Grief Demands to Speak

No one enjoys grieving. We only grieve because we have experienced a loss, so nothing about it is a self-indulgent activity—and yet those of us who have suffered know that our grief can make others uncomfortable. Well-meaning outsiders hope to bring peace and harmony back to a situation, but in doing so they may silence grief that needs expressed. “Move on and let go,” they say. “Heal faster, why don’t you?”

This is a very attractive lie. At first glance, it’s almost a noble one. It’s hard to stay in pain. It’s hard to see somebody in pain. So the urge to fix pain is understandable. It’s born of charity, our innate need to make right and to rescue. Survival becomes a way of forcefully turning your neck to look away from grief. It’s as if grief is some toxic contagious substance that everybody has to bury as quick as their dead. We attempt to rush into solution and conclusion and hope—because pain is that hard.

But speeding through grief always has a cost. To bury somebody’s supposed-to-be is also to bury a story that’s untold. When you bury someone’s story like that, it gets lodged in the ribcage, it gets radioactive, it festers, it shouts to be heard. Grief is always a voice that needs to speak. If you suppress it, it still speaks—but not always in ways that are healthy. Not in the ways you need. It pushes through your skin like rogue splinters.

When you are tempted to silence your grief, remember that doing so only postpones your healing. You must move through your grief, not around it. Look for safe people and spaces where you can express your losses aloud. Honor your pain by giving voice to it.

Reflect: What grief, if any, have you refused to speak about? What might come to pass if you were to expose your grief to the light?

Pray: Dear God, here are my griefs and my sorrows. They are not too much for you. Give me courage and strength to speak about my troubles and cares, and grant me healing and peace in time. Amen.