When I was finally ready to do my painful, deep grief work, and when I finally found the right therapist for me in that moment, I would find myself frozen in terror: I didn’t want to feel. How could I allow myself to *feel* the grief of a son killed in a car crash? The grief of a brain injury? The grief of a body and brain that would never be quite right? The grief of having given birth to a perfect, beautiful boy and his Being ripped from this world? The grief of a young father sudden dying seven years later on the same date as my son’s death? The barrage of the deaths of three grandparents within 18 months of my father’s death? And when the real work began, how could I allow myself to truly feel and grieve the reality of not having a loving, kind mother, or a present father?
Surely, the human body and brain can only tolerate so much.
“What’s the point?” I would ask constantly. “It won’t change anything.” So terrified to feel, frozen in the unknown of true affect. I had built a lovely fortress around my entire being – inside and out – to keep me from intimately connecting with anyone. I might feel close to someone, but the closeness was based on my ability, which wasn’t much although it felt like it in the moment.