Loss and transition have a way of reshaping us from the inside out. They can shake what once felt certain, ask more of us than we think we can handle, and leave us searching for steadiness in what feels like a frightening wilderness. And yet, the cavern created by painful seasons like these can also carve out a kind of spaciousness – a deeper interior place where greater awareness and presence help us grow into someone we’ve never been before: the next version of ourselves.
When a loved one dies, a relationship ends, a health crisis surfaces, or any number of difficult transitions rearrange our lives, our typical patterns and routines shift and change as well. These disorienting times ask us to find our footing and steady ourselves somehow. In this dizzying place, mindfulness and self-compassion can help us meet our new normal as we struggle to take the next step.
That doesn’t mean mindfulness or self-compassion are silver bullets that take away pain. In fact, when we begin turning toward difficult emotions, we may feel worse before we feel better. The need for self-compassion may be greater than it has ever been, and we may be prompted to help ourselves in new, vulnerable ways – testing the waters of who we are becoming.
Fear. Anger. Abandonment. Loneliness. Even speaking feelings like these aloud can be awkward. But they are common emotions during seasons of pain. When I’ve faced difficult unknowns during my own losses and transitions, I’ve done my best to respond gently when strong emotions arise in my body. “Oh, this is fear,” I might say aloud. “This is how fear feels in my body right now.” Acknowledging and allowing the tumult can turn down the torque of the moment ever so slightly, even though my chest may still feel heavy and my stomach might still churn. But naming what we feel can help bring a little steadiness and clarity to an overwhelmed nervous system. And sometimes, every little bit helps.
During loss and transition we may feel so broken by one or more of these difficult emotions that we deny or ignore rather than gently acknowledge them. That’s a normal reaction and one that protects us from more emotion in the moment. On the other hand, we might over-identify with our painful emotions and worry that life will always be this way. At times like these, it’s important to be patient with ourselves as we grow in awareness and openness to what is happening in our hearts and bodies as our new normal takes shape.
Even beginning to notice our sleep patterns – or lack thereof – can bring awareness to what may be going on in our nervous system during difficult times. Wakefulness in the middle-of-the-night can invite small mindful moments: gentle yoga on the floor, a few somatic movements in the hallway, a hand on the heart, or simply pausing to feel the support of the earth beneath us. Practices like these can help release some of the body’s pent-up energy so the nervous system has a better chance of settling and resting.
This, too, may be part of how we remember to be kind to ourselves, reflect on where we’ve been, dream of where we’re going, and sense who we may be becoming – glimpses of the spaciousness, and of the new shape – brought on by the tumult of loss and change.
One thoughtful resource that has helped me navigate this terrain is Liang Shun’s book of short Zen stories entitled, Light Through the Crack. In it, Shun encourages readers to turn toward these deep, painful places, name one’s strongest anguish, and whisper with courage through the cavern created by that same pain, “Come in, light.”
When I do this practice regularly each morning, I find that I’m at a new, fresh place in my mind and heart most days. My whispers are only to myself, of course, and whatever insights emerge are ones I can keep in a journal or share with a therapist or trusted friend. Still, inviting light into my own pained places illuminates inner resources I didn’t know I had, had forgotten about, or simply needed to strengthen.
Though the cavern created by loss and transition can feel daunting, it can also open us to deeper ways of knowing ourselves, making space for our new normal, and expanding our capacity for growth and possibilities. May we all find the courage to name our pain during times of loss and transition, to notice the cracks that open in our lives, and to gently whisper, as often as needed, “Come in, light.”
Beginning in late April, MNW will offer a workshop, a 6-week course, and an all-day retreat for anyone living through loss and transition. These gatherings will offer gentle practices and supportive space for meeting life’s transitions with greater steadiness, kindness, and courage.