5 Self-Regulating Practices For Grief and Loss

Being with my grief as a human being, being Autistic

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Recently, I was overcome with grief intensified by inconsistent sleeping patterns and a busy mind. Add to this very haphazard interaction recounting of one’s life narrative from a much younger human being who crossed my path than myself, which later came to light as a disclosure of ADHD, Dyspraxia, Dyslexia, and other mental health issues they endured and confronted past and present. As they spoke, I felt this endearing human was also processing their anger and grief for their childhood and more. I’ve been informed that I have a face that causes some individuals to open up and tell me everything. I was interested in holding that space for this person and letting them talk it out without giving any advice because it is not my area of expertise. I have also been told that I am a good listener, making me an excellent coach. And so I did that for three hours.

I thought, grand, I was fine until I realised I wasn’t. I experienced a grieving tsunami due to my multifaceted sadness, fueled by hyper-empathy. I have so much room for listening in my life and at work, with my ageing father, for myself, and in other settings that, on occasion, depending on my self-care and advocacy skills, an exchange like this may push me into an emotional crisis. I have no trouble coping with emotional crises and breakdowns. However, even though I have successfully navigated numerous, they inevitably drain me severely of energy. I was exhausted and crying mournfully on my dad’s couch by 8 o’clock that evening. My dad is wonderful at holding that space without trying to repair or interfere with it. He recently informed me that he believed he knew I was autistic when I was a child but allowed me to navigate these situations independently. I needed that safe place to be present at that precise moment.

Inevitably, this earlier conversation caused me to experience more unresolved emotional anguish for my autistic child and my mother, miscarried babies, cairn terrier Juno, and other events in my life. As if I wasn’t already drowning in grief, I then went through a pre-grief phase where I anticipated losing my father and my family’s home, experiencing emotional paralysis, and making decisions about what to let go of, among other things. My autistic self conducts a mourning rehearsal to deal with ambiguity and uncertainty. I am developing my emotional entry and exit strategies in and out of life’s problems to honour my need for control, which is occasionally an illusion. And an illusion that once I can and do process my circumstances, I can logically see through and beyond. After telling my dad that I was angrier about losing my dog Juno in August than I was about losing my mother or miscarrying children, I went into a grieving marathon and competition. My heart was racing to keep up with them, but the endurance required to catch up to them at the finish line was too much for me to handle. It felt like they were all vying for a place for my grief in my thoughts and heart. I genuinely believe their energy and presence did not anticipate this from me, but I did at this moment. I felt grief for not feeling grief, which set off a series of humiliations and a struggle with guilt.

After a few hours, I logically had more compassionate responses to my self-inquiry. I had just lost my dog nine months ago. I never saw any of my physical babies. I had Juno for 14 years; my mother was gone for 13 years. I accepted that and gently processed it again, but I was still caught in the sorrow and anxiety maelstrom, attempting to enter and exit the core, sit with it, and stay there more peacefully. Finally, I gave myself over to my sorrow and shut down. I could not move the entire weekend and sobbed to my family over having to do anything. I slept, slept more, cried more, created art, stayed in my pyjamas and watched old episodes of The Twilight Zone all weekend. I made a safe grief sanctuary to recover.

Here is how I was able to be with my loss till it inevitably shows up again to meet me, greet me, and, if it needed to beat me, as that is okay. I am writing this article now within my grief rationale. However, there are instances when we must give it everything and stay there until we figure it out.

1. I don’t try to change it or rush the moment in haste, which I have often tried to do in our quick-fix society. Instead, I sit comfortably within what I define as comfortable and connect with the grief anxiety within my breath, focus on it, and breathe deeply. Once I can catch one breath, I know I can catch the next.
2. I allow each internal and external breath to enter my body and mind for as long as I need to without forcing it until I begin to breathe naturally on my terms. Then, again, I take as long as I need for this to open up my headspace effectively.
3. Then I focus on my loss; it may be the loss of anything, a job, health, friendship or relationship or the death of a loved one. There are no rules here. We can grieve for anything, and all grief is grief. So I gently say (verbally or visually, whatever my grief and loss applies to), “Whatever this is, let me feel it”, Just holding the awareness.
4. Be with it, feel it, sense check it, see it, face it, as painful as it is, but I don’t pretend it’s not there anymore. Sometimes, I can only do this for a minute or two, which is okay; it may be all I need. But, on other days when the stronger waves hit, I need more time/
5. I then let go of the thoughts and return to the simplicity of my breath. My more mindful approach to my grief and loss helps me to process more acceptance and my choice of suffering.

Even if only one person may benefit from this today. I sense you if that person is you. I send you strength and courage. If your grief is becoming more complex, please speak to your GP, Doctor or another qualified professional.

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