I'm so glad I found this, man. That last line you wrote really rung true to me: It was never weakness. It was loss and the pain he never gave himself permission to face.
A couple years ago, I've had to cut off my mom for abusive behaviors towards my own wife and three kids, but there's still a little boy in me that misses her so much, especially when shit is hitting the fan and I'm having to be "dad" more than "son."
These past two weeks have been hell, and I've been tucking away this grief deep in my subconscious, grinding hard at trying to be a good dad, trying to keep up with bills and expectations. Little did I know that I had this "angry" vibe around me these past couple of weeks and I was worrying my kids. Even my two year old came up to me and asked me if daddy was okay.
Anyway, last night, my wife confronted me about the way I was acting, and I broke down. I realized I didn't even give myself the permission to feel the pain and loss that I was tucking away. I was in survival mode and I didn't have to be.
I totally agree that this is pattern is much bigger than grief.
I think a devastating loss can exacerbate the tendency men have to spring into action. Seeking control and trying to be useful is a reaction most of us learned long before grief entered the picture.
When the pressure builds we want to remain functional and protect the people we love (even if we aren’t).
Your framing of those two moves really hits home for me. Most of us get very good at redirecting attention early on. It seems like it’s keeping a lid on the cauldron boiling over inside. And there are so many self-destructive ways to do it.
The second move can be terrifying. So many men sense that going straight at the pain could drive them straight into a pit they can never climb out of. And even if they do, they might not recognize themselves afterward.
I don’t think they avoid it simply because they’re unwilling. I think the uncertainty of where it ends up is just another thing they can’t control in a life that already seems intolerably out of control.
I appreciate how you called out the danger without dismissing the underlying fears. The tension is real and can be crippling.
It strikes me as I read this that this is happening to more men in more scenarios than just grief. Any time difficult circumstances heat up, especially as they rise to the brink of something dramatic, this is the role many of us fall into.
The historic Buddha taught us that there are two moves we can make with aversions (difficult circumstances).
1. Focus attention on something else.
2. Focus attention so acutely on the aversion that it becomes something like data, the truth that exists beneath the story of the aversion.
Most of us master the first one pretty early. It's intuitive. The second is much harder, and potentially disastrous. It can be like trying cliff diving for someone who's never jumped in from the edge of the pool.
Thank you for this, I am not even sure how I received your email, I guess at some point I signed up for it, but this hit home in more ways than I could imagine. It has been just over 4 years since we lost our daughter, Chelsea, and I have pretty much done everything written here and wonder why I don't just sit with the grief and be present with it. Just starting to now and recently have been asked to become a mentor with the MISS Foundation, and I said yes. So now in the training I am watching videos of others loss, and I cry easily when others share their pain, but still remain stoic with my own. Anyways I guess the noticing is a step. Again thank you.
Thank you for reading and adding your voice to the conversation. I’m deeply sorry about Chelsea, brother.
What you described makes complete sense. Many men can sit with other people’s pain long before they can sit with their own. It's another way of contributing and it doesn't threaten to pull you into the pit like facing your own.
Crying with someone else’s story doesn’t mean you’re avoiding your own. Quite the contrary, in fact. I think you're crying for as much for your own loss as for anyone else's.
I think you're right about the noticing and I'm glad you are. It's more important than people tend to realize and it's such an important step.
There’s nothing wrong with you for being stoic with your own pain. That was how you've survived this long. The fact that you’re starting to see it now tells me something is starting to change. At your pace, not anyone else's.
I’m glad you reached out. And I’m grateful you spoke Chelsea's name here. If it's not too much to ask, what are somethings you love most about her? Don't feel any pressure to answer, my friend.
I'm so glad I found this, man. That last line you wrote really rung true to me: It was never weakness. It was loss and the pain he never gave himself permission to face.
A couple years ago, I've had to cut off my mom for abusive behaviors towards my own wife and three kids, but there's still a little boy in me that misses her so much, especially when shit is hitting the fan and I'm having to be "dad" more than "son."
These past two weeks have been hell, and I've been tucking away this grief deep in my subconscious, grinding hard at trying to be a good dad, trying to keep up with bills and expectations. Little did I know that I had this "angry" vibe around me these past couple of weeks and I was worrying my kids. Even my two year old came up to me and asked me if daddy was okay.
Anyway, last night, my wife confronted me about the way I was acting, and I broke down. I realized I didn't even give myself the permission to feel the pain and loss that I was tucking away. I was in survival mode and I didn't have to be.
Thanks again, man.
I totally agree that this is pattern is much bigger than grief.
I think a devastating loss can exacerbate the tendency men have to spring into action. Seeking control and trying to be useful is a reaction most of us learned long before grief entered the picture.
When the pressure builds we want to remain functional and protect the people we love (even if we aren’t).
Your framing of those two moves really hits home for me. Most of us get very good at redirecting attention early on. It seems like it’s keeping a lid on the cauldron boiling over inside. And there are so many self-destructive ways to do it.
The second move can be terrifying. So many men sense that going straight at the pain could drive them straight into a pit they can never climb out of. And even if they do, they might not recognize themselves afterward.
I don’t think they avoid it simply because they’re unwilling. I think the uncertainty of where it ends up is just another thing they can’t control in a life that already seems intolerably out of control.
I appreciate how you called out the danger without dismissing the underlying fears. The tension is real and can be crippling.
And yet, it’s the only path towards healing.
I always appreciate your insights brother. 👊❤️
It strikes me as I read this that this is happening to more men in more scenarios than just grief. Any time difficult circumstances heat up, especially as they rise to the brink of something dramatic, this is the role many of us fall into.
The historic Buddha taught us that there are two moves we can make with aversions (difficult circumstances).
1. Focus attention on something else.
2. Focus attention so acutely on the aversion that it becomes something like data, the truth that exists beneath the story of the aversion.
Most of us master the first one pretty early. It's intuitive. The second is much harder, and potentially disastrous. It can be like trying cliff diving for someone who's never jumped in from the edge of the pool.
Thank you for this, I am not even sure how I received your email, I guess at some point I signed up for it, but this hit home in more ways than I could imagine. It has been just over 4 years since we lost our daughter, Chelsea, and I have pretty much done everything written here and wonder why I don't just sit with the grief and be present with it. Just starting to now and recently have been asked to become a mentor with the MISS Foundation, and I said yes. So now in the training I am watching videos of others loss, and I cry easily when others share their pain, but still remain stoic with my own. Anyways I guess the noticing is a step. Again thank you.
Thank you for reading and adding your voice to the conversation. I’m deeply sorry about Chelsea, brother.
What you described makes complete sense. Many men can sit with other people’s pain long before they can sit with their own. It's another way of contributing and it doesn't threaten to pull you into the pit like facing your own.
Crying with someone else’s story doesn’t mean you’re avoiding your own. Quite the contrary, in fact. I think you're crying for as much for your own loss as for anyone else's.
I think you're right about the noticing and I'm glad you are. It's more important than people tend to realize and it's such an important step.
There’s nothing wrong with you for being stoic with your own pain. That was how you've survived this long. The fact that you’re starting to see it now tells me something is starting to change. At your pace, not anyone else's.
I’m glad you reached out. And I’m grateful you spoke Chelsea's name here. If it's not too much to ask, what are somethings you love most about her? Don't feel any pressure to answer, my friend.
I’m so glad it resonated my friend. It’s easy to write about things when I’m writing my autobiography ❤️👊