Very often in my articles, I talk about the need to grieve the childhood you didn’t and won’t have.
I talk about how this grieving stage is necessary and a fundamental step for anyone on a healing journey from a relational trauma history.
But what does it mean – actually mean – to actively grieve your past?
How do we make this abstract concept tangible and practical so that we can better engage in this process?
Why is it important to actively grieve my past?
“But pain’s like water. It finds a way to push through any seal. There’s no way to stop it. Sometimes you have to let yourself sink inside of it before you can learn how to swim to the surface.” ― Katie Kacvinsky
Grief is, I believe, the innate emotional process we as humans have to help us heal from the inherent losses that come along with being human.
It’s the pathway through our suffering (which is inevitable in this human condition).
It’s the body and brain’s natural and intuitive way of shepherding ourselves through heartbreak and anguish that, at times, seems like it might destroy us.
Why is it important to actively grieve our past?
Because that’s the pathway through the pain into a future that might feel better.
Because if we don’t, we run the risk of staying in our suffering, in our anguish longer.
Abstract grief and loss count as much as tangible grief and loss.
“Honey, you’re a survivor. No shame in that. Your daddy hurt you something fierce. Life hurt you. Lies are one of the easiest places for survivors to run. They give you a sense of safety, a place where you have to depend only on yourself. But it’s a dark place, isn’t it?” – William P. Young
Often in my work, I’ll witness people rejecting the idea that they get to grieve their past and dismissing the idea that they get to mourn their childhood.
“It’s not like my best friend died. My childhood was bad, sure, but it doesn’t mean I get to be sad about it. It’s pathetic to feel sad about something I can’t change that happened so long ago.”
I firmly and strongly believe that abstract and intangible losses – like a childhood we never got to have, or the end of freedoms we enjoyed before becoming parents, or the passing of time and life paths you didn’t take – count as much as any concrete losses we might experience (such as the death of a loved one).
Loss is loss.
No one gets to define what kind of loss is more important and “counts” more than another.
