsh, yet apparent, realization that I had to help myself.

Here’s what I did that night …

• I allowed myself to lose control. See leading up to this moment following my mom’s death, I worked hard to present myself as ‘put together,’ ‘strong,’ and ‘good.’ My natural controlling tendencies became exacerbated in the face of loss. Yet that night in the hotel, I could no longer maintain my emotional composure. And as strange as it felt, letting go in that moment liberated me. I simultaneously felt frightened about where my emotions might take me, yet open to the freedom inherent in not trying to control myself.

• I got honest before God for the first time since my mom’s death. Grief has a way of undoing you right before your own eyes, as well as in front of others and God. I’d worked diligently to downplay the impact of my mom dying, largely related to my fear that God would be angry if I didn’t display my spirituality in specific ways. To cry signaled a lack of faith in my eyes. To question my response to death reflected my mistrust in Him. That night, nevertheless, I laid out my greatest fears, darkest thoughts, and never-before stated feelings. Much to my surprise, I felt closer to God than I had in the months leading up to the trip.

• I didn’t attempt to hide my pain the next day. After receiving roughly one hour of sleep, I arrived at the grant review meeting, puffy eyed and all. I then traveled to the site for my keynote speech later in the day. Emotionally spent, I didn’t invest any time in applying makeup to hide my sadness or cover up my uncomfortable reality. For the first time since my mom’s death, I exposed my raw self to the world. And you know what? Nothing catastrophic happened. Life continued moving forward. What would it look like for you to take off the mask you’ve been wearing to hide your pain, friend? Food for thought …

• I accepted support from strangers. Given that I revealed my true and unfiltered self at the grant review meeting, others clearly recognized my pain. One fellow reviewer, during a break, asked if she could have a brief word with me, and I agreed. When we sat down, she gently asked if I was OK. I replied, “No,” and she offered a hug. Though I’d refused similar offerings up to that point in my grief journey, I accepted it that day. I don’t think I realized just how powerful physical touch could be at just the right time. I needed that. What about you?

Here’s the bottom line … no one can grieve for you.

Yes, you can benefit from social support. In fact, I’d argue that you need it. Yes, others can push you in the right direction, offer a lending ear, and sit with you in the toughest of moments. There’s no denying any of this.

There’s also no denying that the grief journey is one that will largely be walked alone. In quiet moments. Away from the shield and protection of others around you.

Friend, you know what? As scary as this may feel right now, it’s in those quiet moments that you’ll be positioned to discover (or re-discover) yourself. Further, when you recognize that only you can take steps to help yourself, you’ll realize just how capable you are.

You’ll begin to walk in your power and vulnerability.

I love you and want to hear your thoughts. Please share them below.

All the best,

M.

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