Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.
—HIS HOLINESS THE DALAI LAMA
In the weeks, months, and years after a profound loss it's especially important to offer yourself great kindness. It's the best gift you can give yourself. And as it turns out, it's the best gift you can give those you love and those who love you.
How is this possible? What does it mean to be kind to yourself, to take your own side, to befriend yourself? Think about how you would reach out and be with a friend who has just suffered a loss. You would probably show up and just be there with your friend and listen to her story of all that happened. You might bring over dinners, offer to shop, ask how you might help, show her all the compassion you can muster.
Now consider what it might mean to offer these qualities of kindness to yourself who is the one hurting; also shocked; also feeling alone, hopeless, and unmoored.
How do you begin? Start wherever you are—not in some idealized place—but exactly where you're standing. Is your house a mess? Have you stopped going to the gym? Are you eating cold pizza for supper? Are you ignoring invitations from friends? Drinking or numbing yourself with other addictions? Mired in feelings of guilt or anger? With kindness, allow yourself to start here.
Perhaps you are someone who has restless energy, who likes to stay busy, who feels indispensable running from one obligation to the next, who habitually buttons up your emotions. Consider easing your schedule and giving yourself a precious gift of time: ten minutes to sit and listen to a beautiful piece of music; an evening to be alone with your discomfort and grief; or an hour for a massage.
Maybe you harbor a harsh inner critic, or perhaps a committee of judges who shame you for crying too much, grieving too long, not grieving enough, or not doing it right. Almost certainly, these voices have completely unrealistic expectations for you. Pause to notice and listen to these voices. Can you ask them to back off and give you the space to feel your emotions and be with your grief? Can you stop calling yourself a failure, a fraud, a rock, or a wimp, and offer yourself empathy and compassion? Try and drop the names and just be with the felt experience of grief in your body.
Can you embrace your vulnerability, your irritability, your impatience, and even your resistance as deeply human responses to separation and loss? Can you see how being open and tender with yourself allows you to better understand and connect with others—those who hurt and those who haven't yet experienced pain and hardship?
If you look deeply and sit with pain and suffering, can you feel how “normal” sorrow is, how it is a precious part of being human?
Can you see how kindness—which includes being kind to yourself, seeing yourself as part of a larger community of people who all bear their own sorrow—is a path through grief to a life you might not yet be able to imagine? Can you acknowledge yourself and say thank you for ways you are taking care of yourself, for surviving, for the small steps you have taken, for moments of joy or moments of finding some comfort amid tears?
Metta, or loving-kindness practice, comes from Buddhist and Hindu traditions. It's a rich practice that offers a way of befriending ourselves and all living beings. We introduce the basics here and explore metta in more detail in Part Three called “Deepening Practices.”
To begin, sit and silently repeat this series of blessings, starting with yourself:
May I welcome all my feelings as I grieve.
May I allow grief to soften and strengthen my heart.
May I hold my sorrow with tenderness and compassion.
Next, offer these same blessings to someone who gladdens your heart, someone to whom you can easily extend good wishes. Then, widen the circle and extend these wishes to someone about whom you feel neutral (neither friendly nor hostile), and finally, extend these wishes to a person you find difficult or challenging. As you bring each person to mind, sit quietly and silently offer these blessings.
May you be deeply peaceful.
May you be happy and healthy.
May you live with ease.
Conclude by offering metta to all living beings. You might want to begin locally, for example, by extending blessings to everyone in your home or apartment building, then to everyone in your neighborhood or in your town. Then, imagine extending blessings to everyone in your state, country, and finally, across the globe, with these words:
May all beings be deeply peaceful.
May all beings be happy and healthy.
May all beings live with ease.
You may want to choose a series of metta blessings that speak directly to your experience of grief. For example:
May I be open to all the difficult and painful emotions and sensations of grief.
May I forgive myself for mistakes I've made or for words not said.
May I offer myself compassion.
If these blessings don't resonate with you, choose your own phrases and modify them as you practice.
Sit quietly for a few moments and unify your attention, noticing the subtle movement of your body as you breathe. Gently follow the natural flow of your breath, in and out. If possible for you, choose a chair or cushion that supports you sitting upright, with relaxed but erect posture. If you are more comfortable, sit on a couch or bed. Silently and slowly say the following phrases to yourself:
May I start right here.
May I offer myself kindness and compassion.
May I accept myself as I am.
Take a few minutes and reflect on ways of offering yourself kindness today:
If you're always busy, take a few minutes and do something relaxing, such as reading a poem or listening to a piece of music you love.
If you harbor an inner critic who shames you for not grieving the right way, try responding to one of the critic's accusations by saying, “I'm doing the best I can,” or “Over time, things will get easier.” Or choose another mantra or phrase that helps you feel supported.
In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.
—Barbara Kingsolver