This past Monday, Father’s Day suddenly popped into my mind. With a little rush of glee I thought, Wow! It already passed!
I was thrilled — maybe this year, I thought, Father’s Day had slipped by without my noticing. Without fanfare, without scrolling through one million social media tributes, without dread, without personal feelings of lack.
Reaching for my phone, I clicked the calendar button. My heart sank a little when I found out Father’s Day is still coming up on June 19. But this year, it only sank a little. In contrast to years past, my heart did not scrape the bottom of the tank.
That, I realized, is progress worth noting.
For a long while, parent holidays were difficult for me. They dredged up sadness and disappointment, along with all my desire for a different kind of reality. Pairing heartache with unmet needs packs a powerful punch.
Put another way, I was grieving. And every time those holidays rolled around, they highlighted my grief and made it feel more consuming. They were like an unforgiving shovel deepening the pit.
It was hard, for a while, to watch people around me celebrating Father’s Day. It seemed easy for so many others, which made me feel alone. The heaviness felt impossible sometimes. But over the course of several years, things began to lighten up a little. It happened slowly, but I still noticed.
Grief is funny like that. When it is acute, it is consuming, a weight you never wanted to carry. In those moments, it is hard to believe there might be another side of that grief, much less one you could ever be capable of reaching.
Then one day, a little further down the road — sometimes as a complete surprise — you realize your heavy feelings are not quite as heavy as they once were.
To be clear, this shift does not mean your grief has gone away. It is always part of you. Yet as you live your life, it changes shape. As your grief changes shape, it changes you.
Most of us have had some experience with grief. We are all touched by natural losses, like the death of an aging grandparent who enjoyed a long, happy life. But in my experience, the place where grief gets really interesting — and hard to manage — is in the throes of unnatural loss, which is something deeply unwanted and harder to accept. Unnatural loss can represent anything from the unexpected, early death of a loved one to parent relationships that were severed, unavailable, or fundamentally unable to meet your needs from a young age.
Our lived experience of grief leaves nothing up for debate. It is painful and unpredictable; it moves in waves and knocks us off our feet.
Scientists who examine grief validate that experience, describing proven physiological and emotional responses to grief in great detail. They have evidence that, along with depression, stress, and other psychological repercussions, grief can cause chronic inflammation, which is dangerous and can even lead to diseases like diabetes and cancer.
Grief can also negatively impact our cardiovascular and immune systems. One study showed that people’s heart rates are faster for a period after loss, which increases their risk of disease until it slows back down. Another showed there might be an association between grief and higher risks of cardiovascular blood clotting. In other words, a broken heart can become something very literal.
Whether your experience with grief stems from natural loss, like a gently aging parent, or something unnatural, like hardship in childhood, which can take longer to process, the desire to move through grief and find homeostasis again is universal. Scientists say the process of moving through grief and regaining equilibrium shows up clearly in the brain.
When a person is in acute grief, for example, they still associate reminders of the lost party with the brain’s reward system, which is the part of the brain that lights up with dopamine when we see our beloved dog or taste something sweet. Pain comes from the recognition that the reward the brain wants is no longer available. As we process grief, the brain eventually learns to recognize the lost party as something loved, but no longer there. It stops expecting an active mental reward, or rush of pleasure, which reduces the pain.
So when I realized that Father’s Day — though still not my favorite, still not something I track, and still something with landmines to avoid — no longer feels as painful as it once did, it must have meant my sweet, silly brain, always full of hope and affection, always wanting to love and be loved in return, had finally learned not to hear the word “father” and expect that ding ding ding of reward in return.
Putting it in those terms admittedly feels a little harsh. It is making something black and white that I wish could switch to color. But at the same time, understanding the physiological process my body went through to carry me from point A, heartbreak, to point B, managing something hard fairly well, is powerful. It renews my faith and helps me recognize my own strength, which when you are looking at yourself in the mirror, can be almost impossible to see.
A couple of years ago, long familiar with wading through loss, I remember telling my therapist that I was surprised. A difficult topic had come up, and it seemed I could finally talk about it without crying.
“I do not know why,” I told her. “The situation has not changed at all.”
She smiled empathetically.
“Time,” she said. “Time helps with healing. The pain is still there, but it is no longer acute.”
In other words, my brain had done its job, and my grief had changed shape.
My hope for every reader living with grief in one of its many forms is not that it will end. We know that is impossible. My hope is not even that it will change shape. That may take time. My hope is simply that you remember that every cell, every neurotransmitter, every part of your own resilient body is conspiring to support you.
Between you and me—
Thank you so much for your kind emails and messages about last week’s news!!!!!! I feel buoyed by your support.
The essay I wrote for Father’s Day weekend last year was one of my most-responded-to-ever pieces. I appreciated every note! If you’re new here, it’s called “For the Fatherless on Father’s Day.”
The topic of grief and the internet, or more broadly, mental health and the internet, is a big one, and it fascinates me. I am aware, for example, that just as witnessing someone else’s experience of family on the internet might touch my grief, my own experience — with marriage, or friendship, or who knows what — might touch someone else’s. I am always aware of that and try to navigate with care though feel sure it happens.
The conclusion I always reach is that we are all responsible for our own relationship to the wild west of the internet and exposure to other people’s unfiltered thoughts. On Father’s Day, for example, I limit my intake. For essential commentary on our relationship to the internet, see Jia Tolentino’s Trick Mirror.
We all know local news is on life support, and how important it is for communities, so I was ecstatic to see this wonderful article on my husband in the Biltmore Beacon. They told his story generously while describing his vision for his… new role as Music Director of the Hendersonville Symphony Orchestra!
This position was a long time coming, partially because of Covid delays and partially because of Life, Lol™, and I do not even believe I am exploiting my very obvious bias when I say that it is incredibly, deeply, and beautifully well-deserved. It has filled me with so much joy to watch friends, musicians, and colleagues rally around him, knowing how long he has dedicated himself to his vision and his art. Okay. That was a lot of adjectives. Thank you for indulging me.
I am having a moment scrolling tiny vintage watches on Instagram, watching ‘90s rom-coms featuring pre-Goop Gwyneth for outfit inspiration, and spraying thermal spring water from France all over my face to survive the heat. What can I say? I am who I am!
Take care out there.
The audio version of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is published every Wednesday. Last week’s, which was about learning to listen to your little voice within, even amidst rejection, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Can you help us grow? Send this to a friend and ask them to subscribe. Share it on Instagram and tag @lauren_only. If you enjoy this regularly please consider becoming a sponsor, which makes this publication possible! Every gesture of support is appreciated.
Thank you so much for this, Lauren. While I haven't reached the stage where I can think about Father's Day without grief (and a bit of envy for those more fortunate), this reminds me that there is hope.
< 3