Lessons from Grief

Storytime with Ruby

june 22nd, 2024 is the 15th year anniversary of my dad's passing. his birthday, father's day, and his death date all smush up against one another in a burst of tender feelings mid-june, and the corner of my heart where grief abides swells.

the funny thing about grief is that it never goes away, and i don't think it's supposed to. my grief says, "that meant something to me." sometimes it's because there was love there. sometimes it's because of what that thing or person represented. sometimes it's a phantom remembering of something that didn't happen and never will. sometimes it feels like a tidal wave, othertimes it's a pinprick. it's vast and subtle and consuming and achey and dense.

grief can come in packages large and small. it can strike when you least expect it or at an obvious loss.

and all of this can be very confusing if we're expecting something as simple as sadness in it's stead. or if we're looking around at other people's grief and expecting ours to look the same. now there's shame to steamroll the grief, and it doesn't get processed like it's meant to.

i've learned to let my grief serve as a reminder that everything belongs. it's not good or bad or right or wrong, no matter how it shows up or moves through.

my grief in losing my dad at 17 doesn't have to be compared to the grief of selling my yoga studio or the grief of leaving a long term relationship or the grief of moving away or the grief of hearing that a friend's short-term fling took his own life.

it's all grief, and it all lives in that corner nook of my heart, swelling and receding. shadowing my experience in the same way that shadowing a sketch brings the picture to life, with meaning and purpose. it's beautiful and haunting and undeniably human.

it's grief, in all its mystery, that has the capacity to leave us feeling impossibly lonely or gratefully connected. the latter becomes more commonplace when we allow ourselves to accept grief for the mess that it is and eagerly meet each other in that messy place.

the day before my dad died, i gave him a letter for father's day, thanking him for all he taught me. one of the greatest lessons i learned from my dad was to cherish friendships and keep people close. i don't know how deep my dad and his friends often went, but i do know that he was always checking in, calling friends in the car just to say hi.

sometimes it doesn't have to be deep or complex. you don't have to go in planning to get something out. now is not always the time for digging.

sometimes all it takes is staying close. proximity. to step in instead of away. in the guts of grief i find myself wanting to be reminded that i'm not alone.

it's easy to get caught up in wanting to resolve our tough feelings. grief reminds us that those feelings might never be resolved, and that's ok.

i wonder what it would be like to share more openly about our grief. i imagine the potential for powerful connection, a healing that supports the grieving and doesn't try to change or hide it. a greater understanding, an ease of being with. community.

there's freedom here.

this kind of acceptance is what the My Self Study Practice is designed to guide you into. 1-on-1 Self Study Coaching is a good place to start.

i'm so glad you're here. 🧡

you're doing great,
Ruby