Can We Just Ban the Phrase "Get Over It?"

Grief is complicated. That seems like a "file under DUH" statement, but it's a needed reminder, because apparently people are still using the phrase "get over it" when dealing with other people's grief. As in, "it's been [insert period of time here], shouldn't you be over it by now?" Or "I'm worried about you, you didn't seem to be able to get over it." 

There is no over. There is only through. 

Over to me is this idea that you can leapfrog the complex and uncomfortable feelings associated with grief, particularly the kind that comes with the death of a dream or the complete undoing of what you thought life was "supposed" to look like. Just skip all that unpleasantness, paste a smile on, and get over it. 

This pretty much benefits only the people around you, the ones who are uncomfortable with raw and oozing emotions and/or the reminder that bad things happen to people, for absolutely no reason. 

To get through something is to acknowledge the yuck, the lying-facedown-on-the-floor, the sadness and anger and even jealousy that comes with a traumatic undoing, and to know that you have every right to trudge through that emotional swamp at your own pace. It means you can get to the "other side," but the mud and goo you tromped through sticks to the soles of your shoes and the odor lingers in the fiber of your clothes. It's still there, but it's not as consuming as it once was. However, you can also on occasion step in a sinkhole that douses you in the goo all over again, out of nowhere. You can get out of the it, but there are going to be sinkholes, and they don't have an expiration date. 

I have had to mourn a life turned upside down twice, and the grief worked totally differently and also in some ways very much the same. For me, the process looked like this: first, disbelief and a numbness that this can actually be happening; then, a lot of lying face-down on the floor. This is where the two experiences fork. 

For the dissolution of my first marriage, I was absolutely devastated but then wanted to make the best of the shitty situation. I enjoyed being alone. But then I would cry about being alone. And even today, little snippets of my life Before will pop into my head and make me sad, but it's different. I am sad for the person I was, who didn't see her own worth. I am insanely happy for the life I lead now, which is only possible because of that horrific loss, and learning how to love and forgive myself. It was a bit easier to move forward once I could acknowledge that I'd been living a pretty miserable life and this was, actually, a freeing event.

For the end of the quest to be parents, it was different. In one way, because I was mourning with my person, someone loving and kind and supportive. The raw part also lasted a hell of a lot longer. And it feels like much more of a finality, of a loss of an experience that impacts the entire rest of our lives and beyond. I can find ways that I have benefits for not having kids, but there wasn't a moment when we were desperately trying that I didn't want to have them. 

The things that are the same: I carry these losses with me. They aren't constantly weighing me down, but occasionally they pop up and surprise me with a fresh wave of loss. For things I've experienced, and things I'll never experience. 

Everyone's grief is different. My grief over two life-altering events is similar but not the same. One thing that's constant is that there is no magic wand to make the grief go away, to skip over the hard parts, to make it so you're never sad about losses ever again. I wouldn't want there to be -- these experiences have made me who I am, and while I'm not grateful for the personal tragedies, I am grateful for how they altered my perception. How they made me grow as a person, even if it was kicking and screaming. 

I truly believe that there is no "getting over it" or "moving on" as if you can put loss in a box and give it away. I wish there was more understanding of grief as something you carry with you, but move through to a place you once could never imagine -- one of acceptance and finding joy in a new reality.