In the Grief Recovery Method we talk about becoming complete with grief. I like this choice of language. It's not covering up, denying, repressing or hiding. Nor is it wallowing, protracting or indulging. It points to the possibility that there might be an end to the experience of grief. This is counter-cultural and somewhat at odds with our contemporary narrative that grief is a fixed and forever state that we must learn to shape our lives around.
A long time ago, I read a book that I have reflected on in the years since. It contained personal stories written by anthropologists, and one in particular stood out. It was penned by a woman who had been conducting research in Ethiopia when her assistant raped her. The people who came to her aid were those wrapped in dirty gabis (traditional white shawls) who sat on the path outside her room. She had passed them day in, day out without ever really seeing them. They weren't the object of her study, and because of their poverty, went under the radar of her attention. However, they were the individuals who rescued her when her cry went out, and their help opened her eyes to their humanity and exposed her own tunnel vision.
I didn't find myself in sexual danger from the Orthodox deacons who chaperoned and translated my prying questions when I was conducting my own research in rural Ethiopia, but this fellow academic's account bore so many similarities to my own experiences in other regards that I could visualise exactly what she was describing. I had deliberated long about the analytical gaze of a foreigner intending to see the women I was studying in relief from the patriarchal context that obscured their humanity, wondering all along if, by framing my observations in academic jargon, I was actually re-shrouding them and de-humanising them, and by extension myself, in other ways.
A telling piece of research into the way we see another human being was conducted amongst theological students. They were given the task to prepare a talk, some on the story of the Good Samaritan and others on a more neutral topic. They had to cross the campus from the room in which they waited to the venue where they would present, and each was told they were running a little late. An actor dressed as a homeless man, groaned on the path the students had to traverse. What the researchers discovered was that most students, regardless of their topic, ignored the man, some stepping over him to reach their destination. In their haste to recount a story about the spiritual necessity of tending the wounded and seeing the divine humanity in everyone, even the hated Samaritans, they ignored the wounded spread eagled on the concrete in front of them!
What I loathe about this type of psychological research, is that I know for sure I too would have leap frogged over the homeless man. I like to think I have developed some maturity as life has had its way with me, but I can't be certain that even now my prejudices and people-pleasing urges, wouldn't mean I step over a recumbent figure without so much as seeing him, let alone acknowledging his humanity. I've heard Byron Katie say of herself as she's queued at the petrol station, 'I've waited all my life to stand next to this person.' I practice this when I remember. Just noticing who is in my vicinity and acknowledging in my heart that this confluence is as important a part of my life as something I consider more lofty, and in doing so inwardly perceive the humanity of those about me.
This diversion away from the subject of completion is an important detour because the seeing of the whole human being has been essential to my experience of completion after loss.
Another aspect of the anthropologist's account of rape during field research that touched me is that the law compelled her to write under a pseudonym because, in describing her experience, she could be found guilty of libel. I'm in a similar situation in so far as the illegality of writing about an unjudicated crime might usher in proceedings against me and not the perpetrator. Many women find themselves compelled to secrecy – some because certain crimes rarely come to court, some because shame or fear of repercussions within the family create a virtual scold's bridle that is as effective at keeping its victim silent as the iron bridle was in days of yore.
I was recently sharing with a friend a harrowing experience. It has been a defining ordeal of loss for me that unfolded over many years, culminating in a devastating revelation. He asked, 'Are you at peace with this?' and I could honestly reply, 'yes'. This state of completion has arisen because the tools of the Grief Recovery Method allowed me first to examine carefully what was incomplete and then to take the right action to bring wholeness to the relationship and restore my heart to peace.
While grief is the conflicting feelings that arise in the face of loss, incompletion relates to the things that we wish had been different, better or more. In this instance, panic, fear, disgust, terror, sadness, anger, regret and hatred ripped my heart apart. There was love in the mix too but the confusion was so intense, I couldn't find it. I was in the Devil's Teacup at some satanic fairground spinning with such velocity that I barely knew who I was anymore. The intensity of grief when it's first unleashed can be overwhelming. It's visceral and raw one minute, and numbing and zombifying the next. The magnitude of my distress meant that all I wanted was for it not to have happened. The methodical nature of the Grief Recovery programme meant that even in a state of extreme distress, I could identify with more clarity what I wish had been different, better or more, gently teasing apart what related directly to my adversary and putting aside that which concerned the behaviour of other people who contributed to the situation. I'm not writing under a pseudonym, so I won't say anything more specific than this, but I was able to hone in on the experience with laser precision and produce a list of things for which I needed to offer forgiveness and things for which I needed to apologise.
In the context of the Grief Recovery Method, these communications are shared within the safe space of the programme. In the immediate aftermath of this activity, I noticed that I felt lighter, I had stopped crying all the time, I had climbed off the crazy-making fair ground ride and was resting in a hammock on the beach, gently rocking in the breeze. My heart had been soothed and calmed. The change felt natural because I had expressed everything that was in my heart. As the days unfolded, I noticed an authentic feeling of love return. A more penetrating love than I had known before the whole abject experience had begun.
My heart is in full bloom again. The soil of my being, richer and more fertile. I still feel sadness about what has happened but I am not tortured by it. I'm not likely to forget what occurred. I can consider the person involved, a human being. I don't need to use labels to create a divide between us and I don't need to perceive myself a victim anymore. The flowering of my love feeds me and the people I care for. I think it's also transmitted through the ether to my nemesis. A quantum physicist could explain this scientifically, I imagine. My experience of this ethereal exchange is that I received an email of reparation a year or so after my work of completion, offering me forgiveness amongst other things. This was the first communication in years and had a different quality to anything that had gone before. However, had my heart not been a garden of flowers, I could not have accepted this message as a gift. I would have defended against it, I was the victim after all! As it is, I offered in return, a bouquet of forgiveness and love. There's been no further exchange. It's finished and I am at peace.
Every relationship is unique and what I describe here pertains very specifically to this relationship and what transpired within it. I have taken the tools of the Grief Recovery Method and applied them to my relationships with other individuals involved in this scenario. Each completion has a different flavour but every time I hold the magnifying glass to my grief to discover what is incomplete and diligently take the action that restores wholeness, the garden of my heart blooms.
You don't have to be haunted by the pain of grief even when the losses you have experienced are shrouded in secrecy or shame. If you want the garden of your heart to flourish, use the link below to book a free call with me to discover how you too can leave behind the pain of loss.
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