We were homeless when I got pregnant with our fourth child.
It was Summer time, and we’d already moved out of our home about 9 weeks before (long story – last minute, neither our fault nor the landlord’s – we had two weeks to pack up and leave), we were spare-room-hopping, had no idea when or where we would be living next and I was pretty sick, it wasn’t my favourite.
Fast forward to the end of FIVE MONTHS. We had moved 8 times between friends and family, at one point thinking we were going to change city, the kids and I had spent six weeks apart from husband/dad, when we found ourselves back in the town we’d left, moving into a beautiful new flat.
I was around 18 weeks along.
A week later we had lost our unborn daughter.
Grief sucks.
When life throws you curve balls from the worst pits of disappointment, it can be enough to send you into a total spiral of misery, depression and despair.
I am so grateful I had Jesus. It meant that I still had a tiny thread of hope in the circumstances – knowing that our daughter was safe and well with Him, knowing that we will see her again one day, and knowing that we had God really close during our heartbreak – that we wouldn’t go completely under.
I honestly don’t know how I would have navigated this season, if He hadn’t been there, with His love, because in the aftermath of so much upheaval and confusion – a whole load of pain, relational challenges to process from our extended ‘touring season’ and baby-loss – we were left reeling with trauma and grief.
Maybe you can relate?
When the bottom drops out of your world, you can utilise every distraction available to numb yourself, and try to get through your pain without dealing with it.
And you know what? In the first week or two, this is definitely necessary. You are in shock, and your brain’s coping strategy is to compartmentalise and keep you alive, until you are out of immediate danger.
You do whatever you need to, to help you get up in the morning.
But what happens when the immediate details are dealt with, the funeral, perhaps, is over and everyone else has gone back to their normal routines?
What do you do then?
There is no ‘correct’ answer, but here are 3 things I’ve found can help you to grieve well.
1. Lean in to Lament
Grief is weird. It surfaces at odd moments and in unexpected ways.
Sometimes you are walking along fine, when with no warning, you find yourself on your knees in the street sobbing uncontrollably. Aside from moving out of the way of any oncoming traffic, I found that it is best to go with it – let others look at you strangely if they must – just allow yourself to cry it out. You won’t feel better about your loss, but this kind of pain is so much better out than in.
Lament is not a dirty word. If we are too afraid to let our pain out when it nudges us, instead suppressing it, we will see it explode out of us in awkward and potentially destructive ways, and do more damage later. Grief, rather like truth, will out.
The book of Psalms has a whole load of lament within it, and if we are Jesus people, then we can take our cues from the people of the bible who railed at God. They knew He could handle their, anger, pain and frustration without taking offense and abandoning them.
So be kind to yourself, and rather than feeling ashamed at how difficult you are finding things, you let your pain out.
2. Lean on your Key People
Often after the initial loss, many people will kind of drop off the side when it comes to support. Most of the time, people don’t mean to be careless, but empathy takes energy and investment, and we often find it so hard to sit with our own pain, let alone someone else’s.
This can be deeply hurtful when it’s family members or people whom you saw as close friends, seemingly losing interest or just avoiding real, active listening. Many people have simply never learnt how to do this well.
Sometimes telling them how you feel can be helpful, but too often grief will leave you so exhausted and wrung out, that you do not have any energy left to manage other people’s attitudes or actions towards you. So don’t try and force the energy, let them figure it out.
If at some point when you can face it, and they ask – if you can share without bitterness, then do. But not right now, you have no obligation to do so.
(As an aside, the same goes for those who seem to need you to manage your emotions, in order to support theirs. You and your immediate family are the key grievers, so you have permission to keep out of the way of those who don’t seem to recognise this or are not emotionally safe for you – at least for a little while.)
Meanwhile, lean on those who do consistently check in with you.
You know, those people who come round to keep you company, who bring you food, text you, ask what to pray for and then pray. These people really want to know how you are doing, and they are not needy for your obvious gratitude, they just get it.
You can really lean on these people, and they are worth their weight in gold, so take them at their word!
We humans are inherently selfish – sadly it’s one of our key flaws. So when people do go beyond themselves to connect with us in our pain, it is an enormous act of kindness and love, and is worth celebrating.
3. Lean in to Joy
This may seem counter intuitive, especially when you are probably feeling anything but joyful. But what I have noticed, is that when we allow the eyes of our hearts to stay open, there are often surprising, little moments of joy to be found all over the place.
Part of grieving is allowing yourself to feel what you are feeling, heck that’s a massive part of being a healthy and vital human! So refusing to feel guilty when something brings you delight, is so important for staying connected to our sense of self as we grieve, and it will help us move forward too.
This could be as simple as discovering a new cocktail that tastes amazing (Elderflower martini was my unexpected discovery), or perhaps delighting in a friend getting engaged, or your child being gloriously unabashed in her silliness. Maybe it’s a quiet walk in the woods, or a favourite book (I found huge comfort in listening to the Harry Potter series on audible, which was a surprise) – but the point is, allow yourself to feel that comfort or joy when it bubbles up, don’t squash it.
And give thanks for those moments – they are precious, and really help to strengthen those flickers of hope in your heart.
Whoever you have lost, you have permission to grieve in whichever way you find helps you. If you are feeling completely alone, perhaps find a counsellor to work through some of your pain healthily – I found this such a blessing.
And if like me, you have lost an unborn baby, don’t tell yourself that you should be over it, that ‘at least…’, or let the fact that because our culture struggles with death, and invisible death especially, make you feel like you need to keep this quiet or stop talking about it. You have lost a real person, and all the hopes and dreams that went with the potential of their life – it’s a big deal and will take time.
Grief takes years, so talk, write, sing, paint, walk, read, pay attention to what moves you, rail at God, rail to God, sleep, eat, cry – and above all, be gentle with yourself.
You are precious, you are seen, your grief matters (I’m so sorry for whatever loss you have faced), and you will come through this stronger and more compassionate – which is a win in my book.
