Hello and welcome to Dear grief guide.
A podcast where each week I answer one anonymous letter from a listener feeling lost, stuck,
heartbroken or overwhelmed in the midst of grief.
My name is Shelby Farsithia.
I'm a grief coach and author and I'm here to help you create a life you love from the
life lost forced you to live.
Let's get to today's letter.
Dear grief guide, I recently lost my adult child Alex to an aggressive form of brain
cancer.
We had a close bond even after he left home, which was both lucky and intentional.
Lucky because I know that not every child wants to be friends with their parents when
they grow up and intentional because between the three of us, myself, Alex and his father,
we all continued calling and planning get together through the years.
Sometimes we'd play board games and in the evening and tears because we were laughing
so hard.
Sometimes we'd have catch up phone calls that turned into discussions about how Alex
was raised and what we both wish could have gone differently back then.
While we had our disagreements, we always listened with compassion and an eagerness to
understand each other.
I did my best to meet him with honesty, respect and love.
He was the center of my life and the boy who made me a mother.
I miss him so much.
What complicates my grief and the reason I'm writing to you is the internal struggle
life-aise.
I've always strived to do the right thing even when others see it as choosing the hard
way over the easy way or putting in more effort unnecessarily.
It's little things like adjusting a crooked picture frame on the wall, but it's big things
too I'm finding.
Like grieving.
Since Alex is passing, I find myself regularly criticizing myself for getting grief wrong.
Whenever I'm faced with a decision, whether it's cleaning out Alex's childhood room or sending
a text to his partner, I take an action and then immediately beat myself up mentally for
the choice I've made.
How could I box up his clothes when I loved him so much?
Why did I send the phrase "this is so hard" to his boyfriend when there are so many more
comforting things to say?
It never ends.
And even if I did make a different decision, I know I would still criticize myself for it.
If I left his room exactly as it is, I would berate myself for not moving forward and not
honoring one of my personal values, which is to offer things that are no longer needed
to people who can really make use of them.
Alex's family and friends have already claimed their favorite and most treasured items of
his.
It just seems like there's no right option, no matter what I do.
The critical voice in my head is relentless, questioning every tear shed, every major and
minor decision, every interaction with my husband, friends, family, and co-workers.
It's as if I'm failing some invisible standard of how grace should unfold.
How do I turn off this critical voice in my head?
I want to navigate my grief authentically, embracing the pain without judgment.
I want to celebrate Alex's life and the love we shared, acknowledging both the beauty
and complexity of our relationship.
Yet this constant self-criticism is hindering my ability to heal.
Your guidance would mean the world to me, especially as I strive to understand that there's
no right or wrong way to grieve.
I know it to be true, but day by day, I'm struggling to live it.
With gratitude, perfectionist parent.
Oh, hi there, perfectionist parent.
I know this one.
I'm not saying I know the answer, and it's the right answer, which is probably disappointing
for you, but I know the experience of which you speak.
This sense of being haunted, being berated, having this parrot on your shoulder or this
nag on your shoulder of the inner critic, especially when it comes to grief.
I distinctly remember speaking to a mother and daughter at one point who were grieving the
deaths of their father and husband respectively, and they were distressed because they were
both people in education.
They were in the academic field, and they could not make sense of their grief.
It was not logical to them.
Their inner critics were saying it doesn't make sense.
It doesn't make sense.
Seeing the signs, feeling him, seeing the symbols, understanding on some spiritual or emotional
level that he's present, but mentally and physically comprehending that he's not here,
it doesn't make sense.
And there was a deep, deep sense of distress that grief did not make sense.
It was incomprehendable.
And so there was this voice in their head of like, no, that's not real.
That can't be possible.
They were just making it up, this harsh, critical voice that stepped in and wanted them to
know that what they were thinking was illogical and therefore wrong.
And I know this is a slightly different inner voice than what you're experiencing, but when
we were in the call together, what we uncovered is that this inner voice in unpacking the
purpose of its existence and perhaps even where it came from was to protect them from falling
for a scam, from believing in magic, from being disappointed.
This inner critic, this inner voice was doing its best in the only way it knew how to protect
them from more pain than they were already experiencing.
And when this landed and they recognized that this inner critic or this inner balloon
pricker, as I once heard it called, was there trying its damnedest to help them heal and
to help them cope, but it was actually painful for them to have this inner critic present.
And we found a way for them to acknowledge the voice of the inner critic or the inner cynic,
as suppose we could call this as well and also acknowledge that what they're experiencing
in their grief may very well be illogical and that's okay.
It's a part of grief, some of the very hardest sheer nature of grief embedded into the fabric
of grief is our inability to understand, loss, why, how, to what end.
So to get to your inner critic here, perfectionist parent, I wonder if its purpose is a similar
one.
If this berating of you for cleaning out Alex's room or for sending what sounds like
heartfelt empathy to his partner is an attempt in some way to try to protect you from feeling
more pain, from being in more pain than you're already in, like if you could make the right
decisions when it comes to your grief somehow magically you would no longer be in pain.
You could get over it, you could overcome the obstacle, you could come out the other side
to this bright shiny future where where pain with every decision you make did not exist.
And I wonder what would happen with this inner critic.
If you kind of like sat down and had a little conference call with it and said okay here's
the deal, whether I clean out his room or don't clean out his room, there is pain in both
decisions, there is pain in every direction, what decision will we make now with that?
And this is a rude awakening, this can feel like a harsh reality especially in the mind
heart body soul of someone who has titled himself a perfectionist, there will be pain, there
will be wounds with every decision you make.
In cleaning out his room there is the agony of boxing up his clothes.
In leaving his room exactly the same way as it is now, there is the agony of passing
by the room and potentially for you based on the values you've shared of passing things
on to people who can use them and allowing yourself that knowledge and wisdom is the guilt
of not giving these things to people who can actually make use of them and feeling potentially
selfish that inner critic might say for not living up to your highest ideals and values.
So if I was in a coaching session with you, perfectionist parent, I would ask you inner
critic, why are you here?
How are you serving her?
What are you helping her accomplish in her grief?
What is it all for?
What is your role?
What are you doing here?
And then maybe together, perfectionist parent, we could break it to the inner critic that
there is going to be pain either way.
So if that's the case, what new rules would you like to operate by?
If the purpose of the inner critic shifts from, I am here to help her avoid pain, to, I
am here to help her live up to her highest values, even if there's pain involved.
Ah, all of a sudden, we give the inner critic a new job.
They are no longer scanning scenery, scanning the environment, checking for how do we avoid
pain?
How do we avoid metaphorically getting our legs stuck in a bear trap?
My dear inner critic, we will get our leg stuck in a bear trap at one point or another in
our grief experience.
We will feel pain.
We will step on a branch in the woods and get scooped up into some giant net.
But in that moment where we are feeling pain with a decision, what will we do next that
lives up to our highest ideals?
Perhaps you prepare for the journey.
The inner critic can help you gather bandages and come up with coping mechanisms that can
help you process pain.
That is a fantastic redirection of the inner critic.
Perhaps the inner critic can say, okay, I am in pain, but what are my highest values?
If it is community, maybe you are calling for help.
If it is, you know, passing things on to others so that they can use them, perhaps it is learning
more about grief or connecting with other people who have lost a child so you can pass
on what you know about cleaning out a room with another mother who is trying desperately
to do the same and doesn't know where to start.
Maybe you can be that witness for her.
What other values do you hold?
Perfection is parent because I know you have a lot of them.
You have been operating your life by values for years and years, probably even decades.
If I had to guess, I don't know you, but I am going to make a guess here.
What gentle redirection can you offer this inner critic so that it's focus is no longer,
how do I keep her from being in pain?
Because the pain is inevitable.
You are no longer solving an equation for pain.
Instead of saying solve for X, solve for pain, impossibly in grief world.
You cannot solve for pain.
There will be pain no matter which path you take and that is okay and it doesn't mean
it's your fault and there's nothing wrong with you and it doesn't mean you're getting
grief wrong or that you are bad at grieving.
It is a part of the experience of grief is for pain to be knitted into and woven into
the experience of losing someone you love.
I would worry if you were not in some level of pain, perfectionist parent, I do not wish
pain on you, but it is comprehendable to me that you might be in pain on some level for
a long time as I am in some level of pain for a very long time after the death of my mother.
It softens.
It has different edges now.
It has different flavors.
It comes up at different times for different reasons.
It is not the same acute agonizing pain I was experiencing in the early months and years
after her death, but I could still call it pain.
I still meet it.
It still comes into my periphery or right in front of my freaking face and I'm like, there
is pain right there that my mom is dead and she's still dead and she will always be
dead.
There is pain there for me and it cannot be erased.
And in living up to my highest values, I have found a way instead of solving for pain to
integrate pain or to work with pain or to work around to make plans that acknowledge and
incorporate pain.
Pain is coming along for the ride.
All right.
What else are we packing in the car so that we are dealing with the fact that pain inevitably
exists?
You know logically, perfectionist parent, that there is no right or wrong way to grieve,
which is another way of saying no matter which decision I make, there will be pain either
way, but there will also, and here's the other thing I need your inner critic to know, there
will also be progress either way.
Whatever decision you make, however long it takes you to make it, there is also progress
here in the midst of the pain.
And sometimes we get so busy trying to solve for pain that we neglect to see the very real
steps forward we are making in our grief.
And maybe that's a gentle redirection your inner critic could use as well, not just what
are my values, but how have I already moved towards them with these decisions?
I may not have freed myself from pain.
I may never free myself from pain, but how in my decisions that I'm making every single
day, am I moving towards my values and moving forward in my grief because I guarantee there
is progress here.
You have already made so much and you will make more.
And I wonder just how you can redirect your inner critic to become someone who has less
of a posture of lording over you and telling you how it should be and telling you everything
you're getting wrong and comes along beside you and is more of an assistant asking perfection
is parent, what do you need?
What are your values?
How have we already made progress so far?
Look at this data I've collected.
Look how well we're doing.
Where would you like to go next?
I'm on your side as opposed to I am against you because when you're already grieving, that's
a very difficult energy to reckon with.
I wish you so much grace, just armfuls of it if I could show it on you right now because
dealing with perfectionism and grief is so incredibly hard.
Having an inner critic when you are already doing the inner work of grieving is so hard.
So I wonder if you can have a conference call with your inner critic sit across from it,
say, I'm I'm reassigning you to a new department and invent one that feels like an assist to
you.
Like a guide of your values and where you'd like to go, one that is more focused on aiding
you than it is to tearing you down or keeping you stuck.
Yes.
Heaps and heaps of grace your way.
Thank you so much for writing in today.
That's all for this episode of Dear Grave Guide.
Thank you so much for joining me today.
If you're ready to start moving forward after a loss, consider joining my online course
in community, Life After Loss Academy.
There, you'll find video lessons you can work through at your own pace.
Dear Life calls where I take your questions and a welcoming community to talk about grief
with others who understand.
You can find the link to learn more and join today in the show notes.
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And be sure to share Dear Grave Guide with a friend because you never know what someone
you love is going through.
You can submit your anonymous letter for the show and find additional grief support at
shelbyforcithia.com.
Music for Dear Grave Guide is performed by Addy Goldstein, editing by Ruth Spence of
Sinivia.
Until next time, I see you.
I'm so proud of you and the work that you're doing in the world.
And I love you.
Because even through grief, we are growing.
Music for Dear Grave Guide.
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