Very often a person who suffers a major setback later describes the once-bitter cup as a fount of unexpected rewards. The loss of a job leads to an enthralling new career. The dreadful illness guides a patient to unprecedented fulfillment helping others with the same disease. Bereavement opens the heart to awareness of the fragility and preciousness of each day alive.
Suffering leads to growth; we see this all the time. One year of hardship will do more to mature a person than a decade of ease. Those who have suffered little often have trouble understanding those in pain. Tragedy releases wellsprings of wisdom, empathy, and art.
Yet we bridle against loss and injury. We grasp desperately for security, and yearn for freedom from depression and grief. We take drugs or overwork. We distract ourselves with orgasms and shallow entertainments. We accumulate possessions and bank accounts as hedges against want. We even fear the only thing certain in life: death. The core of western living is a ceaseless and futile battle against the inevitability of loss.
Sorrow is not a demon. Those who can embrace uncertainty and impermanence, and stand ground as what they fear approaches, are the strongest and most peaceful among us. Sorrow is a teacher.
Grief is not the only emotion of value, or the only source of understanding. But when we quit running from pain and loss we find they connect us with the human condition, help us deeply appreciate every moment of happiness, and enrich our souls. Sorrow is not the enemy of a fulfilling life. Instead, it is the shadow that highlights the bright outlines of joy.
It took me five decades to accept what I’ve known all along: many of my most painful experiences were also the most valuable. I now recognize my cruel and grief-stricken upbringing as the crucible that tempered the most sensitive aspects of my personality. Adult losses and humiliations that once threatened to crush my spirit now look like crucial pruning.
I don’t mean to romanticize the process. Much of my life felt like hell as it happened. But all that remains, and all that ever remains, is the current moment. From the vantage of the insistent present I look back on all my disappointments, and foresee much pain that I will likely someday suffer, and understand loss and sorrow as mentors that awaken me to the human drama. What’s more, they have opened my eyes to the eternal equality of sweetness and tragedy in life.
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Jude at 1:27 pm on
May 9th, 2010I can look at some losses and say, “Well, it’s good that I’m not in that job any more or with those people any more.” But my life isn’t all that great. My house is falling apart around me. I have inadequate money, one friend (only because he refuses to give up), and little hope. I look at photos of 5-year-old me and 10-year-old me and think that those versions of me had a chance, but by the time I look at 15-year-old me, it’s too late. That’s when I first became seriously suicidal. I’ve had some interesting experiences along the way, but if I didn’t have kids,I would leave.
Jude–
I am truly sorry that you are in such pain. It wasn’t long ago that I felt exactly as do you. It was only my feeling of responsibility to my wife that kept me going. Not much has improved externally. The injuries I suffered remain with me. What has changed, more than anything, is my attitude. Granted, as my acceptance of my situation grew, I began to see ways I could work with my life and build a better future. Over the past year, I’ve taken some concrete steps so things look a little less dismal. But it would be easy for me to once again lament my losses and plummet right back down to that all-too-familiar place of hopelessness. Instead, I meditate every day, exercise almost daily, try to stay connected with the few people I do have in my life, and (most importantly) focus on the present moment. The upshot is that I firmly believe what I wrote here. It has not been easy to reach this point. Two years ago, I could not have predicted this outcome. But here I am, and if I can get here, others can too. I sincerely hope you will find your way through your pain to the peace available to all who let go of expectations, and accept life in all its glory and sorrow.
–Will
Erika/Eri at 1:56 pm on
May 10th, 2010I agree.
While it was terrible to mental illness in forms of mood, thought, psychosis, and personality, sexual abuse from four to twelve, loss of innocence, addicted and verbally abusive father, mother with borderline traits, the murder of my best friend, severe bullying (including an attempt to drown me), and many other things, I have gained the most from these feelings of pain. I have been to the abyss more times than I count, being hospitalized more than once to keep me from killing myself, and I still struggle immensely. Even after therapy and medications, some symptoms do stay and I have ups and downs. Yet, from all of this I have become insightful, loving, empathetic, understanding and resilient. I’m years beyond my peers, and at only fourteen, I know that experiencing more than most my age and a lot of adults can only serve me well. My mind is open and rich, partly because of the suffering, and I can’t wait for more glimpses of understanding and insight to come to me.
Erika/Eri–
Your history is tragic and moving. While I do believe sincerely that loss and sorrow lead to growth in the way I’m describing, that does not negate the fact that trauma damages people and that recovery takes time and work. My past had much in common with yours, and it took me many decades to fully come to grips with it. I would advise anyone with this kind of history to devote a lot of time and effort to understanding, grieving, and adapting to the wreckage of abuse and bereavement.
I admire your insight in understanding that trauma can help one mature, and I wish you well as you continue to heal from this dreadful upbringing. I have no doubt that you are indeed insightful, loving, empathetic, understanding, and resilient.
Warmly,
Will
Bobbi at 11:05 am on
May 12th, 2010Having had fallen into deep depression 4 yrs ago after losing what would have been my last chance to have a baby. I am not sure that I can look back on it and see anything gained. Although the depression/grief and side-effects of medications that can’t heal a broken heart have past and I am moving on in my life; I can’t look back and say I have learned any positive lessons- I have learned what to do to get out of a mental hospital; what to say to the doctor- and what not to say- but Every mother’s day and actually every month I am reminded of my loss- it is a loss that there is no light after, only a covering over the pit in our heart.
Sometimes grief doesn’t get better with time, we just learn how not to fall apart publically!
Thank you for sharing this. Things like this just keep reinforcing my belief that nothing positive is ever wasted. Even thoughts you have by yourself that you can’t get out of your head and share with anyone else — because eventually the flower is going to come into bloom, one way or another — everything has a purpose.
I don’t foresee anything good happening, but at the same time, it makes this moment all the more beautiful: I have no idea why I’m alive, or why anyone at all has to suffer the things they do, like you have…there aren’t any answers, and as the years have gone by I just keep falling back on that reality. We just can’t know. I also have talked about death, but I’ve been thinking that well, if I’m alive right now, I can’t be experiencing death, so death is a complete mystery. Who knows what happens after that? I think life goes on somehow, one way or another — main point is, though, I have no idea about anything at all!
Except one thing: positivity and love are good. And I still think being broken and having nothing left to lift you up can still be good, if you’re also emptied of a desire to hurt other people, or anger and resentment…my experience has been that when pain gets to its worst point, the brain just kind of shuts down, everything is totally confusing and even thinking is too stressful and too energetically demanding to do.
I think it’s a blessing because I feel the worst when I’m angry at people and full of hate. I think that’s hell on earth. Suffering is no walk in the park and that’s hell on earth in its own way, but…something about enduring it without resentment makes it meaningful, or more bearable, at least, than it ever would be otherwise.
Everything is okay. Life is painful. But if we stop trying to process pain and overcome it by understanding it — which is impossible in the worst moments of suffering — if we just stop trying to understand it, it’s almost like it takes care of itself.
And in my life, I’ve learned that when it gets bad enough, this ‘shutting down’ is automatic. On a biological level I don’t think it’s possible to process something like hate or logical thinking when your energy reserves are so severely depleted that, as I said before, even thinking a thought is very hard to do, and you don’t even have the energy for that.
Life is merciful in that way. And all this pain has to be leading somewhere — we aren’t here just to suffer and die.
Or maybe we are here just to suffer and die, for this lifetime, and somewhere beyond the door of death there’s another world that could only be unlocked by all the hells we live through in this world. Who knows?
I have hope. And somehow even when all my hope is gone something is still inside me, like a tiny speck of light that is in a way the center of my personal universe. I think this is in every person.
It’s a beautiful thing to be able to feel absolutely miserable, but content with the pain in your life. So that way, you’re not being dishonest by pretending you don’t feel bad and saying “I’m okay with everything” — but you’re also not succumbing to suffering and let it deceive you into thinking that it’s the only thing that matters in life, or something like that. I don’t really know how to put it into words: it’s just…you’re not okay with it, and okay with not being okay with it at the same time. It isn’t happy or sad, it’s just…that speck of light. That speck of something.
So thanks again. I’m really glad that you shared this and I think you’re probably helping a lot more people than you have any idea about. I bet people read this and don’t comment on it — there are some people you helped and you will never know who they are, or that they even read these words, but it helped them. So no positivity is ever wasted. Who knows, maybe positive thoughts help the world. The sun is so many miles away and we don’t even think about it 99% of the time, but we can feel its warmth all the way over here, and see the light. It lights up the whole world just by existing millions of miles away and without even saying a single word or doing anything but being bright and warm.
Bobbi–
Your story moves me deeply. You might be surprised if you knew how much I understand what it feels like to lose the hope of having children.
There is a big danger in writing these things: one can come across sounding trite. Sorrow is a painful state of mind, and loss does not always lead to resolution and acceptance. Sadly, many people never recover from awful experiences. It is nevertheless true that many do eventually work through their grief and come to recognize they are more textured and compassionate as a result. Although my own experience proves it can take a long time, it can and does happen. I would be the first to insist that for a while, at least, loss simply sucks. But the clouds often dissipate; the sun often shines again.
Whether one breaks through the suffering to embrace sorrow does not seem to be a function of the severity of the loss. It probably has more to do with one’s past history, the examples one sees in loved ones, and perhaps fate or Grace. There are also concrete steps one can take to move toward acceptance, and I hope to spell some of these out in future essays.
I wish there were a quick and easy way to bring others to this place of profound acceptance. For now, all I can do is say it exists. It is important, in closing, to be clear that my sadness remains very real. What is missing is my hatred of it.
–Will
Matt–
You clearly get what I’m saying. Thank you for sharing your insights.
–Will
Linda Foster at 11:22 pm on
May 14th, 2010I have heard this kind of thing said before, but my depression and grief have completely ruined my life. My brother & Dad committed suicide and my Mom died from cancer – all in less than 10 months time. I can find no life lesson that I’ve learned from it or any good that ever came from it.
I have pretty much accepted what happened (it’s not like I have a choice), but ever since then it seems everything in my life has turned bad. Within just a few years of my family dying, the majority of the rest of my relatives died as well as a couple of friends and pets. I also lost my job; my husband left me, my son aquired a drinking problem, I have no friends, and I feel like I’ve been in a walking coma for the past 15 years, and I’m distressed that I lost those years and will probably lose more because nothing is changing for the better, even though I do try.
Sorry to be so negative, it’s just that, well, I am.
Linda–
No need to apologize. You’ve been through a dreadful run of hardship. Although it is possible to find this place of acceptance I describe, it is not easy. Nor can one avoid grieving. The subtle trick is to both feel miserable about what’s happened, but also feel open to life. Unfortunately, many (and possibly most) people with truly devastating backgrounds never break free of the suffering. By the way, I am making a distinction here between grief, which we must feel, and suffering, which can be limited by acceptance.
Although it would be hard to see how any ‘good’ could come from what you describe, I must object to your not seeing the ‘lesson’ in your awful losses. You clearly have a deep understanding of bereavement and sorrow. As a result, I am sure you have an exceptional ability to understand the pain of others. These are not the lessons anyone wants. I have had far too many myself. But they do change and enrich us as humans. Personally, I’d rather spend time with someone who knows how painful life can become than with someone who has been more fortunate, but developed less awareness of sorrow.
I am not minimizing your terrible losses or your profound grief. I am holding them with full knowledge that you have experienced anguish and that much light has gone from your life. I wish you the best.
–Will
Pannie at 3:27 pm on
May 15th, 2010“Awaken me to the human drama….” Well said!
Grief can be the most debilitaing emotion ~ both mental and physically. It doesn’t have to be because we do have a choice how to act and re-act and as you write by learning and remembering in a way that will allow you to go on.
One of the problems can be that of all the great therapies out there, out here we sometimes neglect to go to them as we believe ‘we have to feel this way’. And the answer just may be ‘I can choose to be the way I want to be, it’s ok.’
Paul
Paul–
I agree. If depression, anxiety, or any other mental state is truly chosen, then there should be no guilt or argument. And I like your pointing out that sometimes just a subtle shift in attitude from “I have to feel this way” to “I choose to feel this way” can be quite empowering. My issue with some of my own past therapy has been that it often came with a tacit assumption that my feelings were psychiatric symptoms that needed aggressive treatment. It would have been more helpful if a therapist had simply said, “yes, after everything you lived through, you must feel really sad and angry. But you don’t need to feel this way forever.” Because I never got the chance to look at my emotional experience as a normal reaction, I never got to work through it. Eventually, I had the good fortune of getting more enlightened care. It’s not so much that I found smarter therapists, but the field progressed so that these kinds of understanding became easier to find among professionals. My point is that those who avoid therapy because they think they ‘have to’ feel bad may actually be pretty close to the truth. Sometimes we do have to grieve and fret for a while. The trick is to do so while still appreciating the beauty in our lives and relationships.
Will-
“Because I never got the chance to look at my emotional experience as a normal reaction, I never got to work through it.”
In my world of therapy changing beliefs of ‘I should feel this way’, to let go of any guilt that changing that belief creates allows us to create a life we want, desire and that’s okay. The past is the past, it’s wasn’t the same as we remember it so create the now as we wat it which in turn creates a wonderful past to remember. In that way we maybe not need to spend time on “working through it.”
Lastly you mention ‘the trick’ in your last two lines ~ ABSOLUTELY SPOT ON!!!!!
Hi Paul–
I find your observation that the past is not how we remember it, so (if I understand correctly) we might as well adjust our memories until they feel less troubling, to be quite interesting. On the one hand, there is no question that memory is faulty, and we really have no accurate picture of what really happened. So changing our recollections so they hurt less makes sense. On the other hand, trauma and loss are real. They affect people deeply and for a long time. I would be hesitant to just gloss over injury by saying (in effect) ‘it wasn’t that bad’. That seems an injustice to (for instance) the badly abused/neglected child who grows up to suffer psychiatric ‘symptoms’. Personally, I believe those ‘symptoms’ may very well be signs of health rather than disease: normal reactions of mind/body/soul to terrible insult. Wouldn’t it be better to acknowledge the wounding (while keeping in mind that some of the memories may be faulty or exaggerated) than to tell oneself nothing awful happened? I’m guessing there are subtleties in your approach that I’m not grasping from your very brief mention of it.
–Will
Helen Fowler at 8:27 am on
July 29th, 2010Maybe it should be re-titled: “Sweet Sorrows: Depression and Grief SOMETIMES Have Great Value” – because for me they have been and still are a major setback. Nothing good has come from the losses and depression I have experienced. It’s as if some evil witch has put a spell on me. Everything I’ve done or tried to do in the past 15 years has ended with a negative result.
Helen–
I didn’t choose the essay’s title, and as it stands it is indeed stated too strongly. But it is important to keep in mind that the value comes from what these hardships teach the soul. In terms of external, material progress, depression and grief seldom help. But what I’ve found in dealing with many distressing losses, failures, low moods, and illness, is that in my best moments I feel like a richer person as a result of my struggle. Mind you, I still don’t have a career, I face serious financial and health problems, and I’m living with chronic pain. In terms of ‘results’, I’ve seen few that weren’t negative in the past ten years. But by practicing unconditional acceptance and mindfulness, I am often OK with it all. I actually feel peaceful and contented despite the many hazards and disappointments. It is absolutely the case that numerous people throughout history have endured horrific hardships while remaining serene and spiritually fit. I used to believe such people must have come from exceptionally loving homes, and so were given a solid basis to work from that I lacked. But now I see that one can get there even after a childhood (like mine) that was flooded with abuse, neglect, and bereavement.
Some key areas to work on are: 1. Mindful Acceptance, 2. Finding Meaning, 3. Helping Others, 4. Creative Expression, 5. Peer Support.
Good Luck in your journey.
–Will
Last reviewed: 9 May 2010
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