Although I grieved for a long time, over a year, it was accepted as a normal part of life. I was never asked, “Aren’t you finished grieving yet?” Rather, they would say, “have you grieved enough? Have you cried enough?” -Sobonfu Somé This year marks 25 years since my father died. My father got sick when I was a senior in high school and died the year after I graduated college. It was the crucible my adulthood was forged in.
Grief became something of a curiosity (special interest) for me. From that moment on, the only certainty of life I knew was that some time, some way, I would feel this complicated, complex, compounded set of emotions again and again. For 30 years I have been actively dancing with grief. Mystified and humbled by it, I go to bed every night acutely aware of its possibility, and wake up every day with it as my companion. Because what I know of grief is that while it may shift and lessen in intensity, it is there just below the surface, and one little scratch brings it back. The other day I got a message from a client asking me to remind them how to move through heavy grief. I am always humbled, honored, and deeply compassionate with a request for healing grief. It is probably one of the most complicated, complex, bewildering emotions that humans face. Grief is a visceral, physical, heart- and head-hurting experience. When we are in it, most of us wonder how to get out of it. We want it to end. We put a time frame on it and think that once it is over, we can go back to living as we once did. But as you know, there really is no going back. Grief is a tender time to lean into what soothes, while making space for the painful and uncomfortable. So how do I move through heavy grief? I give it time to be. I give it much more time than I “think” it should need (and what our society deems acceptable). I give grief space. Space to be present. Space to talk about it, to cry, to yell, to sleep, to comfort eat, or to not eat at all. I give myself permission for anything that brings some comfort and feels like what my body wants to do - or not do. I honor my body’s wishes. What I don’t do is ignore it. On grief anniversaries, I plan for them - I take the day off and let my loved ones know I may be "in a mood." I give myself space and time to tend to my emotions. I lean into memories (I can remember everything about the day before and the days after my dad died, and I let myself remember them). And when the grief anniversary is tied to a person, I celebrate them - my dad loved shopping and eating ice cream, so that is what I do on his day. There is no quick way to get out of grief. And getting out of it isn’t really an option. It becomes a dance partner who at first makes you feel awkward and raw. Slowly it morphs into a partner who one moment is filled with the grace of life, and the next is stepping on your toes and dropping you to the ground. It’s the most human dance of all. I wish that grief would never visit any of us. But as the saying goes, “grief is the price we pay for love,” and my greatest wish is that we each know love. So my prayer is that when we find ourselves in grief, we may feel the gentle holding of the earth and be companioned by those who carry the medicine of time and space. Sincerely, Valerie
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The official start to winter in the northern hemisphere is today. Winter Solstice is an invitation to touch into the natural world, to reset ourselves to our own natural rhythm, and align with the larger natural cycles. With all of the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, and the demands of the external world, the solstice in its cover of darkness is a brief moment to move inward. This time of year often highlights for me the fragility of life. The year has moved too quickly even with all of its challenges and setbacks and I find myself grasping for a bit more time.
When the light first begins to fade in the fall we hunger for its return. That seeking light can hinder us from fully embracing the opportunity to sink into the rich depths of our being-ness. So much this year I have thought of the tenderness of life - the temporary-ness of those I love and care for and my own impermanence. Grief, in all its forms, is a part of living - and I want to honor this part - give it room at the table - with all the other states of life. The fragility of life feels so heightened with the trees naked and the earth bare. The natural world feels less chaotic and noisy than when everything is in full bloom – a stark contrast to our busy season of celebration. The natural world is more vulnerable and open and the question arises, “when do we strip down the way the earth does?” Truly exposed, tender, not for sex or cleansing, or the voyeuristic gaze but for the witness who sees us clearly and truly and looks in awe? Do we look at nature in her winter with awe? If not her - certainly we don’t look at each other in our winters. And if we do - then quickly we try to turn each other into spring or summer, rushing the cycle along. I realize this is an unconventional holiday message – and I really want to be the girl that only writes about rainbows and unicorns, but then I would be the naked tree with fake leaves instead of lights for decorations. I hope you will join me this holiday season to celebrate what makes you YOU. What are your true decorations? What is the Truth that resides in your heart at this moment of wintering? Honor it. So that we may witness its beauty. My solstice blessing for you is a bit of time to reconnect with your natural self, a remembering that darkness is fertile and healing when it is pure and calm, and companionship that can hold your spring and winters. Many Solstice Blessings! ![]()
Today would be my father’s 77th birthday. Each year on this day I celebrate what he loved in life – so this year it his favorite comfort food and shopping. I think of my dad often – especially during the time he was very sick. This was a time of huge growth and learning for me. In honor of this day, I would like to share a turning point during his illness that put me on a path that I never expected.
There are moments in a life that seem so small, yet have a huge impact on our life trajectory. For me one of these turning points has been a focus of reflection for many months as I explore where my life has taken me and where I hope to go. What follows is one of these moments. |
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