Creative ways to explore your grief

People who are grieving often ask, "what should I be doing?" Usually I reject the premise of the question: there's nothing to do except experience your grief. You have to feel your feelings, even (especially) the hard ones.

That being said, I do appreciate the idea that there should be an action that accompanies grief, something to help move through it. There are any number of options in that vein. What follows here is a (small and not at all comprehensive) list of creative ways to experience and honor your grief. If they make you feel weird or too silly, don’t do them! But let me encourage you to consider doing something a little different (and maybe a little weird) in order to give your grief the attention it deserves.

1. Write a letter to your person. It can be about whatever you want: a list of things you miss about them; an update about the family; a rehashing of an old argument. You can write as much or as little as you want. You can burn it after it's done or tuck it away or share it with others. The object here is to connect with the person you love and miss, keeping a part of them alive for yourself.

2. Tend to a plant. I say "a plant" because I have a black thumb, not a green one, so an entire garden feels off-putting to me personally. But maybe gardening is your thing! Take your grief there. Tend to the living, green things; put your hands in the dirt. Talk to the flowers.

3. Write a song or a poem or a haiku or paint a picture. It doesn't have to be Pulitzer or museum-worthy. It doesn't have to be shared with anyone else, though it can be. Again, the only objective is to take some intentional time with your loss and find what’s beautiful in it.

4. Make a shrine. (This is my personal favorite). It can look any way you want. It can be tucked away in a corner or right in the doorway of your home. It can have pictures and ticket stubs or candles and symbols. Spend some time building it and looking at it so you can honor the memory of this person that you love so much. It’s a gift for you both.

Remember, in grief there is no way out but through. You may as well find a way to make the journey a little more interesting. And if you’re feeling particularly brave, share what you’ve created. I, for one, would love to see it.

Expanding with creativity

Photo by Lucas Sankey on Unsplash

I’ve struggled to find my voice as a therapist. I’ve tried on some different hats: motivational interviewing, CBT, narrative therapy. Part of the challenge is that my role in this job has been nebulous to say the least: there’s no standardized practice yet so I’m just kind of… on my own. I also see such a variety of patients, I find myself constantly looking things up and reviewing interventions. It’s interesting in that way, but it also adds to the challenge of figuring out which intervention feels right, both for me as a clinician and for my patients. In order to provide the best care, clinicians need to be comfortable with the model we’re using. For a long time, I’ve shied away from being creative in my work because I felt uncomfortable. But the more I grow into this role, the more I see the benefit of some more creative thinking.

Social work lends itself to invention and innovation. There are all kinds of ways to get people to open up to you and for some patients, the outside-the-box stuff works best. I must admit, I’ve been resistant to using creativity in my practice for years. Colleagues of mine in hospice talked about using empty chairs to signify the presence of a departed loved one, or using art or music to help clients express their feelings. The thought of doing those things made me feel deeply awkward. I felt similarly as a grad student whenever we had to role play to practice our clinical skills; it felt silly and inauthentic. That feeling carried over into my work: it would be too uncomfortable for me to ask someone to talk to a chair and pretend their deceased loved one is in it; it would be too awkward for me to explore a piece of music with someone in therapy and ask what kind of emotions it brought up for them. Actually even writing that sentence feels awkward. But why is that? Why should my fear of feeling silly block out a large chunk of practice?

It’s not an overnight change. Little pieces have been creeping in over the past year as I try to figure out how to work with patients who really want solutions. I’m somewhat limited because my role is short-term but there are options. For instance, I sometimes encourage my patients to create a Tree of Life (a narrative therapy tool) so they have a visual expression of their values and goals. It’s an exercise I’ve done myself and I think that’s key: we have to be comfortable with what we’re asking others to do. Most recently I attended a training about psychodrama and sociometry and used one of the exercises (a locogram/floor check) in my supervision group. We all got a chance to move around a little and talk about what skills we have, which we want to develop, and why we’re drawn to/avoid some populations.

I’m excited to stretch in this way. I’ve written in the past about how frustrated I’ve been in transitioning to this job and this is a great way to get unstuck from that. Using my brain in a different way helps me reorient to what I love about this work: every day is a new and different challenge.