The Discomfort of Grief

Being out of my comfort zone is something I’m, well, uncomfortable with.

But when I became a widow, my entire existence felt uncomfortable. Everything in my world was different.

But one of the most uncomfortable parts of loss was not in what was different. It was in what was the same. The same friends, the same house, the same bar, the same walking route, the same music, the same shows, the same job.

Brad was dead but everything around me was the same.

It felt like I was living in some strange twilight episode where Brad was plucked out of this bizarre alternate universe and I was the only one who knew he was supposed to be there.

And it was one of the hardest things about grief - watching the rest of the world continue to turn, turn, turn when my world came to a break-slamming halt.

At first, there was comfort in all the same. The same bed, the same smells, the same routine. But eventually, that comfort shifted to constriction. I couldn’t continue on a path built for the “we” when now it was just “me.”

So I started to change. Slowly and reluctantly. I was tired of feeling uncomfortable in my friend’s group and in my city and in my own fucking body. I wanted to feel uncomfortable in all the “normal” ways - like traveling solo and switching jobs and moving to a new city and getting bangs (that one I regret, but felt normal in that regret, too).

The entire grief experience is out of our comfort zone (in part because our society does a really shitty job of talking about it, acknowledging it, or preparing for it). So if you’re in the depths of it now - and feeling really fucking uncomfortable - try feeling uncomfortable on your own terms. Meet a stranger for coffee (hello, social anxiety!), try a new hobby (maybe even one you’re bad at), or throw yourself into a freezing cold lake in the middle of winter.



Sure, it won’t cure your grief discomfort. But it will be a distraction. And you never know - it may be the growth you need to get comfortable being uncomfortable.