Loss, Compassion, Community

One more post before I get back to work.

I've got at least one more big piece of news, and it's sad, so brace yourself. My wife and I have been trying to get pregnant (I always find it a little odd saying that, we're trying, but it's her who's getting pregnant. Still, it seems even more off to talk about her as separate from me, as we're in this endeavor together.)

Anyways, she just had a, I don't know if you call it a miscarriage technically, but basically that's what it is. A non-viable pregnancy. The embryo (not sure if that's the right word for it's current development. Zygote?) stopped developing somewhere around 5-6 weeks, they say usually that's because something is wrong with the genetics, and the body realizes it's not going to be a viable birth. But it's still in there, so they have to get the body to pass it out so we can try again. It's painful physically and emotionally, and has been really hard on her, but she feels strongly that she doesn't want to hide it. The pressure to hide miscarriages, like they are a shameful thing, just serves to isolate the people who most need support, when they most need it, and give it the air of something abnormal, when it's really quite common. It was helpful for her to talk with friends who have also gone through similar things, to normalize it somewhat and feel less alone, and she doesn't want me to hide it, so I'm sharing about it, since it is certainly one of the biggest things going on in my life. At the moment, the biggest.

Because this is the kind of thing that people call to offer condolences or such about, I want to talk a bit about grief, and morning, and how people respond to and try and support others going through that.

I think in our culture, we are often either afraid of people who have suffered a loss, and thus hide from them, because we are (perhaps rightly) afraid that we don't know what to do to comfort them. Or we burden them, making gestures that are about making us feel better, rather than about what they actually want or need. We try to give them unwelcome advice, or tell them to cheer up, because we are uncomfortable just sitting with them in compassion and listening, or being around someone who's sad and maybe crying. 

I should probably include a link to the difference between compassion and sympathy. Here:

https://youtu.be/KZBTYViDPlQ?si=9Z-5kFQb-DB-bIXg

(they talk about it as empathy vs. sympathy, but it's what I mean. Just different vocabulary. This is how you can be there for someone in a way that actually helps.)

In any case, each person's grief is different, and the specifics of what they want and need is different, and so there is an element of figuring out what the person wants and needs, which can be difficult, because they may not know themselves. The things that I often go to, that seem generally positive are: I listen, and I'm present. Basically what the video talks about.

If they are a friend, I try to be a friend for them in the ways I've always been. I let them know I am there for them, that they are not alone, and to call on me if they need anything. I might offer suggestions for how I could support them, if they don't have any ideas and would like some. 

If they are a close friend, then I try to stay in contact more frequently. I think just knowing you're not alone, that you have a community that loves you, is there for you, is one of the simple, big things. And having someone, somewhere, who sees you, understands you, and accepts you, as you are. 

Things I specifically don't do: I don't offer unsolicited advice. I don't judge. I don't suggest they should feel differently. I don't put them in the position of having to comfort me. Honestly, I'm sure I do some of these things sometimes, I'm not perfect. But I avoid them as best I can, because they're the things I wouldn't want. 

Other miscellaneous thoughts: 

I think support for those who have lost something should be like a group hug, with those in the center those who were closest to the loss. They shouldn't have to be supporting those further away. 

Often when people ask "are you ok?" it can feel like them wanting you to comfort them, and is just more burden on the person who's going through a hard time. Don't ask unless it is coming from a good place, meaning, for example, you are ok with the answer being 'no' and you are ready to listen patiently with empathy and acceptance. 

Perhaps this is just born from my own pet peeve about how people ask "how are you" but don't actually want to know. I remember when I decided to answer honestly (this was during my undergraduate degree) and my response was mostly along the lines of "pretty crappy" and people were deeply concerned and I had to spend a bunch of time explaining that this was just my baseline state and everything was normal. I guess what people actually mean when they ask 'how are you?' is 'please confirm you are not in imminent threat of death.' but I guess that's a lot longer and more overtly morbid, though more accurate to the subtext of the question? Except I don't think people actually want to know that either. Maybe a more accurate translation is "please affirm or pretend everything is ok so we can continue with our regularly scripted social interaction" 

Every now and then someone asks "how are you?" and the really mean it, want to know, are ready to celebrate if it's good and hold space with empathy if it's not, and that's magical. But that is sadly uncommon.

anyhoo, that's quite the digression.

The short of it is, I guess, if you're gonna do something for someone who's suffered a loss, just double check: is this to make me feel better, or is this truely for them? Am I offering empathy or sympathy? And make sure they are not alone. Maybe that's you, maybe that's someone else. But we all need our people.

Just my thoughts.

This turned into a longer post (to write, at least) which is probably another reason I don't end up catching up that much in any one session. Eventually I get to a topic that takes a bit more thought.

OK, signing off for today.