grief – Emily Downward

Tips for Dealing with Overwhelm in Feeling

March 10, 2015emilydownward

When you’re overwhelmed by feeling, such as grief, anger, sadness or frustration, it may seem like it will never end. We have a natural tendency to resist these feelings, to stuff them or avoid them, and we may turn to things like food or alcohol to avoid feeling them. As Carl Jung wisely pointed out, “What you resist persists.” Pushing those feelings away or stuffing them deep inside only makes them stick around all that much longer. So how can you deal with them?

1. Feel them – Emotions are energy in motion, and they will pass through you if you allow them to. Brain researcher Jill Bolte Taylor noticed this when she was recovering from her stroke and no longer had the option of avoiding emotions. She felt each one pass through her and noticed it went through her body in about 90 seconds. When I’m in overwhelm in feeling, it may take me longer to process emotions than 90 seconds, so I try to find time when I can allow myself to fully experience what I’m feeling. And I like to remember Winston Churchill’s quote “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

2. Find ways to simplify – When I have experienced this kind of overwhelm, I have little to no ability to make decisions. Even the simplest decisions, like what to eat for lunch or what to wear, can seem overwhelming. To help myself create space to process my emotions, I simplify or eliminate the necessity of making small decisions. For example, I’ll make a large pot of butternut squash soup and eat it for lunches for the week, varying a side fruit or vegetable if I need variety.

3. Use music to soothe the soul – I am very moved by and affected by music, and I’ve found I can use it to help me get through overwhelming emotions. When I was going through a rough period of grief, I created a playlist I called “Recovery” that included songs that tapped into the sorrow as well as songs which spoke to empowerment. I also have certain songs I listen to (and sing loudly to) when I’m feeling intense anger or frustration.

4. Incorporate movement – As energy, emotions want to flow, and it can be helpful to incorporate action to help them move through your body. While some get significant release from running, others may find that the gentle movements of yoga or Tai Chi are more effective. Even taking a brief walk can help you to move stuck energy.

5. Give yourself loving kindness – The practice of loving kindness comes from the Buddhist tradition, and I love its simplicity and effectiveness. Loving kindness always begins with the self – sending yourself love, peace, wellness. From there it moves to those you love, and finally those you are in conflict with. One version of loving kindness is:

May I be safe. May I be well. May I be at peace.

May you be safe. May you be well. May you be at peace.

May we be safe. May we be well. May we be at peace

I learned a song version of this and recorded it to share with others: listen to the Metta Sutta.

If you’re currently in the throes of overwhelming emotion, I encourage you to treat yourself gently, and give yourself time to move through your feelings. The more you lean into it, the faster you get through it. And if you need help, consider scheduling a free 30-minute sample session with me for coaching.

Holding On, Letting Go

March 11, 2014emilydownward

For the past six months, I’ve been on a journey, emotionally, spiritually and physically. The ending of my relationship thrust me into the chaos of grief and being uprooted without a home base, and it also sent me into an intense healing period and connecting to myself at an even deeper level. I’ve become more in tune with my spiritual center, and less interested in superficiality. I’ve had to let go of many attachments, to people and things, and I’ve found I can get by on much less stuff than I thought.

When I packed a couple suitcases in September, I had no idea it would be six months before I discovered and decided where I wanted to live, found a place, and recollected my things from storage. I guess I could have sped up the process – with my work being virtual, I can live and work from anywhere with good internet and phone service – but I wanted to allow myself time to grieve and not make a hasty decision, to not make a quick decision out of fear and uncertainty but to allow the time to regain my peace and choose wisely.

It hasn’t been easy. Even with all the coaching tools and knowledge, it’s still difficult to let go sometimes. I cling to old ideas of who I thought I was, how I thought my dreams would look, and my heart still wants some of those dreams. I’ve had to grieve the loss and tease out the parts of my dreams that I can hold on to, and those I have to surrender. I still get to keep the essence of the dream, but I know it won’t look like I thought it would. I’m choosing to believe it will look even better than I thought, even though that is currently an exercise in faith.

Trying to hold on is painful – it’s impossible to succeed and it’s painful. The pain for me manifests physically, and I’ve been dealing with some extreme physical pains lately – an indication that the letting go is a process, and I’m still working on allowing it.

I listened to a guided meditation recently that included this phrase: “It all melts away…all that doesn’t serve.” I liked it – I liked it enough to open my eyes and write it down before resuming the meditation! It makes me feel better about letting go, realizing that those things (people, ideas, or objects) no longer serve me. And it reminds me to focus instead on what DOES serve me. I’ve also found this refocusing helpful when dealing with so much uncertainty – focusing instead on what I am certain about, even if sometimes that’s not much! For example, I can get pretty wound up about being technically homeless, or I can give thanks for the friends and family who have graciously invited me into their homes and to their tables. I can recognize that I have a roof over my head, somewhere to sleep, food in my belly. And, I can remember that having always moved around and travelled (being, as my Auntie Norma calls me, a gypsy at heart), I am always at home in my body, wherever on the earth that happens to be. Focusing on the certainties helps me relax, even if just a bit, and that enables access to the creative parts of my brain, allowing me to come up with solutions and ideas.

Many people I know, friends and clients and colleagues, are also dealing with incredible changes and losses. If you are experiencing massive changes and letting go, I encourage you to focus inwardly, find your inner peace – the part of you that is always okay, always perfect. Some may call this the soul or the spirit or your essential self. Connect with that part as often as you can and allow yourself time and space to grieve, feeling your emotions and allowing them to wash through you. Find the essence of your dreams, those pieces you can keep, and let go of the rest. In letting go of those things you try to grasp in your hands, you open your hands to receive something new.

Living in the Moment

November 7, 2013emilydownward

In the past couple months, my whole life has been turned upside down. Some might say everything fell apart; it could be that it’s falling together. I have become very aware that none of it is in my control, other than how I choose to react to it. I’ve been utilizing my coaching skills and my family, friends and extended network of coaches and energy healers to lean on. I wanted to take this opportunity to deal with this crisis differently than I ever have before.

What that looks like was first, allowing myself to feel all my emotions. There were lots of tears. I also experimented with meditation using mantras, Trauma Releasing Exercises, and Emotional Freedom Technique. All were very helpful, particularly in the most intense times where I felt like I was drowning in the powerful emotions I was feeling. What I didn’t want to do was stuff the feelings. I know stuffing is only a temporary solution, at best, and the energy of those emotions gets channeled in other ways, often causing extreme distress on our bodies.

In the state of extreme emotion and grief, I found I couldn’t make very good decisions, if I could make decisions at all. This is unusual for me, as I’m generally very decisive, but it’s not unusual for grief. My mind still struggles with “figuring it all out.” My thoughts tell me I’ve “had enough time for this grieving sh*t, that it’s time to make moves and DO something.” When I listen to that voice and go through the motions of making plans, I get completely overwhelmed and indecisive. Basically, my heart isn’t ready. Even though my mind thinks it knows best, I’m listening to my heart this time.

Not being able to make big decisions (or even medium-sized ones), I had to take my vision from eagle view down to mouse view. At first, I could only plan day-to-day. I’m now up to week-to-week and moving up to a couple weeks at a time. The only focus for this time is to answer for myself, “What sounds good next?” It may sound too simple, but when you’re in extreme grief, keeping things simple is good. It’s the only thing you can do, really. And when thinking about the long-term decisions gets overwhelming, it’s been extremely comforting to me to bring my attention to the present moment, reminding myself that for today, I have what I need: food, shelter, loved ones, enough money. I have enough for now. This shifts me into a state of gratitude, rather than panic and worry, and it feels so much more peaceful, as well as a better state from which to create a life that I want.

The other critical factor for me during this time period has been reaching out for help. I generally consider myself as someone who is very independent and self-reliant, and I love helping others…I’m not so good at asking for and receiving help. A dear friend and mentor told me in times of grief, we tend to isolate ourselves, when in actuality, it’s the time when we need communities the most. So I have reached out, again and again, and I’ve been given so many gifts of love, friendship, support, from phone calls and emails to shared meals and warm beds to stay in. In losing what I thought was “the love of my life,” I’ve found SO much love in my life. In losing my home, I’m remembering what it’s like to come home to myself, in a soul sense.

I’m still on the journey, still figuring things out as I’m able to, but I can see light on the horizon. The sun is breaking through the clouds of this dark time, and I know that all is well.

Feeling My Way Through

October 25, 2013April 14, 2015emilydownward

Grief is a sneaky little f*&ker. It comes up again just when you thought you were done with it.

Last night I gobbled half a bag of cheddar popcorn before recognizing that I was indeed stuffing something, and it wasn’t just the popcorn. Oh, hello, grief. It’s you again. Damn.

While my logical (read: ridiculous) brain thinks I should be “done with this already!” I’m doing things a bit differently than I have before. And that means just letting the feelings have their moment, even if those feelings are quite uncomfortable. I’m by myself in a remote cabin in the woods, so there’s no one to hear the ugly cries, but still my first reaction is to resist. And stuff with popcorn.

I put the popcorn down and grabbed a handkerchief and let myself cry. And you know what? I didn’t cry for that long…maybe 15 minutes. And then I took a bath and washed all that unreturned love down the drain. I reclaimed my energy for myself and imagined cutting all the cords that had connected me to that other person. I remembered that I am always surrounded by love.

So I may not be through with grief…it may rear its ugly head again. I may be sitting in a coffee shop with a friend, or listening to the radio, or just remember something that brings back the lump in my throat and the tears to my eyes. As Elizabeth Lesser writes in Broken Open, “our grief is proof of how much we have loved.” And I am proud of my capacity to love.

I’m not Fine (And You Might Not Be Either)

September 25, 2013emilydownward

“Hi! How are you?”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“Fine. Nice seeing you!”

How many times do we have this type of conversation with people in our lives? It is appallingly shallow and so common and pervasive that it seems normal. But does that make it right? I recently learned this quote from Thomas Payne: “A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right.”

As I’m going through a major transformation in my life – it makes every earlier transition period in my life seem inconsequential – I am finding I have no energy for the superficial. I have become much more protective of what I spend my time and energy on, as it is critical for me at this time. I hope I can keep this clarity and conviction to maintain healthy boundaries and doing what is right for me (not at the expense or detriment of anyone else), as it feels like I am honoring my soul or my essential self more than ever before.

I’m reading the book Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser, “how difficult times can help us grow.” In the first section, she talks about her years of study and experience in personal growth, both individually and as co-founder of the Omega Institute. She refers to the Sufi poet Rumi’s idea of the Open Secret – that each of us hides from others that we are human, that we stumble and fall, that we are afraid and grieve what we’ve lost, dreams and people. When we hide it all from others, they go away and think, “How does she do it all? How come she has it all together? What’s wrong with me?” The irony is that we are all hiding the same secret, making it not such a secret after all. And when you can open the door on your secret, you make it safe for another to open, too.

As my heart is broken open and seemingly bleeding all over the place, I can’t hold it in, so I’m not trying. When I encounter a dear friend or sister or even my caring dental hygienist yesterday who asks, “How are you?” I may begin to tear up or cry. Because truly, that’s often how I am right now: sad, broken-hearted. Most people have been loving and supportive and offer what words or gestures they can of consoling and hope. But others are so uncomfortable. I am not attached to their reaction, which is new for me, but perhaps it’s because I have enough to take care of myself right now. I find it fascinating that MY willingness to share my emotions and feelings makes THEM uncomfortable.

How much life do we waste not truly connecting with others?

Granted, huge caveat here, you need to be careful whom you choose to be vulnerable with. I have learned through trial and error that some people cannot be trusted and may hurt you. I’m choosing to see that as a learning for me, to be more discerning in the future, but not to shut down. Because shutting your heart off, to protect yourself from the pain, also shuts you off from true connection and deep love. And that’s not a bargain I’m willing to make.

And the gifts from being open, from admitting your humanness, are amazing. To be truly seen and acknowledged, just as I am, gives more freedom and security than I’ve ever felt. Freedom to just be, just as I am, and security knowing that even in my broken humanness, I am accepted and loved. I am not alone. And that gives me strength to keep going.

The Messy Side of Becoming

June 12, 2013emilydownward

[My lovely teacher Martha Beck developed the Cycle of Change model that describes the process we go through with any major change. It begins with Square One: Death & Rebirth. I’ve been experiencing a lot of major change this year and getting intimately familiar with Square One. I thought I’d share my experience in hopes it sheds a little light for someone else.]

I think what’s so hard about Square 1 is the Death part. I have some friends who beautifully model a graceful embracing of death and dying. I value that quality and thought I was making strides towards that, but there’s this petulant part of me that is more like child that doesn’t want to go to sleep and miss something. I cling to who I once was, or what I thought I was, or, more aptly, my old way of thinking. The kicker is, even if I didn’t really completely like everything about who I once was, I still cling to it all just because of its familiarity, rather than seeing this as an opportunity to jettison those parts that weren’t working and create something new that fits better.

Logically, I know that death is a part of life, and that it’s the natural order and cycle of things. But emotionally, I struggle with the grief, fear, sadness, and anger. I fear the feelings will be permanent, so I resist them (thereby prolonging them, ironically). I try to mask my feelings, pretending everything’s fine, which takes so much more energy and creates dissonance inside me as my heart yearns to speak the truth. I dip my toe into the feelings and feel nearly overwhelmed by the undertow, so I quickly jump back on to the shore of resistance. There I am, clinging to the sand as the waves are sweeping it out of my clenched fists anyway. It’s painful to hold on, but I’m more afraid of letting go. But at some point, the pain gets to be too much, and I feel like quitting, giving up. “What’s the point of it all?” I feel like screaming.

Still petulant, I say to the Universe, “Fine! I give up!” and I let go. I let go of everything. I let go of my ideas and my dreams of who I thought I was and what I wanted so badly, and I let go of the pain of trying to be okay. I fall into the depths of my emotion. Falling, falling, I relax and let it carry me down. But then, I’m not down. There’s peace. Glorious peace that feels like a balm of contentment. Having finally let go, I can see new possibilities. I have so many more options than just the one I was clinging to. And I don’t have to let go of my dreams, it’s just the plans I had to get there that have changed.

I can see light again, the calm after the storm. And it feels so sweet. Still scary, as I navigate new territory that I haven’t been through before. I feel as vulnerable as a crab that’s just outgrown its shell, having split the old shelter and crawled my way out, I find that my new self is tender and exposed. But also hopeful. And I know the contrast between the storm and the peaceful aftermath are what make it so sweet, even though I wish I could bypass the storm altogether. (Maybe next time? Nah, probably not.)

Catalytic Events

April 17, 2013emilydownward

Early on in my career, I had the privilege of working with a sassy, sweet and inspiring group of breast cancer survivors. Coming in at the age of 22 with my freshly printed college degree, I was hired to manage a group of volunteers who ranged in age from 35 to 65. Thankfully I had the presence of mind to listen more than I talked, as they had so much wisdom to share. Over time, I heard each of their personal stories, as well as hundreds of stories from women who called in to our helpline. A cancer diagnosis is one of the most shocking and dreaded things to hear, and yet, there was a remarkable beauty in how each woman chose to live her life and what meaning they gave their cancer diagnosis. It can be the worst thing that can happen to you, or, as many of them would tell me, it can be the best thing that ever happened to you. It gave them the opportunity to take stock of what was working for them – in jobs and relationships – and what wasn’t.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about catalytic events – those occurrences in our lives that knock us off our feet, take the wind out of our sails, and cause us to redefine who we are and how we think. Catalytic events come in three types: shock, opportunity and transition. Shock and opportunity are pretty self-explanatory and arrive unexpectedly. Transition events come from within, often beginning as a slight inner dissonance that grows and becomes impossible to ignore. All types of catalytic events send us into a period of death and rebirth, as we grieve what we were, or how we once defined ourselves, and give birth to a new, redefined version of ourselves.

I’ve been going through a few catalytic events simultaneously in my life recently, all of the opportunity variety. I am thoroughly grateful for these opportunities, so I have struggled a bit to allow myself the accompanying grief. It took a loving friend-coach pointing out to me that I was ignoring my grief. I then realized I was avoiding it, afraid of the depth of the sadness.

Catalytic events bring up our issues, and I’m finding that although I’ve done a lot of personal work on my issues already, there’s still a little more to work through. What I thought was a banana is now looking like an onion, as I peel off one layer to uncover yet another. Martha Beck teaches her coaches to “live it to give it.” So I will continue to peel away the layers, exposing the limiting beliefs in my mind and creating new ones that will serve me better (hint: they are more kind and empowering).

If you are grieving, and if you, like me, tend to want to avoid that, remember that pretending to be happy or to not feel what you’re feeling only prolongs the process. Allowing yourself to feel it, although it seems unpleasant, is the quickest way through. Resisting the feelings only makes them persist longer.

Faithful Friend

April 10, 2012emilydownward

“The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.” – Dr. Brené Brown

The past month has been difficult for me, and I just couldn’t write about it before now. At the beginning of March, my 18-year-old cat Sabrina was euthanized. She had been with me basically all my adult life. I got her when she was 6 weeks old during my senior year of college. I saw her the day she was born, as my college boyfriend’s cat was her mom. Of the litter, Sabrina picked me, coming to sit on my lap and claiming me as hers.

She was my “little love,” and was with me through some of the most difficult transitions in my life: divorces, break-ups, cross-town and cross-country moves. She was my constant, my steady companion, providing me with so much love and affection.

I’ve struggled with my grief, wanting it to be over already. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of feeling sad and expecting to see her when I come home. I’m tired of missing her, tired of feeling the ache and emptiness in my heart when I think how she’s not here to sit beside me. Tired of not being able to sleep because her absence is still so acute.

I’ve tried to rationalize with myself. I know she had a really long life, and I am grateful for it. I know the last year in particular was difficult for her, and her health had deteriorated so much. I don’t feel guilty for euthanizing her. It was time. I never wanted her to suffer, and although I treated her conditions to keep her comfortable and functioning as optimally as possible, I didn’t want to do extreme measures just to keep her alive. Her body was just shutting down, unable to keep going.

But all the rationalization doesn’t diminish the pain of the loss. And as much as I want to push it aside, get over it already, or pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does, it’s still there. And I know that disconnecting from my sad feelings also disconnects me from all feelings. You can’t shut down just some.

I know in time, it will feel less acute. I know her leaving has left an opening for something new to come in. I know she’s at peace, free from her declining and painful body. I know we had something special, a bond that changed me, and her memory will always live in my heart.

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” – Mother Teresa

Surprise Grief

October 26, 2011emilydownward

Foggy Manhattan — View of Manhattan from Statue of Liberty

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another.”

– Anatole France

Even so called “good” changes mean saying goodbye to what was. When I was recruited up to New York City and left Dallas, I felt conflicting emotions. It was an amazing opportunity, and I was thrilled, nervous, excited and couldn’t wait to experience everything NYC had to offer. At the same time, I was leaving behind some amazing friends, moving hundreds of miles away from my family, TexMex food and everything familiar.

The grief — although I didn’t really recognize it as such at the time — came in waves. Sometimes I would just need to cry. Other times I felt it helpful to walk, especially down by the Hudson River. I find water to be very calming and restorative. I often found myself looking for a familiar face in the crowd, thinking I recognized someone, only to realize the person I was looking at just slightly resembled someone from my previous life in Dallas.

It was a difficult transition, but one I’m glad I did. Over time, it got easier. The tears for what I left behind ended, and I made new connections. And of course, there were fantastic experiences that I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t been in NYC. I learned so much about myself, became much more independent and comfortable in different situations, and met many interesting people.

If you are facing a new beginning, or saying goodbye to a situation, relationship or job, I invite you to be gentle with yourself. Allow the grief, even along with the excitement and hope of new possibilities. As Richard Bach said, “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”