When Grief Makes You Want to Hide From the World

Sometimes the meerkat has the right idea. NOPE.

There are days when we get up, get dressed, and think we might actually manage whatever the day brings.

And then grief shows up.

Not politely. Not with a warning. It doesn't check our calendar or ask whether this is a good time.

It just barges in.

Maybe we're standing in the grocery store when a familiar song starts playing. Maybe we catch the scent of someone's perfume, hear a laugh that sounds like someone we miss, or see something that takes us straight back to a moment we weren't expecting to revisit.

One minute we're buying milk. The next, we're standing there trying to remember what we came into the store for.

That's a grief ambush.

And sometimes, after one of those, the only thing we want to do is crawl into a hole and pull the dirt in behind us.

Some Days, NOPE Is Enough

I have a little meerkat whose message is pretty straightforward:

“Nope. Not going out there.”

I think he understands something about grief.

Some days we don't want to answer the phone. We don't want to explain why we're quiet. We don't want to hear another well-meaning suggestion about getting out of the house or keeping ourselves busy.

We just want the world to leave us alone for a while.

And sometimes that's exactly what we need.

Not forever. Not necessarily even for the whole day.

Just a little time when nobody expects anything from us.

Grief Doesn't Always Wait for a Sad Day

One of the strange things about grief is that it can catch us when we're perfectly occupied doing something else.

We might be laughing with friends, cooking dinner, driving to work, or enjoying a beautiful afternoon.

Then something happens.

A memory. A sound. A photograph. A familiar place.

Suddenly, we're somewhere else in our minds, remembering a person or a time we cannot physically return to.

What makes these ambushes especially difficult is that we may not have been feeling sad at all a moment earlier.

And now we're trying to hold ourselves together in the middle of an ordinary day.

People sometimes assume grief only comes when we're sitting around thinking about the person who died.

I wish it were that predictable.

Grief has a way of finding us in the middle of living.

Sometimes We Just Want to Hide

There's a difference between needing a little solitude and feeling as though we have to disappear from the world.

Sometimes we simply don't have the energy to be around people. Conversations take effort. Even answering a harmless question like “How are you?” can feel exhausting.

Especially when the truthful answer would take longer than anyone standing in the checkout line really wants to hear.

So we say, “I'm fine.”

And we go home.

The little deer on one of my cards says:

“Some days I just want to hide from the world.”

And on the back:

“It's okay to step away when the world feels too heavy.”

There may be days when staying home is exactly what we need. Other days, hiding can become so familiar that returning to the world feels harder and harder.

We don't always know which kind of day we're having.

And that's worth paying attention to, without judging ourselves for it.

Sometimes Quiet Is All We Have to Give

Sometimes we don't want to disappear completely. We just want to blend into the background, where nobody expects us to talk, explain ourselves, or pretend we're having a good day.

My little fox says:

“Some days I just want to blend into the forest.”

On the back of his card, the message is simple:

“It's okay to be quiet for a while.”

Being quiet doesn't mean we have nothing to say. Sometimes we simply don't have the energy to say it.

We might still want to be near someone, even if we don't feel like having a conversation.

There's a difference between wanting company and wanting conversation.

And it's okay to want one without the other.

You Don't Have to Come Out Yet

Sometimes it isn't the world we're trying to hide from.

It's the pain.

That little brown bear peeking around the tree says:

“Sometimes I just want to hide from the pain.”

And the back of his card reads:

“You don't have to come out yet. Take the time you need.”

We don't have to turn every difficult moment into a project to fix ourselves.

We can turn off the phone. Sit quietly. Cry if the tears come. Take a walk. Or do absolutely nothing for a little while.

And we don't have to explain every quiet moment to somebody else.

Grief doesn't follow a schedule.

We may handle something beautifully one day and struggle with the very same thing the next.

That doesn't erase the days when we managed well.

And an unexpected grief ambush doesn't mean we've gone backward or lost whatever ground we've gained.

It means something touched a part of our lives that still matters.

There may always be songs, places, dates, or little everyday things that remind us of someone we love.

Over time, some of those reminders may change. A memory that once brought tears might eventually bring a smile. Others may still catch us off guard.

We don't have to know in advance which it will be.

So if today is a meerkat kind of day, allow yourself some time down that hole.

The world is still moving outside the hole. It can wait until you're ready to come out, even if only a little bit at a time.

Grief Spoken Here.

By Sandy Brosam | Grief CPR Universe