The Grief Workout

When I was young, I never paid attention to the lyrics of the song “Let’s Get Physical” by Olivia Newton John. I thought it was a motivational song about working out. I listened to the song and watched the video recently and realized while it is definitely promoting the benefits of a good workout, it’s not in the same way I thought. 😉

Just as naively, I thought grief was mainly an emotional experience before I went through it. I have come to learn it is a total body phenomenon. This is probably the part of grieving that has surprised me the most.  It is a workout for the mind, body, and spirit, and it is not for the faint of heart. 

In the first few days after Luke passed, I felt it all over my body. I shivered constantly, was thirsty all the time, and had a nervous feeling in my stomach. I walked around with a blanket and water bottle and had no appetite at all. If it weren’t for people bringing dinners and lots of sweet treats in that first week, I wouldn’t have eaten anything at all. The novelty of the food made me at least want to try some of it. 

I cried, of course, but it was a different kind of cry than I had ever done before. It was half crying and half hyperventilating. I had to consciously remember to breathe. Strangely, I didn’t cry for long periods of time. It was very bizarre. I usually only cried for a few minutes at a time, and then I would stop and go on with whatever I needed to do. This went on for weeks, short but intense bursts of crying and then I would be fine. It’s like my body just needed a release every once in a while. I really didn’t cry nearly as much as I imagined I would. I suppose everyone is different. I tear up quite often still, but it’s usually just for a moment. Triggers are a different story and much more intense, so I will share about those in another post. 

Along with the new kind of crying, I also started a new thing where I fell to the ground whenever I was emotionally overwhelmed. That was weird, but luckily, I only ever did this at home. In early December 2019, our oldest daughter was flying from Mexico to Arizona to continue her work as a missionary when she got very sick. She called us from the hospital where she had been admitted, and upon hearing that news, I fell down and started the hyperventilating crying thing. My husband took the call and handled things in his typical calm and practical way. He has been my rock throughout all of this, from Luke being in treatment until this very day. He struggles, to be sure, but he is able to handle hard phone calls, make decisions, and be present when the moment requires it. I can too, but not until after hitting the floor and falling apart for a bit. Kate ended up staying in the hospital for two days, and naturally I was a wreck. Her mission president called us and said he felt it was best if she came home to recover and stayed with us through the holidays. I was so relieved with that news that I again fell down and cried my eyes out while Greg handled the phone call. 

One part of grieving I also didn’t expect was extreme and irrational anxiety. I can’t describe this or explain it, but we all had different versions of it. When I found out Kate was sick enough to be in the hospital, I immediately, without even challenging this thought, felt that she would die. I assumed God would take her from us. I felt no security and no safety and no sense of control over anything. I also didn’t feel that my prayers or desires had any power to change anything, and that’s even if I could muster the strength to say a prayer or think positive thoughts. I usually didn’t have that strength. I felt completely at the mercy of what life would throw at us. 

My younger children also felt crippling anxiety. Bryn admitted to me many months later that in those early weeks she was afraid to get out of bed every morning. She didn’t like being the first one awake in the morning and feeling alone in the house. There’s no explanation for this except that grief does weird things to us. Ryan started hugging me every time I left the house. I used to leave him home while I would go pick up Bryn from track practice. He started insisting I take him with me, even though it was only five minutes away. I cannot stress how much having a child die makes you feel nothing is safe anymore and nothing can be counted on. We all felt that in different ways. The rug had been pulled out from under us and we were struggling to find our footing. Or find the ground. Or even our feet. We were not ok.  

In those early days and weeks, I had what people call grief brain. I walked around in a daze and often had no idea what I was doing or why. I felt hazy and out of it. I was forgetful and spacey. Going out in public and seeing other people going about their lives was like an out of body experience. Over time the hazy foggy feeling turned into a general difficulty concentrating, which we still feel 17 months later. We are able to function, but it takes so much more effort. So much more effort. 

Perhaps the oddest symptom of all was one that I alone got to experience. None of my family members had this one. In fact, I’ve never heard of anyone else having this in response to grief. It actually began during the time Luke was in intensive treatment for severe depression. Those weeks were very traumatic for me. How did my body handle this? I began gagging obnoxiously whenever I noticed a gross smell. My first experience with this intense gagging happened after I dropped off Luke to the Stress Center one day. I went to use the bathroom quickly before leaving. There was a person in the stall next to me and, all of a sudden, a rank smell came wafting over into my stall. I immediately gagged. The smell was putrid, almost indescribable. I tried to hurry as fast as I could, but the next wave of rotten smell came and I started dry heaving. I rushed out to wash my hands, caught another whiff of the apocalyptic stink and then right over the sink, I dry heaved again.. I finally got out and practically sprinted to my car. At the time I felt like that was the worst thing I had ever smelled in my life, like dragon diarrhea or something. I assumed the woman was probably ill. However, this gagging continued off and on and got worse after Luke died, so it’s possible the smells weren’t that bad and my body was just overreacting. For months I noticed hideous smells everywhere. Once in Walmart while grocery shopping, someone walked by me who smelled like they had not not showered in a very long time, and I tried to leave before it got to me. Unfortunately, I started gagging in the store and continued all the way until I got outside. This new gagging problem was actually embarrassing and uncomfortable for me. It happened for several months. For a while, I measured my progress in grief by how many times I had gagged that week. It gradually got less and less. Now I am happy to report I can’t remember the last time I gagged over a bad smell. 😊

I do think it’s gotten easier as more time has gone by, but grief takes an enormous toll on those experiencing it. I think it’s important to understand that it’s a process that affects the entire body. Be gentle with those grieving. They are exhausted. They are scared. They are in pain physically and mentally. Our bodies are releasing the trauma that our minds cannot hold. And I can only hope that this grief workout, like a physical workout, will make me a stronger and better and more compassionate person for having gone through it. And if in the process I also develop a hot body, that would be nice too.