Beginnings and Endings
New beginnings come with endings, and vice versa. But in the West we are taught only to focus on the beginnings, so when the inevitable grief and sadness that accompanies loss hits us we find ourselves confused and unable to cope.
Clients often ask me what they need to do to “get over” their emotions. I’m always struck by this question. This concept of “getting over something,” the avoidance of feeling discomfort, seems to be the go-to response. My answer is always the same: the only way through is to allow ourselves to feel the emotions, to slow down, breathe, and observe.
The more we slow down, the more we connect to the uncomfortable feelings. This is the key. We don’t turn away from the discomfort but breathe into it gently and notice the judgments and critical thoughts that flood in. We notice the part of us that wants to avoid, to distract, and see if we can strike a balance between the observing part and the distracting part. Being distracted is okay but we must be aware that we’re distracted and gently invite ourselves back to being with what is present. Allow ourselves to feel into the discomfort.
Somewhere along the line, many of us took on the idea that we can’t handle discomfort or displeasure, that emotions such as sadness, fear, and grief are not just difficult but fatal. It’s a fiction. And every time we have the courage to face the hard feeling and breathe through it, we grow in understanding of its temporary nature. We learn to trust it as an organic necessity on the path to the wisdom of self.
With every beginning there is an ending. It is the only way we are able consciously to shed the skin we have outgrown and step into a new way of embodying ourselves. I recently got married. It was epic. It was beautiful. It was a conscious ritual between my partner and me that we spent months planning, writing, envisioning, and bringing to life.
I was surprised to find on the other side an intense feeling of loss, of being unmoored. I felt like I was floating in a bay, listless and unmotivated. I started questioning everything, questioning myself. My partner went away for a week, and for the first time in nine months I had the apartment to myself. Completely alone, I suddenly found myself plunged deeply into uncomfortable feelings that were causing me to be irritated and impatient with myself, with those around me, with life.
Once these anxieties felt less overwhelming, I was face to face with my discomfort. It was brutal to realize suddenly that I was grieving. I had traveled full circle from the year before, when my partner and I separated (we thought permanently) because he did not want to commit to having children. Soon thereafter, we came back together and moved forward into a future as partners.
Now, nine months later, I was sitting in completion of everything that had happened. I had crossed a threshold and begun my new reality. I realized there was a part of me grieving the loss of the me without a partner, the life that was created around being single, the space that I had. I was grieving the single version of me that still exists but no longer has the dominant role in my psyche. I am now a life partner, a wife, a mother — all new identities. I realized I needed to grieve to create space for these new roles.
This revelation was big. It didn’t mean that suddenly I felt better and the listlessness had been banished. There were too many more layers to peel. But I had started the process of grieving the loss of a life that I cherished even as I was celebrating the blossoming of a new one.
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