Torn Open By Grief
Updated: Jan 28, 2023
Grief has split me open and emptied me out.
I feel so many different intense feelings, coexisting, co-exploding…
Love, helplessness, sadness, guilt,
nebulous anxiety, heart wrenching pain, rawness, so much resistance.
It rips me apart to see you leave.
It is also so hard to navigate the outer world when I am combusting internally.
All too often, others’ acknowledgments can feel like platitudes,
uncomfortable moments to be traversed, misguided kindness by changing the subject.
What the fuck? I’m broken.
But then there are those who just look at me and reach out to hug me,
and allow me my feelings….
strong enough to embrace my shaking, or my frozen, body.
And those who meet my words and my gaze with tender tears in their eyes.
I know my vulnerability touches your vulnerability,
And I Am so grateful and relieved to feel true connection in the moment.
And then there are those who genuinely ask how I am doing,
and hold receptive space.
You can scare the shit out of me.
Can you really hold the space?
Because I do not know if I can again hold space for other people's discomfort
in the face of my grief.
Thank you for asking.
Please know how hard it can be to answer through my walls of protection.
Please be patient, attentive, tender and kind.
Please know that deep inside I am desperate
for safe places to collapse into the mess I Am,
and for the solace of soft, strong arms
and unconditionally holding.
You can find this prayer in this book, available for purchase:
Reading “Torn Open By Grief” pulled me back to the night my mother passed away, a moment that still feels raw and unreal. I was in my late twenties, living alone for the first time, and the house was suddenly too quiet, every creak a reminder of her absence. I remember sitting on the couch, clutching the worn‑out blanket she always used to fold over me, and feeling the ache spread through my chest like a physical wound https://www.spinsamurai65.com/ It was in those sleepless hours that I realized grief doesn’t come in a single wave; it crashes, recedes, and returns when you least expect it—sometimes triggered by a song, a scent, or even the rustle of a page. Your words…