Activity as a mask for "soul work"

Much of the grief process involves what I call "soul work". Sure, there is a lot of stuff that happens around acceptance, profound sadness, regret, anger around changed circumstances and a different future, numbness and recovery from the fog, and building on the new identity. For me there was an overall awareness that I needed at some point to create a new life, once the comprehension that the old one was irrevocably changed, but there was a definite lack of will, motivation, fortitude, and impetus to actually do anything. So inside, my thinking self was saying, "hey, let's get going, it's time", but other parts of me were still wallowing.


Besides, sitting with those grief feelings is really hard! It's troubling, painful, lonely, and sad. It's a miserable existence.  Activity ends up giving you feedback, often positive. I felt more alive, more gratification, and able to say that I was reconstructing and rebuilding my life.

For someone like me, it's a easy trap to get hooked on activity as a substitute. Especially in our culture, where as a guy, you are what you do, not who you are. So after a while, my need to be active took over. I started scheduling things, getting back out there, and creating the illusion of progress. I felt pressure, even though none was imposed on me (I am fortunate not to have to work - although I want to do things that are meaningful).

But inside there was a hollowness. It seemed to be only alleviated when I had profound moments in relatively common situations. Being at church and listening to a lovely sermon and hearing incredible music. Being outside and feeling the enormity of the universe. The joy of playing with a dog. The pleasure at helping someone else. I started to realize that what really touched my heart and soul had little to do with activity I had formerly considered as being valuable, important, and meaningful.


Soul work is the process of tuning myself into the feelings and needs and sitting with them, exploring and testing them, seeing what is temporary and what is a paradigm shift, and understanding how life and purpose and approach to things resonate with those internal feelings. It's also about exploring my spirituality, and trying to make sense of the insensible. It's a tall order and feels pretty daunting.

Two intentional things in my soul work were to participate in grief support groups at The Healing Center, and attending services at the University Unitarian Church. While I was raised Catholic, I have not been a believer in organized religion or of a higher power for a long time. Yet I recognized that a place like a Unitarian Church was a wonderful place to be part of a community which supported personal spiritual growth and creating ways to live a good and meaningful life.

Part of soul work is letting go of the past, and whatever constructs I had working in my head about what fed me. Another part is really identifying those things that speak to me, and filling my day with those things. And then having formal, schedule things (such as church or support group) where I can get my fix.

Sooooo, "How is it going?" you might ask....

I'd say overall pretty well. I made a lot of mistakes - traveling down cul de sacs of activity, but fortunately figured out that was wrong and reversed course. I spend more time sniffing and testing an idea for activity to make sure it's going to resonate. I've discovered more about myself, and what speaks to me and gets me interested, motivated, and excited. I am learning not to pay attention to my internal voices about what I "should" do, and paying a lot more attention to my inner selves who care about my emotional and spiritual growth. I read more about soul work than business management.

I'm also extremely fortunate to have new friends who care about soul work, and keep me honest. That support is incredible.

Sleep and Grief

Maybe it should be "lack of sleep and grief".....at least for me. Sleep has sorta been a "frenemy" the last three years. I wanted it, but couldn't get it. Going to bed sounds like an awesome idea when it's 8pm and I am grief-stricken and alone. But then I wake up at 2am and it's not so great.

Pretty much the entire time from the moment of her diagnosis to her final breath, sleep was not very present, certainly not peaceful sleep. Anxiety, stress, worry, all the mental factors impaired it. Then I got on a nasty feedback loop cycle, where I was taking in more caffeine and sugar to get through the long days, but that ends up impairing sleep. The weeks long stints in the hospitals were awful for sleep cycle disruption - critical and urgent care facilities are filled with noise, alarms, and interruptions (not to mention poor quality beds). I went on anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medication when she was initially diagnosed, but over the period reduced them - they helped a bit early on with my sleep, but the efficacy wore off. Same with sleeping pills - initially effective, but the effect wore off.

After Meagan died, I was able to catch up on some sleep, my body and brain just physically exhausted and with some sleep aid medication I did recover somewhat. But unlike in the past (I had never been a long sleeper - usually around 7 hours) I still was only getting 5-5 1/2 hours a night - not enough to keep me mentally fresh and capable of functioning. Lack of sleep is a definite impairment of the grief recovery process.

There is also this weird relationship I had with sleep. In talking to others who have gone through similar experiences I've learned it's fairly common. There you are - however many days or months after you've lost your loved one - and it's evening, you are alone, tired from the days activities, sad, angry, confused, lonely, and the grief fog has you lethargic, unmotivated, and wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. I'm not into the bar or club scene, and I wanted to be around for my boys when the mood struck them, so going out was not a great option. The only thing that sounds good to avoid all this pain is sleep (especially if you are not into other mood altering or mind-numbing substances - I have been a non-drinker for over 20 years). But it's too early. Then you start watching the clock, is it too early to go to bed yet?

My cut-off used to be 10:00pm. Then 9:30pm. Then 9:00pm. It was such a welcome relief to crawl into bed, and get some sleep, and avoid all that emotional pain and brain chatter.

Until I rolled over and looked at the clock and it was 2:00am. Then 3:00am. Then 4:00am. Then 4:30am. Then I had to have a rule about what time was too early to get out of bed, forcing myself to stay in bed to try to get whatever benefit I could by simply lying there - for my body at least, because the brain was sure working. So then lack of sleep reduces your capacity to function well, which increases the impact of grief and how you are feeling about that aspect of life - so another vicious cycle.

I did a lot of research on sleep hygiene and over the last 15 months have gotten to a sort of truce with sleep. I know the sleep impairment suspects and try to manage those. I get a lot of exercise, and have tried my hand at meditation. Learning to be alone and being ok with that has helped. I've tried to find things to do in the evenings - the witching hours - such as attending classes or grief group support. I get enough sleep now, although I still use a single tylenol pm to help - it seems to work and doesn't have any side effects of note.

But I still have nights where going to bed at 8pm sounds like a really good idea.

more on grief stupidity

Sometimes the dumb moves turn out for the best, because as I wrestle with the consequences of the decision, and feel the angst or pain or whatever uncomfortable emotion - I end up clarifying what is really important and what my truest, deepest self really needs. It's like the old saying, "good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgment". So I've made bad judgments, but have learned from them, hopefully without too much collateral damage. People have been remarkably kind and understanding when I have screwed up, and even though I feel bad and guilty, they've had the grace and love to allow me this error and not count it too much against me.

So, an example. Last Fall I was offered a opportunity to go back to work part time. It sounded interesting and appealed to my intellectual ego needs. I thought I could manage the family dynamics well, even considering the upcoming holidays. I had been thinking it was time to look at doing something - I thought I had done enough "soul work" and was ready for a new challenge. Well, I underestimated many things:

how much effort the holidays take, in terms of prepping, coordinating, creating a loving and familiar family holiday experience;
how much the holidays whack you on the side of the head as you realize how much life has changed due to loss, and the resulting difficulty of doing things;
oh right, that time of year coincides with the anniversary of Meagan's death (Nov 21.) and her birthday (Jan. 23) which we wanted to acknowledge with ritual and remembrance;
ohhhh right, I'm in the middle of arranging her burial plot and memorial monument;
and, ohhhhhhh right, what feeds my heart and soul now is very different than before. What seemed important pre-grief now seems not so important to me. What I do needs to sing to my heart and soul. It's not about the competitive challenge or status or achievement. It's about love and helping and support and caring, and being around kind and loving people doing good work (their own soul work or helping others).
ahem.....and I hadn't done quite as much soul work as I thought. An eight day retreat in October cracked me open and let me see how much work was left undone, and how my intellectual self was trying to assert superiority over my emotional and spiritual selves.

So I quit. And felt guilty as hell. Despite the very kind and supportive effort of my employer. It was absolutely the right thing to do, but I still felt guilt. Especially as a guy, when so much of identity - self and as perceived by others - is based on what you do, not who you are.

The passage of time is reducing the guilt, the firm is doing just fine without me. It's allowed me to take the time to really think about what is important in what I "do". Or more specifically, tap into my feelings about what will feed me.

Needs in time of grief

I attend grief support group regularly at The Healing Center. The primary benefit is being able to sit in a circle for an hour and a half with people who have been through a loss experience (loss of a loved one) and do two simple things - tell your story, and listen to theirs. It's not therapy - for that I see a therapist. For me, the value of being around people who have suffered a similar loss is huge - because they get it in a way others don't. They understand the depth of pain, the loneliness, the brain fog, the despair, the inability to function, the missing of touch, the loss of shared moments, and the challenges of building life anew.

Each person's story is different, and the process each is going through unique. But there are always points of commonality, and the opportunity to bear silent witness to the other person's struggle is a gift. My own healing progresses when I get out of my own head and am empathetic to others, and learn practical things about how they are coping or simply hearing about their struggle makes my own somehow more bearable.

Everyone has different economic circumstances and worries, family and friend support structures, and personalities and coping and functional skills. The Healing Center does provide an avenue for emotional support and a community of kind, caring, like-minded individuals. But what doesn't exist is a place someone in profound loss can go to navigate the challenges of life without your loved one - advice, counsel, and direction for overall wellness, nutrition, exercise, stress reduction, parenting help, financial planning, care and comfort, meals and household help (cleaning, organizing), gardening, etc. What seemed doable when you had a life partner seems daunting and impossible when you are alone and in grief. Many faith traditions provide a community of support and care teams to help those who are members of that community, but when you are not a part of such a community where do you go for help?

What I've learned is that what seems like an easy task to someone on the outside - such as cleaning your home - can be a huge challenge to someone in the throes of grief, enough to send them to the floor in despair.