When Grief Stays Silent

Source: Anastasia Balandina/Unsplash

Recently, I learned of someone's death, not from mutual friends or word of mouth. No one in my current world even knows this person, but he'd been very important to me long ago. A different kind of grief came over me; an unshared grief.

I realized that if I talked about it, I'd probably hear something like, "Well, that was years ago, right?" Not from everyone, certainly. But even for me, it felt as if this grief was something that I needed to keep to myself–something I didn't have the "right" to feel since I'd ended the relationship. It was old news. I was supposed to be over that. Way over that.

That made me wonder about other kinds of grief that aren't culturally sanctioned–and I found the term "disenfranchised" grief, describing pain compounded by the feeling that one has not been given 'permission' to experience it.

Grief is not something that many feel they're not supposed to talk about with others and that it could be seen as "over the top" or uncomfortable to talk about.

What are some of disenfranchised sources of grief? And what are common responses to those experiences?

• Miscarriage. The first question that's generally asked is, "How far along were you?" as if there's a certain amount of time that warrants grieving. If you'd "only" been pregnant six or eight weeks, you might hear, "Well, you know, it wasn't meant to be."
• Family estrangement. When a family is splintered, and lines of blame are etched in concrete, or intentional alienation has occurred, a frequent response may be, "I don't know why you can't do something," which denies the grief that belongs to the loss of time and a sense of helplessness when reconciliation isn't desired or even refused by someone else.
• Chronic medical or mental health conditions, including long Covid. You might hear, "Oh, I thought that was better, " or, "You handle that so well I forget all about it." Chronic conditions scare many people–so they "forget." And your struggle isn't recognized. Your courage isn't recognized and supported.
• Growing up as a minority or LGBTQ kid in a non-accepting environment. Maintaining the silence of your experience every day of having to pretend or to mold yourself into some other version of yourself, and stay silent when you want to scream. So now you're an adult, and you might hear, "Well, there was affirmative action," or "It's so much better now"; in other words, "Don't grieve." That's not okay.

These are only a few sources of disenfranchised grief; others may include losing custody of one's kids, losing a job or retiring, or failed adoptions. I could go on and on.

Carrying around a sense of victimization isn't the answer. But toxic positivity—feeling that there are "bad" feelings and you are wrong to have them—isn't the solution, either. As Susan David, Harvard professor and author Emotional Agility, said, "Discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life."

Some people will listen; they will remember, understand, and support your grief. And that kind of connection can be life-changing, so you can allow your grief to come to the surface–and not be alone.