Guilt Grief
Arising sorrow that fades overtime and can be eased with deliberate practice.
Loss is everywhere.
And with loss, there is grief.
Some have called me the grief whisperer. I see and feel the sweet ache of arising sorrow before I even know what’s happening.
It’s the silent sorrows that can sometimes hurt the most … they tend to feel unacknowledged … cast aside … disenfranchised.
These silent sorrows are slippery. They move around trying to fit in. Stealth like, they pride themselves on staying in the shadows.
I discovered something new about grief this weekend. I’m calling it guilt grief.
We recently demolished the wee cottages that have been sitting on this gorgeous lot since the 1960s. I’m a 60s babe too, so felt a kinship with the cabins.
We purchased the lot (that happened to have cottages on it) during the height of the pandemic.
This land felt like home.
We’ve had two years to enjoy this space. Make memories. Honour the previous homeowners. Earn the right to call this place home.
This fall, the process of building our dream home began.
It’s not for the faint of heart … at least not for this heart. The act of destruction feels depleting for me. Demolishing ‘what was’ to allow for ‘what will be’ was painful.
Then there’s the trees.
Oh, so many trees. And most of them have come down. Many were sick. Most were unstable. The very few that made it will stand like sentinels … watching over us as the new house takes shape. I like to think they will mentor the young saplings that will join their rank.
So what helps when we are feeling the feels of guilt grief?
Ceremony.
To help me soothe the sadness that I felt deep in my bones, I walked the land and expressed gratitude for the joy it had given the previous family. I hugged the trees, the ones I had named, and felt the sadness pour out of me. Like sap, tears cascaded down my face, forming a pool around my body.
Felling these giants needed to be done honorably.
They were going to be re-purposed in our new home and they would continue to nourish our neighbourhood, the wood chips protecting my neighbours’ gardens for years to come.
I lit a candle and shared Metamorphosis, a poem by Caroline Miskenack. Her line “Transformation, you’ve learned, is not a tender task. It’s mostly ugly and disjointing , before the turning out of something beautiful,” … a healing balm of sorts.
Turns out, like grief, guilt needs time, acknowledgement and witnessing.
In turning inwards, it dawned on me that it was my attachment to their attachment that was causing the guilt.
In sharing this here … I felt relieved.
My guilt grief needed to be expressed and acknowledged.
So here’s me giving it some space. A brave space to enter into this vulnerable conversation.
That’s what helps the most. Knowing that there’s a community of beautiful souls that won’t “at least” me or “placate me” when what is most needed is to be witnessed.
What follows is a Guilt Grief Practice that I’ve curated for my paid subscribers. I hope you’ll consider joining this growing community of grief informed folks who want to expand their grief intelligence. It’s going to take a village of like-hearted people to reclaim our humanity and it begins with acknowledging that grief is a natural part of being human. Please let me know how it went. We all learn when you do
