Why I let my separation break my heart
If you have been here for a while, you probably already know that I separated from my daughter’s father when she was two years old.
When I look back on my marriage, I have many regrets. While I compassionately see that I didn’t know better and was doing the best I can; I do look back and wish that I had treated my husband at the time, and myself, better.
I wish that we had known all of the things we know now…
Things like, what it actually takes to have a home where it feels safe to give and receive love. And where we know how to treat each other well.
But one thing I don’t regret at all, is the decision to let the separation–and the many moments leading up to it–break my heart.
To sit with the sadness.
To admit that, regardless of knowing I would eventually be okay–it hurt to be losing in the moment.
To feel the pain of losing our family as we knew it. And in doing so, honoring our story.
In addition to an amazing therapist, it was very much my daughter who had shown me how well we humans can grieve through our losses. You see, I had been practicing the Hand In Hand Parenting tool of Staylistening with her since she had been about 6 months old. And in holding her through her pain during moments of big loss (such as weaning), I had witnessed time and again, her ability to fully experience her feelings and release her fears through the grieving process.
And so by the time that life gave me the invitation to face the painfully unsustainable situation that my marriage was in; I was ready to turn towards it, and simply see it for what it was.
I was ready to grieve.
Without the urgency of knowing what was to come.
Because the actual outcome of my marriage stopped having so much power over me. Whether my husband and I would stay together or not, was no longer my primary concern.
My biggest priority became that we choose the next chapter of our family story from a place of courage, honesty and love; and not from a place of fear. Fear of a pain that we imagined unbearable for ourselves or for our child.
If we were going to stay together, it would not be merely as a way to avoid the pain that losing our marriage would bring to our child or ourselves.
As I have written to you before in this series, grief allows us to lovingly give sadness, fear and other painful emotions, their rightful place. So that these emotions are seen and tended to. And do not take over our decisions and relationships.
What allowed me to see beyond the terrifying fear of damaging my child by separating from her dad, was not only my trust in my capacity to hold the pain and transform it. It was also my confidence that she could do the same.
And so, instead of focusing all of my energy on avoiding pain, I could open myself to all of the amazing possibilities that existed for my family.
When we know our kids can handle, and even become more open to love because of, the losses they experience, we are able to truly see their capacity for resilience and thriving. And in turn, they can feel our belief in their potential.
Today, I want to share with you some ideas for how to support your child’s ability to grieve well.
A few concepts to support your child's capacity to grieve
Walk the talk.
Before giving you tips of what to say or do to support your child’s capacity to grieve well and heal, I want to remind you that you will be far more effective if you regularly practice witnessing and grieving your own losses.
As I recently heard Cynthia Bourgeault say, “All real teachers are the teaching.”
(Read some tips on how to incorporate grief into your daily life here.)
Create the container: relationship.
In order for children to feel safe enough with us to really “go there” with their difficult emotions, they certainly need us to have “gone there” with our own hurts.
But they also need the relationship with us to feel like a soft place to land when they finally let themselves fall.
A relationship that feels like rest, sustenance and safety.
A relationship that can hold anything they need to bring to it.
And this kind of relationship is built through good leadership on our behalf. Where we extend continuous invitations to connect, express delight in their existence, and provide loving limits. Where we protect a space for them to engage in true play on a regular basis.
They can only bring us their pain when they are sure that they can trust us with it. When they have experienced enough repeated events of feeling wanted, seen and loved by us.
Grieving isn’t something that happens in a vacuum. Or in a little calm-down corner where they go to cry when they are upset. Or only when they feel bad.
Grieving happens by our side, in our generous presence.
It also happens during those moments of play, of feeling connected with us. During the belly laughs. Their hurt visits them in doses, in unpredictable moments; and in the context of safe relationship with us, they meet it with a little bit more resilience each time.
Grieving is a necessary part of connected relationship with their parent; and connected relationship is a necessary condition for grieving to happen well.
Acknowledge their innate ability to heal their hurts
If we don’t get in the way, our children will follow their body’s innate wisdom and move through their painful emotions. We don’t need to teach them to do this. Even babies can do it.
The first thing we want to learn to do in order to allow them to practice, is not get in the way.
Instead, we want to welcome them with bodies and minds (no need for words) that convey, “I see that you are hurting, and I am right here”.
Stay with them.
Once they have started to be with their pain, there isn’t much to “do”.
They might kick, scream, cry, shout, shake, insult, storm off, or even just seem a little "off". All of these convey, "I am scared and hurting, and I need your help."
So when we notice they are in pain, we don’t want to distract them, give explanations, reason with them, or try to fix the thing that they are upset about. We don’t need to teach them regulation techniques or instruct them to just breathe. We don’t want to do anything to convey that we don’t trust in the wisdom of the healing process, or their built-in capacity to move through it effectively.
We want to respond to their body's alarm system telling them, "I'm going to be left alone with all of these icky feelings", with a presence that conveys, "I WANT to be by your side when you are hurting, and I won't leave you alone."
So how does it work?
The art of holding space for our children in their moments of upset is surprisingly simple (not necessarily easy!) in theory, and beautifully intricate and dynamic in practice.
Here are some basic steps to keep in mind:
When you notice that they are experiencing upset, move your body close to them in a respectful way.
Accompany, witness and hold their process with them. Be with, don’t guide or push.
Let them decide how and when it ends (for now).
You don't need to say much. Just practice being present with intention and love. And have some support in your life for you.
Recently my daughter remembered our dearly loved dog, Sari, who passed away last year.
She had cried so many tears for her on the day she died.
And months later, when she was remembering her, she said to me, “Mommy, sometimes sad things feel really really sad when they happen. Like when Sari died. And then later when you remember them, they still feel sad, but not in the same way.”
I couldn't have said it better.
Grief is the process of expanding ourselves to make room for not only the pain, but all of the wisdom, joy and resilience that come with loss. Relationship is how we make room for that grief to happen well.