Alchemizing Grief into Power

The Bittersweet Dance of Joy and Sorrow

I am still swimming (sometimes drowning) in the ebb and flow of grief in the aftermath of the election, honoring my heart, and allowing myself to align with what feels safe and supportive, trusting that out of these ashes, a phoenix will rise in good time. Having spent many years developing a trusting relationship with grief through suffering significant losses, I understand the importance and sacred nature of sitting with and consoling my grief, though it is not easy.

How do we hang on when grief hurts so much that we feel physically pained, tightness in our chests, our breath becoming shallow, our stomachs unsettled, our nervous systems activated, as if we are facing impending doom?

We enter survival mode. We draw our horizon in close, and take it minute by minute, hour by hour, doing the best we can with what we know. We feel our feet on the ground, rooted like oaks. We cocoon in comfy clothes and gather strength from our inner circles.

We humans do so much to avoid emotional pain: We distance, distract, numb, shame, and more to escape heartbreak and disappointment. We critique and blame in feeble attempts at control when we sense our circumstances spiraling.

Yet, being alive in this messy world means that, despite our best efforts, life will shatter our hearts; we will experience unbearable pain, loss, and grief, sometimes so intensely, it can feel as if the light has gone out of our lives.

To be human is to carry nesting dolls of grief—for lost loved ones, lost dreams, lost places and spaces, lost facets of our identity. Any new grief unearths buried layers of past grief, for grief permeates our existence, like oxygen to our breath. It is a remembrance of what our soul treasures. Even when we are celebrating a positive change, such as a new job or move, there is an element of grief in letting go. Out of endings come beginnings.

Many of us are not given the tools to recognize or understand what grief is, and we tend to have protective mechanisms to push away the underlying emotions because of the pain and shame. Our society tells us that tears are a sign of weakness, which is a tragedy, for crying gives voice to the nonverbal, primordial, wild language of our hearts, heals us, and sets us free. By pushing away grief, the neglected parts within morph into depression, anxiety, anger, and apathy; we disconnect from our hearts, and in doing so, with other humans just when we need them the most.

Raw grief can be transformed into a muted, softer experience by honoring our emotions and meeting them with compassion as they surface—trying not to minimize, numb, or ignor our feelings. Just as a rainbow follows a storm, letting our emotions flow brings a cathartic lightness.

Grief is marked by the six stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and meaning. When moving through grief, it is not a linear process. We are distracted, stressed, foggy-brained, and filled with heartache that comes in waves. Emotions tend to be on the surface in a raw state, easily activated. We may find ourselves weepy at the slightest hint of loss. One minute we may feel okay, and the next, we are pulled back into murky waters. Grief is also inordinately draining, leaving us exhausted by even simple tasks.

We all dance with grief in different ways, as we each have a unique relationship with it. Some distance or disparage, some numb and ignore, some pound our fists or rage with fury. Some push away or minimize others’ grief because they have not found acceptance with their own grief. Grieving is a deeply personal process, experienced both in solitude and in community.

Humanity’s common denominator is grief, for to grieve is a universal human condition that connects us both to our own spirit and to our community; while grief can feel isolating, we are never alone in it, for at any given time, countless others are grieving, sometimes even for the same loss. The invitation is to meet each other in our own unique language of grief, to sit without judgment and hold one another close.

We vulnerably wade into these waters knowing that by inviting in grief, and allowing her to show us our truths, our dashed hopes, our broken hearts, we alchemize our pain into resilience, meaning, and action, together.

What we perceive as dark or painful emotions, including grief, can be a gateway to healing and spiritual growth. Loss paves the way for transformation, because out of the ashes, we find a more profound understanding of our truths, and clarity on what matters, burning away anything or anyone that no longer serves us. One of the gifts of grief is that we tend to be more fully in the moment, our senses heightened, called to presence.

In the immediate aftermath of losing a loved one, the pain can be crushing. We may feel like zombies, operating in a fog, gripped by shock, unable to process the loss, when trying to navigate even the simplest tasks sends us into a spiral. While this initial period can be overwhelming with pain, barely able to surface and catch our breath in between crushing waves, the sacred gift of this time is that our loved ones are closest to us—the veil is thin. They may visit us in dreams; we may see them in nature in the form of a bird, butterfly, or dragonfly; and we can recall their voice, their touch, their presence. As time passes and the raw grief fades, our closeness to them dims. Thus, while it is a challenging time, an invitation in the immediate aftermath of a loss is to hold our loved ones close.

When we are able to meet the deepest recesses of our hearts with compassion, hold our grief with care, and approach our heartbreak with tenderness, we model to ourselves that we are worthy of our hearts’ power, for if we dishonor any expression of emotion, we are stifling our heart’s full potential.

No doorways to our big, beautiful, beating hearts are intended to be locked, every emotion, every trail to our tenderness, opens up endless rooms to expand our capacity to love and be loved and to embrace joy.

When our lights have dimmed, we are called to question, what are the soft glowing embers within us that serve as a lighthouse, reminding us that there will be better days ahead? It may feel impossible to imagine that we could ever find happiness, or a sense of peace, again. And then one day, often unexpectedly, joy seeps in through small moments like dappled sunshine for the spirit: The adoring smile of a loved one, a fragrant flower awakening our senses, affection from a child or fur baby, kindness of strangers, soothing wonders of nature.

We begin to feel a flicker of aliveness, like the first faint signs of springtime after a long, hard winter; we return to ourselves, to our universal truths of love and of the beauty of our humanity, together.

Out of every path of grief we courageously journey through, we increase our capacity to hold joy. For joy and grief are intricately linked. Our ability to hold grief reflects our potential for depths of joy. Joy is our birthright and our resistance. It is the trail to our truths.

Life has taught me that true happiness can only be embraced when we are able to swim in the sunshine of joy and sing in the soulful showers of grief, a poignant balancing of both, of holding on and letting go.

When we are in the mud, it’s hard to imagine that we’ll ever see a lotus blossom. But the blossom is there, waiting. Hope is an offset to grief. Creativity in all forms is self-healing, as the arts are the language of our souls, the birdsong of our humanity. Devoting any amount of time each day to things that are restorative is impactful: getting into nature, journaling, talking to loved ones, reading a good book or poetry, listening to music, napping, cooking, walking outside, dancing, playing, seeking out wonder, embracing flow states. Try to avoid the things that will sink you—endless news cycles, binging shows for hours, eating junk, staying still. Our hyper-"productivity" focused burnout culture is the antithesis to what we need to find balance and get through this. It’s absolutely necessary to rest at times. Be kind and gentle with yourself and others.

Rituals are another way to process grief, such as lighting a candle, creating a memorial space (literally or figuratively), honoring a serene morning routine, and taking nature walks.

One of the most powerful shifts I have adopted towards grief is recognizing that when we lose someone or something, our relationship does not end, it just changes. We carry the person or thing we loved forever in our hearts, continuing our relationship, though it is altered. I feel this way towards dreams deferred—that I will hold onto them and trust in the unfolding, never letting them go.

The human spirit is resilient, and resilience sparks renewal. Kindness will prevail. Love is abundant. Helpers are everywhere. We are here to love and be loved, this much I know to be true. Find your flickers of joy and linger there, be present, savor it all. Just as a river carves patterns into stone, we will alchemize our pain into power.

Trust that first we will grieve, then we will rise.

Life After Death, by Laura Gilpin

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

by Wendell Berry

RESOURCES

David Whyte, A Matter of Life and Death, The Everyday Art of Saying Hello or Saying Goodbye - November Three Sunday Series, Registration open until 2/20/25

The Year of Magical Thinking, Book by Joan Didion

The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, Book by Francis Weller

All There is Podcast, with Anderson Cooper

Tara Brach, Resources on Grief

On Being with Krista Tippett John O'Donohue The Inner Landscape of Beauty 

Inside Out, Animated movie about embracing our full spectrum of emotions; winner of the Oscar for Best Animated Feature Film

Broken Open, Book by Elizabeth Lesser

Grief is an Ocean, Michael Meade - Mosaic Voices, 5-minute video

Coaches Rising, The Deep Heart: Our Portal to Presence, Podcast episode with John Prendergast (link to his book)