Sitting with our Grief: Mental Health Matters

My grandfather died yesterday. He was quite elderly and was battling an aggressive case of cancer, so his death was not unexpected, but it is painful all the same. We had known the end was near for several days and every time my father called I had expected it to be with the sad news.

As a consequence, I have found myself feeling as though my grief were already all poured out and that now I'm drowning under the weight of my guilt for being so stopped up. It reminds me a bit of the emotional equivalent of when I had appendicitis and, after days of agony, finally crawled to my bathroom consumed with the thought that I would feel better if I could just vomit. I don't expect that vomiting would do me much good this time, but I can't help think that I would feel so much better if I could just have a good cry.

Public and private grief

When I was a classics student, I learned about the ways that grief was practiced in Athens during the classical period. In Greece during that period (and other Mediterranean cultures) there were groups moirologists–paid mourners who watched over the body before burial and intesified the lamenting at a funeral with their own (commodified) tears. They would pour dirt over their heads and wail during the procession in a very public display of grief. Plato disparages them in his Laws and St. John Chrysostom denounced "the madness about funerals" completely. St. Augustine was gentler in his reproach, saying that such displays help neither the deceased nor the mourner and that we should instead pray for the repose of the soul. The 2005 BBC/HBO show Rome (which had a classicist on staff) has a moving scene with Servilia of the Junii mourning in the street for days before committing suicide in front of Atia, displaying her grief for all those passing to see. There's something that feels all at once alluring and distressing to me about these displays since they're so foreign to my own experience.

Mourning figures on funerary plaque, black figure, Attic, ca. 520–10. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: 54.11.5

In my family, I perceived grief as being something private and a bit unseemly. Although the word "keening" comes from the traditional lamentation cried by Irish mourners, for us, grief outside of the official mourning practice is unacceptable to overtly express. My uncle died from a brain cancer when he was 12 and, while he was clearly a beloved son and brother, no one could ever bring themselves to talk about him with me in a way that helped me to know him. His pictures on the wall were a source of sorrow and bringing up Uncle Michael was the fastest way to elicit uncomfortable, quickly hidden tears. His illness and death left scars in the fabric of our family that are still rough and painful, even after almost 40 years. I know logically that there are healthier ways to heal, but I've never been much good at actually carrying them out for myself.

My Granddad, my Granny, Rónán, and I when he was just a wee little thing and hadn't yet learned to sass me

My mother's father died last year and finding out about the death took me by surprise. I spent months trying to push down my grief only to have it bubble up at inopportune times. I would burst into tears at Mass, at work, bringing my child home from camp. My grief consumed me for ages and I believe that it was prolonged because I fought so hard to not feel it. I thought that if I just refused to acknowledge my sadness, that I could get on with my life. I kept working, even though I was aware that I was less productive. I kept travelling for work, even though I was less able to tolerate long drives and meetings and just wanted to hold my son close. The entire process of forcing myself to not grieve, looking back, was possibly the most exhausting part of the grieving process.

This time, I'm resolving to allow myself to feel whatever is inside me. I've taken the rest of the week off work and told my supervisors that I may take some time next week as well. (I recognise that this is an economic privilege not accessible for everyone.) I was gentle to myself today and did some gentle crafting that wasn't taxing, but allowed me to feel productive. I looked at pictures of my grandfather and allowed myself to try to feel my grief. I know that I'm still pushing down a lot of my pain, but I hope that giving space for my sadness will help heal my heart.

Getting help is hard

Mental health is widely neglected in the United States and across the world. In countries with poor access to any healthcare (like the United States) accessing mental healthcare is even more challenging. Finding a provider that specialises in what you need, making sure they're "in network" for your insurance provider," getting time off work (or getting childcare) to go to appointments, and paying copays for every visit (mine is $30). All of that is exhausting to negotiate and gets very expensive, particularly if you need longer term care (for something like a postpartum mood disorder, for instance).

Beyond those financial struggles, there's also the stigma surrounding seeing a therapist and for taking medications. We talk about pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps and just pushing through a problem, but that's not sustainable and it's not good public health. We don't tell people with heart disease to just push through without seeing a cardiologist or taking statins and we don't tell the person with diabetes that prayer or a positive attitude is the way to kick their need for insulin. Eye glasses aren't a "crutch" and neither are antidepressants. We need to stop classifying some forms of essential healthcare as less acceptable than others. There's a push in public health to integrate mental health into the primary care setting because it's an essential service that every human needs.

It is not reasonable to demand that we should push through our mental health crises any more than it is reasonable to demand that we push through kidney failure. Neither seeing a therapist nor taking medication is a sign of weakness. Neither is indicative of a moral failing. Just as it is normal and healthy to feel sad about the death of someone we love, it is normal and healthy to seek help when you need it.

If you need help, please reach out to your primary care provider, a friend, a family member, a clergy member, anyone. Please don't let your grief or sadness or anxiety fester and block out the goodness in life. Please don't let it stop you from remembering and celebrating the person you miss. It doesn’t serve anyone to hide away our sorrow. Washington State's Secretary for Health tells us to “bring our whole selves to work,” but first we have to let our whole selves into our lives.