Growing Through Grief
(This story was originally posted on April 11, 2020 on my Instagram Story but I felt it was relevant to share again).
I went out ice fishing yesterday and spent some time with a friend I don’t normally hang out with. When living in a remote, multicultural community on Inuit land, like Iqaluit, you can’t be too selective with your social group, especially when you’re far out on the ice at -30C. She was grateful to have company after spending two weeks in isolation cooped up inside, having just returned from the exciting vacation she’d been planning all year. We took our snowmobiles out across the sea ice, over the black mountains and frozen river to a secluded bay, Nunngaruk.
I zoomed ahead, happy to be where the rules of social distancing couldn’t apply. Yet the friend trailed behind, taking the bumps and icy turns with apprehension. While some others fished at holes in the distance, spaced far out across the surface of the ice, the friend sat in the snow and watched. I sensed that she was vulnerable, but didn’t want to say anything weird or create more tension, so instead I asked about her vacation. She replied with a heavy sigh that so much had changed since she’d return, and with everything going on in this world and on social media, she could barely remember it now. The memories of the peaceful, hot beaches and the hopes of the new life direction she’d been anticipating were all quickly slipping away, only to be replaced with restrictions, unrest and uncertainty. Yet, the only feeling she could describe experiencing now was paralyzing guilt.
Eyes fixed on the rhythmic fishing line bobbing up and down, I asked her why she was feeling so guilty. She explained that compared to the essential workers on the frontlines, those who’d lost their jobs and lives, she thought she should be more grateful for her privileges, and that caused her guilt and shame for not being stronger. While she still had a job and an affordable home, she also yearned to start rebuilding her life, getting on with her routine and wanting to help, yet her body felt like it was shutting down. Despite the never-ending sky ahead of us, all she could see was emptiness in front of her, causing turmoil inside.
I paused, turning my back to shield me from the white sun, and then replied slowly, “no loss is greater or less than another. Loss is just loss. Loss can ignite powerful reactions, yet to rebuild and start moving again, we must first confront these feelings without judgement, and grieve for our losses, no matter how small they seem.” It’s true, that for some carefully laid plans falling apart can feel just as traumatic as losing a loved one, a longterm job, or part of our identity through an Autism diagnosis. The only way to ease and let go of intense feeling of loss is to meaningfully explore them, and in this case she, despite all that was going on in the world, she must first grieve for herself.
While we are being bombarded with news about the pandemic at every moment, we are rarely encouraged to reflect and grieve before reacting. We talk about safety, about pulling together, about preparing for the future, reopening the economy and fighting for change. We aren’t talking about that fact that when any major or minor changes occur, it’s natural for some of us, especially autistic folks or those with a history of trauma, to react by shutting down and that these empty, or indescribable feelings are in fact just manifestations of grief. Trying to force our minds forward without addressing our real emotional needs will only delay the grieving process, or cause our pain to emerge in other, more destructive ways.
Ice fishing at Nunngaruk/Bay of Two Rivers, Nunavut
Throughout my life I did quite a lot of stage acting before discovering standup comedy. There’s a powerful exercise that some theatre ensembles practice right before a play is being cast where each actor writes the part they’d like to perform the most on a piece of paper. Then, all the pieces are placed into a pretend coffin and the cast gathers around in a procession. During the “funeral”, each actor gives a dramatic farewell to their ideal roles. As the top of the coffin is lowered, they say a prayer, followed by a long moment of silence to let their fantasies die. Whatever part they will end up with will be better accepted because the actors have already given up and let go of what might never have happened. The actors are now free to bring to life what is real in front of them and fully contribute to the production in whatever roles they end up with.
Whenever big changes in my life and the world occur, I remember this theatrical practice of letting go and try to apply it to what I am experiencing so that I can better accept the reality. Yes it’s true, that our global system has the opportunity to change for the better, but the only way to do that is for us all to let go of our expectations, that which we have come to know, and allow ourselves to grieve fully.
I told this friend about how as an Autistic person, I have been grieving the loss of my childhood, growing up without a distinct purpose, constantly feeling alienated from my peers and mainstream society. Yet, I am in awe at how beautifully, yet unexpectedly, my life as unfolded today. It was only because I allowed myself to grieve for the person I thought I was that I was better able to grow into the not-so-normal person I am now. And why I am at peace even in this uncertain time in history.
“Goodbye Bibi, the NT-Wannabe!”- Me, to my ND self
The first fish we caught, we held up into the air, allowing her scales to glisten in the dull light of the overcast clouds. The fish flapped frantically in the bitter wind, fighting hard against the line. Then we lowered her back down into the aquamarine water and she disappeared immediately down the tunnel of ice. That fish has felt the pain of the air and will love the river so much more.
In order for us to appreciate where we truly are, we have to say goodbye to where we think we are going and all that we thought we knew. It’s okay to feel lost, it’s okay to be scared, it’s okay to grieve for the life we thought we wanted- those feelings will help us fight for what we truly need and help the system change.
