Is it Stress, or is it Grief?

Many of us are carrying grief without even recognizing it. 

We often experience – and imagine – grief overtaking us like a giant wave. Sometimes we anticipate it, like when we’re approaching a death anniversary. Other times, it catches us by surprise, like when we walk past our person’s favorite cereal at the grocery store.

Either way, it often looks like we expect it to. We might cry, or feel panicky, or otherwise look like the portrait of a grieving person.

But there are also times – and we’re often less aware of these – when grief is just sort of  humming in the background or hanging out in the periphery, slowly calling for our attention.

These calls for attention don’t look like the crying or panic that we expect. In fact, they can look like many other things: irritability, anxiety, overwhelm, or restlessness. 

For me, the hum usually starts with feeling overwhelmed and anxious. I find myself stressing out about my to-do lists, feeling the sudden need to clean and organize, getting easily irritated, or just feeling restless without knowing why. 

I’ll usually stumble my way through at least a few days (or even a few weeks) of this, not finding anything that helps me feel better, before I start to notice a pattern and wonder what’s really going on.

Sometimes, the irritability is from the usual stressors of life. But often, when I take a minute to go inside. . . there it is.

My sister is dead. My sister is dead, and she’s not coming back, and I am just so, so sad.

And in that instant, I know. I know that’s the reason I’ve been feeling out of sorts. I know that all that anxiety and irritability and restlessness are there trying to protect me from the one thing I don’t feel ready to feel: the complete and utter heartbreak of my loss.

Once I recognize this, my experience shifts. The irritability starts to recede, and the sadness moves in. And while there are parts of me that work on overdrive to keep myself from feeling that pain, there’s also a part that feels relief – relief because the sadness is actually what I’m feeling, and I can do something with it. 

I can give it some space. I can let it be. I can cry, journal, dance, listen to music, lean into my grief friends, talk to my therapist, get myself out in nature, or put myself under a weighted blanket. I can do something – anything – to be with that sadness in a way that feels supportive and safe.

Surprisingly, this feels better than walking around agitated and discombobulated and not knowing why. Shifting into sadness doesn’t change the pain of my loss, but it allows that pain to be felt and expressed instead of showing up in ways that feel confusing and out of sorts.

I wonder. . . do you know what your grief looks and feels like when it’s waiting in the wings?

Can you go inside and see if it’s asking for your attention?

And if you notice it humming in the background or hanging out in the periphery, can you find a way to invite it in and give it some space?

As always, take gentle care of yourself.