Grieving Your 2020 Losses

What did you lose in 2020? Everyone lost something or someone in 2020. Every…single…person experienced loss. When reading those words, do you feel a twinge of pain? Or, does your hurt feel like a waterfall of intense emotion?

For some, the losses that were experienced in the last twelve months were significant. Maybe there was a loss of a job. Maybe it was the loss of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Or, maybe you suffered the loss of a loved one. For others, the loss didn’t seem as devastating compared to others, but none-the-less, it caused deep sadness. And for many, there were multiple losses. The hits kept on coming. One after another they came crashing in like the roaring waves hitting the shoreline.

When you think about what COVID-19 took from you, how did you react to that loss? Were you vocal? Did you weep? Did you find yourself grieving deeply in the presence of others? Or, did you diminish and hide your pain because you didn’t feel as if it counted since it wasn’t as bad as…(insert that really horrific loss here)?

I consider myself to be a stoic. I am a first responder, which is a male-dominated profession, and the mentality of our profession is to, ‘suck it up.’ It’s ironic to be in this position since I am also a chaplain and need to show a certain level of compassion to those who are suffering. I can certainly dole out the well-wishes, kindness, and care, but not to myself. In 2020, I was most definitely the one who stuffed the pain of my losses down into the bottom of my proverbial emotional trunk. In the beginning, my losses seemed trivial. Speaking and teaching engagements were canceled. Time I had set aside to start writing a book gave way to hours upon hours of emergency management and first responder work. Vacations were crossed out. A job was lost. But, I could handle it. It’s fine, I would say to myself, over, and over, and over again. I said it so much that I convinced myself that my losses weren’t really that big of a deal. But, in reality, they were a big deal.

As a first responder and a chaplain, I spent many hours comforting individuals that were in a great deal of distress because of things, experiences, or people that were taken away because of the pandemic. I listened intently. I spoke words of comfort that I meant wholeheartedly. I served and gave to others in an attempt to ease their pain. But, when it came to myself, I was brutal. I berated myself for thinking that what I was experiencing was just as bad as my friend who lost their parents. I compared my pain to the pain of others, and mine never measured up. Most of the time, as the familiar bubble of grief began to surface, I would quickly shove it back down. I got so good at it, that I could bury the feeling as quickly as I could take a breath in. Even when a very dear friend died suddenly, I didn’t allow myself to grieve for very long because I didn’t feel like his loss was mine to grieve. And, I did it again when my best friend’s mother died. She was like a second mother to me, but I fought off the waves of grief and sadness. I told myself that that kind of grief is reserved for family members, not friends. And, I eventually believed it.

It’s incredibly painful for me to share this publicly. I carry a lot of shame because of it. I would be horrified if I knew that a friend or loved one treated themselves or another the way I treated myself. As a chaplain, I would not allow a victim that I worked with to even utter words that sounded self-deprecating, blamed themself, or they were demeaning about their pain. But for me? I didn’t afford myself that same level of care and compassion. Does it come with having a stoic personality? Did I learn how to stuff my emotions because of childhood experiences? Do I show less compassion to myself because that is what we are supposed to do as firefighters and medics? It’s probably all of the above, but it’s no less damaging.

I share this very vulnerable aspect of my life because I know that there are many others that share a similar story. Maybe they are first responders. Maybe they aren’t. But, at the end of the day…or the end of a very terrible year, titles and personality types don’t matter. What matters is that we are all human beings that were given emotions to experience. We are all entitled to feel them, sit with them for a while, process them, and then feel them again if we need to. A title, a position, a profession, or even a personality type does not exempt an individual from having a human reaction to a human experience. It doesn’t matter if the loss was considered big or small in the eyes of the general population. What matters is, if ‘it’ was taken from you and it brings you feelings of sadness, then you have every right to mourn that loss. Your losses matter too. They do.

Whether you cried a river of tears during 2020, or you stuffed your tears into the furthest recesses of your mind, I encourage you to take some time to think deeply about the experiences that brought you pain. I encourage you to mull over and ponder the losses you endured. Sit in the suffering for a while. Feel the feelings. And do what you need to do in order to grieve in such a way that the memories of your loss won’t haunt you unexpectedly in the years to come. Grief that has not been processed can show up as bitterness, anger, rage, depression, anxiety, and health problems to name a few.

Here are some of the ways you can work through your losses:

1. Seek professional care through counseling

2. Talk with a pastor or a spiritual director

3. Engage with a support group

4. Reach out to an empathetic peer

5. Work on engaging with others instead of withdrawing

6. Read vetted books or articles that can provide guidance, comfort, or resources

7. Invest in your physical health by getting medical care that you have been putting off

8. Use a hobby or other positive, healthy activity to help work through your grief

9. Serve others by volunteering

10. Keep both a gratitude journal and a loss journal. If you aren’t good with words, cut out pictures from magazines, or print off pictures from the internet that visually express your feelings and glue them into a blank sketchbook. Or, draw your feelings. Who cares if it looks good or not?

11. Sit and be silent with your feelings. Welcome them and then let them be present for awhile. Experience them and then let them go.

Remember, you matter too. Your experiences matter. Your hurt and your pain matter. I have replaced my self-condemnation talk with words that I would say to a person that I am ministering to. You can do that too and you will eventually believe that you have the right to be sad, angry, disappointed, or discouraged. You matter. Your feelings matter. As soon as you start to say that to yourself and believe it, the better you will start to feel. I promise.