On Grief and Comfort, Trauma and Allyship
Grief isn’t meant to be shared. But comfort is.” Chairperson Rainwater (Yellowstone). As with #grief, so also with racialized trauma, #inclusion and #belonging, and #wellbeing.
When my mother died this summer, I immediately went into “do” mode. It’s my default in a crisis. It’s why I am a good war time chief. Laser focused on what needed to be done, I whipped out lists, broke lists into tasks, and planned. This “do” mode-first is also what can get in the way of connection with self in the moment and others also suffering.
In the days after my mother died my team seemed perplexed. They kept saying, “you shouldn’t be working” or “we’ve got things handled. Take time off.” Except work gave me consistency, something to do in the hours not dedicated to getting my passport situated, getting visas, finding flight tickets, coordinating details with family across continents. I didn’t work because I felt I had to in the days immediately after. Consistency helps when you need to make sense of the world, though.
The phone rang a lot. I didn’t take calls. Many, many kept calling and calling. They wanted to give condolences. I didn’t want to talk. So I texted and said I wasn’t in a place to talk. Cultural differences showed up. My African family called often. My American friends texted and said, “you don’t have to respond or call me. Just checking on you.”
How we grieve is very individual. So is how we respond to trauma and aggression. This blog is not so much about grief and death as it is about what it looks like to stand alongside others, to make space for them. We have to engage with empathy and curiosity to have better relationships, teams, workplaces and communities.
Whether in response to death, workplace microaggressions, traumatic incidents of systemic racism like the murder of George Floyd, erosion of well-being due to burn out or toxic stress, some things remain true:
Check in on people. And don’t intrude. You have no entitlement to the grief of others. You may even be in the grief circle but further out from the center. This is a time where respecting boundaries will be important. Boundaries are about what a person feels is okay and not okay, as Brene Brown describes it. And as Prentiss Hemphill defines it, boundaries are the distance at which I can love me and you simultaneously. We do not get to define the boundaries of others, we respect them.
Be present. People called, people wrote, and back home people showed up everyday all day at the house (Lord have mercy, that was too much for me (not others)). The pros of these visits all day every day, however, is you don’t feel abandoned. A friend I grew up with made a great point. She said the wonderful thing about how we (West Africans) treat death is we do not give you space to be alone, spiraling with no one noticing. There is truth in this. People brought food. People donated towards expenses which is a part of our culture. They came and some sat quietly while others engaged in conversation. On the other hand, I personally wanted more space. And friends who checked in quietly via texts or notes didn’t leave me feeling abandoned. Those friends made it clear there was no pressure to respond unless I wanted to.
Don’t center yourself. It’s not about you. Defer to the person grieving on what they want, or support the person aggressed the way they want. Don’t compare how you coped or handled something you THINK is similar. Ugly things happen sometimes with death. People argue about all kinds of details and some things are ridiculous to me. At the core, ask whether what is about to come out of your mouth centers and prioritizes the persons most affected before you say it.
After George Floyd was murdered, many organizations began awareness programs on racism and specifically anti-Black racism. It didn't take long for the commitment to facing anti-Black racism with “why are we not talking about gender? About LGBTQ+ oppression?” After Buffalo, someone said to me, “Not only Black people were impacted by this.” Well, no sh_t. Of course, all kinds of people were impacted. But after Buffalo, Black folx hurt differently, after Uvalde parents hurt differently, after Atlanta, Asian Americans hurt differently. It is important to acknowledge this, to acknowledge proximity to grief, trauma, and crisis differs.
Recognize diversity. We each react to trauma, stress, health challenges and death differently. And that’s okay. This is how humanity is designed — with diversity. There isn’t a universal response book that dictates what is right and wrong. I have seen people judged for their responses to everything under the moon - miscarriages, death, stress, racial trauma, racism/sexism/homophobia/you-name-it. There is a stunning arrogance in judging how we each deal with things that can shift a person so deeply because it assumes our way is a yardstick.
Be people centric. I remember who prioritized me as a human being over work — when I lost my baby, when the economic crisis happened over a decade ago and my billable hours dropped, when I became a new mom and didn’t need reduced hours but rather flexibility, when I have been impacted by racialized trauma, and when my mother died and I had to return to a country I hadn’t been to in 29 years and not to celebrate but to bury someone who had not had her entire family under one room in 30+ years. I also remember those who didn’t. The universal lesson is #people people > than “productivity. Centering people = loyalty and increased morale, productivity and belonging.
Allies bring comfort. Allies stand around you, they have your back, they speak when you can’t AND want them to. In times of crisis, those who stand in the gap for us and with us remain in special places in our souls and spirits and minds.
You are not the expert. Don’t purport to be an expert on the experiences of others. Which leads me to empathy.
Lead with empathy. When I gave my TEDx, one of the things I said when discussing empathy is that “you can’t be empathetic when you are busy telling people how to feel.” Too often we speak instead of listening. We substitute what we think we know instead of being curious about the other person’s experience. We try to fill in the space instead of just holding the space. When we confuse sympathy for empathy, or confuse sharing our experiences for empathy we not only miss the mark but we risk causing harm.
In the end, each day, each hour, each moment gives us an opportunity to grow. We get to choose who we will be. Grief and trauma are realities of our world. They come in small packages and in big storms. And when we have a choice on how to respond, may we choose to be the best kind of human and share comfort.