The Twelve Days of [a Griever’s] Christmas

Grieving for someone you love is difficult enough in the day-to-day, but thanks to the commerciality of Christmas and the New Year, every year we find ourselves having to navigate an extra layer of emotions during that dreaded two-month festive period from early November to the beginning of January. Everywhere we go, we are faced with merriment and cheer, reminders of what we used to have and who we used to be. The supermarket, shopping in town, lunch with friends, at home in front of the TV, nowhere is left untouched by tinsel and happy families.

While the ideal would be to book a ticket to a faraway, unknown island for the full two-month duration with a suitcase full of bikinis and books in tow, I know that is sadly impossible for the majority of us. So instead, as someone who has been without her mama for over twelve years, I thought that I would share my antidote to the Twelve Days of Christmas.

1. Sack off the events that you can’t face attending. Whether it’s the work Christmas lunch or a pre-Christmas meal with friends, give it a miss if you know that it will trigger your grief. Your friends will understand and your colleagues will be too drunk to notice!

2. Pencil in some quiet time to yourself. If you have a big family gathering planned on Christmas Day, you might find it hectic and draining, at the best of times. Take yourself out of the noise. You can do this without drawing attention to yourself by heading to bed slightly earlier than usual or taking a walk around the block after lunch.

3. Reminisce about your loved one. If you are feeling up to it, find a way to include your loved one during your traditions. Some suggestions are reciting a poem that you’ve written before lunch, sharing memories or dust off some old photo albums to look through.

4. Decide what traditions you want to keep and want to change. There will be some traditions that you are drawn to and others that you can’t imagine doing without them. Have a think about it and speak to family members accordingly so you are all in agreement about the plans for the day.

5. Make a donation to a charity in your loved one’s name. The first few years after mum died, dad, my sister and I attended the Christmas lights ceremony at the local hospice where mum would have ended up and donated a light to her. It was such a memorable experience being surrounded by other families who all felt the same void in our hearts.

6. By way of a NY resolution, think about nurturing your grief. Join a local meet-up (Let’s Talk About Loss if you are in the UK or click here if you are in the US), buy a ticket to one of our grief retreats or look into starting grief journalling.

7. Channel your pain into making positive change in your community. If you are interested in volunteering on Christmas Day then visit the following pages for more information: here and here. My amazing neighbour volunteers for Crisis every year and she always says that it one of the most rewarding and enjoyable experiences of her year.

8. Skip the gifts and plan something meaningful instead. When you are grieving, the materialism and frivolity of gift giving can seem so meaningless and superficial. Instead of buying gifts for family members, plan a day out together in memory of your loved one.

9. Avoid places/people that are likely to trigger you. Get online deliveries, unsubscribe from commercial e-mails, fast forward through TV adverts, skip dinner plans.

10. Include their favourite dish in your meal planning. Don’t get upset if it doesn’t turn out as planned. It’s the gesture that matters.

11. Don’t feel guilty about how you feel, whatever you feel. Your Christmas will inevitably be different without your loved one so try not to put pressure on yourself to feel what you think you should be feeling. If you feel like smiling, smile, if you feel like tearing up, find a moment to shed a tear.

12. Seek gratitude. I know this is a tough one so don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Try to find at least one thing to be grateful for each day of the holidays. Write it down, photograph it, tell a friend. Even if it is just something small like snow or your puppy’s santa outfit.

If you have any tips that you would like to share through our platform, get in touch with us by e-mail at yournewnormal1@gmail.com or drop us a message on Instagram

Finding Forgiveness In Grief

Your journey through grief will at times be a solitary one, as you find yourself disappointed by the people who you previously turned to for support and guidance. May be they prioritised their grief over yours and were unable to see past their own pain? May be they failed to understand the extent of your loss and how to support you through your pain?  Whatever the reason, it is important to remember that very rarely will this neglect and and absence stem from a lack of care or compassion, and if that is the case, do we really want one loss to lead to others?

My journey through grief has gone hand in hand with my journey through forgiveness. Forgiveness for the parent who couldn’t parent, forgiveness for the friends who didn’t know how to be there, forgiveness for the boyfriends who selfishly ran away, forgiveness for the acquaintances who were stunned into silence. For in forgiving we let go of feelings of disappointment and resentment, giving us the space and the energy to focus on what is truly important, finding happiness and purpose in our lives again, in spite of our suffering.

Same Death, Different Loss

My father, my sister and I all lost the same person, our greatest love, mama. In an ideal world, this mutual loss should have united us, become the source of a strengthened relationship and given us an insight into each other’s pain. However, in reality, we tiptoed around each other,  terrified of deepening the cracks in our broken hearts.

My father’s answer was one of survival, which he saw as the anthesis of emotion. He threw himself into denial instead of confronting the reality of what had happened. The family home was preserved like a shrine to my mother, as if she had never left, yet her or her death was rarely discussed. Instead he went on a quest to bring an outsider into the home, to effectively pick up where he had left off. This wasn’t heartless, far from it, but he truly believed that he could not survive on his own, and needed another woman to save him. However, his biggest mistake wasn’t to force us to accept an outsider so soon after our mother’s death, but to think that an outsider understood his pain more than the two woman who shared it. If only he hadn’t seen us a children when we were young adults who had grown up too fast. If only he had leaned on us for support instead of a complete stranger. If only he had acknowledged and accepted our pain and loss as his own and grieved alongside us instead of separately from us.

At the time I felt betrayed by the way he swept my mother’s existence under the carpet and replaced her with an inferior and cold hearted substitute. While I cried myself to sleep every night, he was out plastering over his pain by riding off into the sunset with his new flame. Years of family counselling failed to unit us, as my father clung onto ‘my new mum’ with desperation like a child with a new toy.

In the end I learnt the hard way, if I didn’t want to lose another parent, I had to meet him half way. The acceptance came first and the forgiveness and understanding came later.

Finding Forgiveness

Yes as a father, he should have put the needs of his children first. But he was and had never been the open, sensitive, nurturing, compassionate and loving parent. That had always been mama’s role. His role was one of a provider and deep down he knew that he couldn’t even do that if he was alone – and if he couldn’t even do that, what role what he have in our lives?

In losing mama, I learnt about my father, someone who I had never had a chance to know. He may have let us down and failed to acknowledge and support us through our grief, but years later, I finally understand what he went through in his life that led him to make the decisions he did.

I know that in his heart he loves us but I don’t think he ever knew how to show us. And for that and everything else, I wholeheartedly forgive.

Meera Elbay

Founder, YNN

Why It's Okay To Be Sad

Escapism

This is me over ten years ago (pictured centre), aged 20, a few months after I lost my beautiful mama. Most people would say that my smile looks real, and in some way it was. Backpacking through Europe with my best friends, I escaped the reality of what had just happened in my life and for two whole weeks I was just a normal girl having the time of my life. I wasn’t ready to accept that my mum had died and confront the fact that I was now a grieving daughter.

A little escapism didn’t hurt anyone right? Wrong.

This suppression of emotions and grief became my coping method for so many years. I was terrified of exposing everything I was feeling inside for fear of it changing how people saw me and appearing weak or abnormal. I was terrified of falling behind with my studies and letting my family down.  Taking a break to come to terms with losing my mum and heal from the trauma of watching her rapidly deteriorate just wasn’t an option, at least not one that was (is) encouraged by our society. My masquerade was bolstered by everyone around me marvelling at how ‘strong’ I was. I wasn’t strong. I was a good actor. But there was a limit as to how long I could play that role.

Be true to your emotions

One of the most significant life lessons that grief has taught me is that it is okay to be sad. In fact, it is important to give yourself the space to be sad. Crying, wailing and even squealing are all forms of release, and release is how we heal. Nowadays, if someone asks me how I am, I won’t just say ‘fine’, especially when it is my way of covering up how I really feel. Being sad is lonely enough, so if there is a chance I can release that sadness by talking or crying to/on someone else, hell yes, then I’ll take it. I’ve often been told that I’m dramatic and emotional, which could be perceived as a negative trait. But to me it can only be positive. It takes a very courageous and stable person to confront their emotions, even the darkest ones. If that makes me ’emotional’, I could not be prouder of myself.

I wrote this post to reassure those of you who feel the pressure to appear strong and stable, that it is okay to be sad. It’s not just okay,  but confronting and releasing your emotions through talking and crying is one of the most courageous and valuable steps you can take for yourself.

Meera Elbay 

Founder, YNN

Grief Has No Blueprint

Grief is exceedingly difficult to objectively define as an easily digestible descriptions or a bite-sized nugget of wisdom. I have often been asked to describe what it feels like, and every time have struggled to find the words to do it justice. Grief is different from person to person and from day to day. Grief has no blueprint.

Five Stages of Grief

Current literature on the grieving process labours tirelessly about the Kübler-Ross model, otherwise known as the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. There is substantial guidance on this model, many of which state that these five stages are by no means exclusive and should not be interpreted as being a step-by-step guide to grief. Instead, every experience of these five stages is different, as they can happen in any order, to varying degrees and be repeated an infinite number of times in a lifetime.

That may be the case, I still can’t help but find fault with this model, as a guide to grief. In fact, I would even go far as saying that is entirely redundant. Confining grief to five distinct emotions is unrealistic and impersonal. It fails to take into consideration the fact that every loss is entirely unique and therefore, the grief that follows is far more complex than five singular emotions. Although I would be lying if I said that I haven’t felt most of these emotions at various points over the last ten years, in no way would I want them to define my grief.

Your Grief is Unique

When it comes to grief, there is no blueprint. The only person who will experience your own unique set of emotions and experiences on your journey through grief is you.

What really guided me through dark times and cushioned pangs of loneliness wasn’t an objective model on grief. It was reading about other people’s detailed accounts of the struggles they faced through their own journeys. As a young adult facing a monumental change so rare amongst her peers, I found it comforting to know that there were people out there who I could relate to, and who in turn could relate to me.

Therefore, instead of providing a general overview of grief (which is readily available already), I want to use YNN to provide as much as I can of my personal journey through grief, in the hope that you too will feel that little bit less alone. There may not be a blueprint for grief but that doesn’t mean that we can’t guide each other through by sharing our own unique experiences.

Meera Elbay

Founder, YNN

The Dance of Joy and Grief

It’s been almost 13 years since I lost my wonderful mama, the person who gave me life and then filled that life with all the warmth, generosity and joy that I now know is only possible from true love. Though I am ashamed to admit it, as the years go by, I find it more of a challenge to justify my grief. Over the last decade, I started a business, married the love of my life, travelled around the world and had two wonderful boys (the furry, not the human kind). So many absolutely incredible things have happened to me since losing my mama and I’ve embraced it all with my arms open wide.

However, whilst on the surface I have everything to live for, my loss penetrates every essence of my soul, clouding everything I have achieved and every emotion I feel. This is grief. The permanent grey cloud over every silver lining. This is what I like to call the dance of grief and joy.

Grief has no time limit

What I find bewildering about being over decade into my grief is how surprised people are to learn that I am still grieving. Whether it is the friend who is alarmed that I occasionally still cry myself to sleep or the doctor who is concerned about my regular bouts of sadness, our society seems to impose an arbitrary time limit on grief, after which any regular periods of suffering are considered abnormal.

I know that I am not alone in my experience. I have friends who, after suddenly bursting into tears, have been accused of not accepting their loss or warned that they may be depressed. In most cases, this could not be further from the truth. In fact, facing up to your bereavement means being wholly transparent about your emotions and occasionally feeling fragile and overwhelmingly sad, but at the same time, being entirely confident that these feelings are normal.

Surely it is unnatural to expect someone who has lost such a powerful presence in their life to suddenly wake up one day and feel better?

The wound may heal and you may be able to live your life as normal, but the memory of the ‘injury’ will never go away. You will always be mourning them and the significant role they played in your life. Sometimes a memory will light up your whole face and other times the pain of missing them will be too much to bear, but you should never have to justify these feelings to anyone, let alone yourself.

Are grief and joy mutually exclusive?

Grief is the act of mourning the loss of someone you love and learning to live without them. It is a pivotal part of your life and may change and influence the path you take through life and the opinions you have. However, the most significant thing it cannot change is your ability to find happiness and joy. In fact, if anything, grief can pave the way to finding joy in the most simple and everyday pursuits, in recognition of the fact that happiness is exactly what is needed to make the most out of life.

 I remember the first time I laughed after losing my mama; a genuine, fully committed laugh. It felt like a magical release; a sense of freedom I had previously believed would never be open to me again. Since then, I have smiled and laughed my way through the last 11 years. When I got married two years ago, it was undoubtedly the happiest day of my life, whilst simultaneously tinged with sadness.

 I wholeheartedly believe that grief and joy go hand in hand, for it is your experience of the former that will inevitably guide you to finding the latter.

This is the Dance of Grief and Joy

Meera Elbay 

Founder, YNN

Crippling Fear of Motherhood

32. This is the age at which many women consider their fertility to be a ticking time bomb. Life suddenly becomes a race against time on the quest of ticking off all the boxes that our society prescribes. Falling in love. Tick. Buying a house. Tick. Successful career. Tick. What’s next? The baby of course.  Many of my closest friends have been encapsulated by this path, giving birth left, right and centre, to the extent that my weekends have gone from boozy brunches and laid back pub lunches to poring over newborns and absorbing the rants of my sleep deprived friends.

Yet, I remain riddled with indecision. This isn’t the commonplace ‘undecided’ that many of my peers face, prompted by the prospect of many sleepless nights, the giving up of one’s free time and saying farewell to spontaneity and lie ins. For being a proud owner of two wonderful dogs has meant giving up almost all of those things anyway.

To me the ‘undecided’ remains in the crippling fear of my child suffering the same fate as me, the loss of my greatest love, my mother. As I age, and the idea of having a child becomes more and more of a reality, this fear embedded inside of me only grows stronger and deeper.

Maternal love

Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t for one second resent my friends with babies.  Far from it. To me, there are few sights more beautiful than seeing someone I adore looking into the eyes of everything they have ever wanted and seeing utter completeness. Maternal love is a love so deep that it penetrates right to your core, so much so that you cannot imagine a life without them in it. I know that feeling well. That feeling was mine, before it was suddenly ripped out of my heart leaving me paralysed with the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to survive it again.

This is the emotion that drives my crippling fear of motherhood. I know this fear is real because I feel it with my dogs. Every time I leave the house I am terrorised by the thought that this could be the last time I see them. We’ve even cancelled holidays in the past because I refused to leave them behind.

There is a saying that ‘it is better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all’’. Well I can confirm, with conviction, that this does not apply to maternal love, if you are fortunate to have been touched by it. There is nothing like losing the unconditional and unequivocal love of a mother, at a time when they are your whole world. Friends have said to me that having a child will make me feel whole again and that being a mother may even replace the love I lost when my mother died. I understand that perspective but I cannot believe it.

For me, this loss drives me to question whether I should have a child, for the thought of inflicting what I suffered on them is just too much to bear. Of course every mother has deep-set fears about something tragic happening to their child, but this fear somehow becomes more raw, more of a reality when you have experienced loss.

Can I do it without her?

The fear of agonising heartache is compounded by that of taking such a monumental step in my life without my mother by my side.

My mother was the one person I turned to for the most turbulent and distressing periods of my life. She held my hand during my first wax, fed me ice-cream after my first heartbreak (and the subsequent others), guided me through my first breast biopsy and operation and most significantly, sheltered me from the perils of living with and dying from cancer, right to the very end. When I picture myself in a delivery room, feeling terrified, anxious and overwhelmed, my mother is there. When I picture myself emotionally and physically drained, desperate for even a second of respite from the sleepless nights, my mother is there. 

Yet, reality forbids it.

Being 20 when I lost her, I never got a chance to ask her all the questions I now have about motherhood. I will never have the discussions I know that my friends all continue to have with their mothers, even those discussions that morph into disagreements about how best to raise a child. My child will forever be without a grandmother to shower him or her with love when I am too exhausted to provide it.

Where do I go from here?

I know in my heart that I want a child and if I decide to have one, I really hope that it happens for me. That being said, I don’t believe for one second that once I hold my baby in my arms for the first time, the insecurities bubbling away inside of me will suddenly be replaced with love.  If anything, having a child and loving said child will only magnify those insecurities further. 

However, like many aspects of grief, this is something that I know I will learn to accept. I accept that my experience of having a child will be irrefutably different from those of my friends, who lean on their mothers for support and guidance. I accept that the bond I have with my child will be tarnished by the loss I felt when my mother died.

But like many aspects of life: learning to love again, changing careers and finding my purpose, I refuse to let my grief get in the way of my happiness, and instead I hope to find a way of transforming my grief into something magnificent.

Meera Elbay, Founder 

YNN

A Very British Approach To Death

In August last year, the Co-op released a report titled Making peace with death, which documented the British attitude towards mortality and bereavement, as well as the manner in which British people prepare and plan for death. With over 30,000 participants of all ages, it was the first time that a comprehensive report on death had ever been conducted in this country. The findings were shocking, confirming the overwhelming taboo about death that currently exists in this society and highlighting the urgent need for this taboo to be addressed and demolished.

Revelations

The report made two interesting revelations. Firstly, it found that almost 91% of  the British public have previously reflected on their own mortality, with 35% of them thinking about it at least once a week. Secondly, it concluded that almost 18 million British people are uncomfortable talking openly about death.

Whilst a substantial percentage of us ponder our own death on a regular basis, why is it that we feel unable to openly share our thoughts and concerns  with those closest to us? Why is it that the one eventuality that each and everyone of us will inevitably experience is a neglected part of everyday conversation, when really it should be the very thing that bonds us?

Stiff upper lip

It is difficult to pinpoint the exact root of this attitude to death as there are many factors at play here, the most prominent one being the stereotypical attribute of British people to remain stoic and emotionless in the face of adversity. Unfortunately, despite the melting pot of cultures and religions in Britain (particularly, London), this rather backwards behavioural pattern remains heavily entrenched in our society. We praise the bereaved for their strength and courage in ‘staying strong’ or ‘holding it together’, rather than allowing them the space to express and release their pain. We avoid mentioning the name of people who have died, for fear of triggering an emotional response in those that mourn them. We treat public displays of emotion with sympathy and pity, instead of admiration and awe.

It is more possible to find a more open and expressive attitude to grief in cultures and communities outside Britain. In China, for example, mourners are encouraged to release their grief by outwardly sobbing and wailing. Some ceremonies even involve the hiring of professional wailers to ensure that young people are not embarrassed or fearful of public displays of emotion. It is fascinating how the Chinese understand the benefits of releasing one’s pain and heartache, identifying this process as a ritualistic form of therapy.

Changing attitudes

This report also found that the average British person first suffers a bereavement of someone close to them aged 20 and first starts to contemplate death aged 26. This is surprising, as whilst as a society we are generally living longer and there are more resources available to us to n prolong life, in reality we are still facing loss and contemplating death at a very young age.

Western society is made up of overachievers and ambitious individuals, who consider public emotion to be a form of weakness or a set back. In childhood, we are taught that in order to be successful in our careers and our lives, we must leave our personal struggles at home. However, by inhibiting open conversation, we give ourselves limited space to feel and express hardship and suffering.

This suppression of grief and pain is dangerous. To ‘survive’ in the competitive and superficial world we have built, we force ourselves to bottle up our emotions, which can manifest later on in life in the form of anxiety and depression.

How do we change our society’s attitude to death and loss? How do we encourage younger generations that showing emotion can only be a positive thing.

We must learn from other cultures that see open expression as a necessary and valid part of life.  We must teach our children that emotional intelligence is not a sign of weakness or vulnerability and that sharing personal thoughts and experiences, no matter how painful, is the most valuable way of making genuine connections with those around them.

Meera Elbay, Founder

Your New Normal 

How To Support A Grieving Friend

For 11 years of my life I have been everyone else’s grieving friend. I’ve been known as the ‘friend who lost her mum’, ‘the friend who is going through grief’ and ‘the friend whose mum had cancer’. Until recently, I only ever experienced the impact of grief within my own personal bubble. While I continuously witness my father and sister grieve for my mother, this same loss is mimicked in all of us. It has only been in the last few months that I first experienced grief from the outside – by watching someone I love go through the process of losing someone they love. I have spent the last 11 years grieving for my mother but have only recently understood what is truly means to support a grieving friend. 

Just under two months ago, one of my best friends rang me in hysterical disbelief, after hearing the horrifying news of her friend’s sudden death. She came to me to seek solace from someone who she knew had experienced the extreme pain and suffering that was uncontrollably pulsating through her. My first reaction was silent tears; the only way I could express how truly tragic the situation was. My second reaction, was to make a conscious effort never to make this about me. This wasn’t my grief to experience; this wasn’t my pain. 

That got me thinking about when, aged 20, I first broke the news of my mum’s death to my best friends, and the whirlwind of emotions that they must have felt, but had to immediately put on hold. I had a multitude of different reactions from friends, some of them nourishing and supportive and others emotional and self-centred. At the time I had unrealistic expectations of what the people closest to me could offer me and idealistic notions of how they would be able to unburden me of my pain.

The truth of the matter is that supporting someone through grief is unlike anything else. No matter how much time you give and how much support you offer, you will always end up feeling helpless and there will be always more that you wish you could do. There is no room for advice. There is no space for distractions. There is no magical solution.

The important thing to remember with grief is that everyone experiences it in different ways. Therefore, there is no blueprint to supporting a friend through grief. What you can do, however, is:

• Give them the time and space to pour out their feelings and slowly unburden themselves.

• Approach them with support. Don’t wait for them to come looking for support.

• Learn their individual needs.

Listen. Look out for. Learn. 

It is only now when watching my best friend grieve that I truly understand how hard it must have been for those around me after I lost my mum. No one wants to see someone they love suffer, especially when they find themselves unable to relate to and comprehend what that person is going through. Sadly, our society provides limited support in this respect. While there is a multitude of advice on how to support a friend going through a break up or losing their job, there is very little information out there on how to comfort a grieving friend.

Here at YNN, we want to educate others and raise awareness about young adult bereavement, so that people like us do not feel let down by friends and family and are given the support they need from those closest to them. 

Let’s finish with a few blanket no-no’s…

• Burst out crying and expect your grieving friend to comfort you.

• Suggest taking them out for ‘night out’ so they can get sh*tfaced and forget about their pain (unless of course they want to…)

• Tell them that everything happens for a reason and that this experience will only make them stronger.

• Tell them about a time you lost your rabbit/cat/goldfish and how you understand what it means to lose someone you love.

• Tell them how strong they are and how if you were in their situation you would just break down and not be able to go on.

• Tell them that you will always be there for them but then never call.

• Get drunk and tell them how you wish you could have been there for them but then never call.

• Compare their grief to someone else’s.

• Tell them that it will only get better with time.

• Tell them that their mum/dad/sibling/partner/best friend wouldn’t want them to be sad.

• Tell them that their mum/dad/sibling/partner/best friend is looking down on them (especially if they don’t believe there is an after life…)

Meera Elbay 

Founder, YNN

Separation Anxiety

During the Christmas holiday I spent some time with my 8-month year old nephew who was going through a phase of obsessing over his daddy. He cried, wailed and squealed when his daddy put him down, passed him to someone else or left the room. Clearly he had become so attached to his father that  being apart from him even just for a second caused him so much distress.

This got me thinking about how my relationship with loved ones have changed since losing my mama in my twenties. Witnessing firsthand the fragility of life and how it can rip you apart from those you love in a heartbeat has taught me to treasure the people closest to me and to never again take them for granted. However, it has also left me with a deep rooted and sometimes paralysing separation anxiety, caused by the fear that each time I them could be the last.

Having conducted some research into this I now understand that separation anxiety caused by the loss of a loved one, particularly a parent, is more common than one might think, and isn’t just felt by children. That being said, there is very little documented about grown up separation anxiety and therefore I hope that sharing my experience of it will help raise awareness and reach others who may be feeling that same.

Death is a foreign concept

Losing a parent as a child or a young adult will usually be a premature loss, one that occurred considerably before you’ve had the opportunity to properly contemplate or digest the concept of death itself. There may have been times where you play acted dying with friends or frustratingly wished someone dead in the midst of a teenage strop, but at an age where you have your whole life ahead of you and there is so much focus on living, it is unlikely that you would have considered the reality of what losing a loved one to death really means.

As a child I remember being terrified of my mama walking out and never returning. This fear of abandonment would consume my nightmares, and daily I would creep into her bed at night just to check that she was still there, each time breathing a sigh of relief when I felt the warmth of her body under the covers. On rare occasions when my parents argued or when I drove her mad with my fiery teenage hormones, I fleetingly considered the prospect of her leaving us, but the thought passed in a second. We were a unit held together by the unbreakable bond of unconditional love. This bond had never really been tested so naively I believed that it would never break.

The truth about loss

I genuinely believe that it is impossible to understand the true meaning of loss until you have personally experienced the death of a loved one. When I was younger I experienced tumultuous break ups and heart breaks that I thought that I would never recover from. I remember friends saying to me that going through a break up was akin to grieving for the death of a loved one.  How wrong they were. For experiencing true loss is knowing that the person who you have lost can never, ever return.

Scientific research

Once you have experienced the pain of true loss, this apprehension of loss can crystallise over all your relationships, causing you to fear the same fate for your other loved ones.

Dr. Camilla Gesi conducted a research study in 2016, which examined the relationship between complicated grief and separation anxiety disorder. The study looked at a sample of adults seeking help for complicated grief (that is, traumatic grief or prolonged grief after the death of a very close loved one where symptoms are experienced over 12 months after the death). The study showed that out of a sample of 151 adults seeking treatment for complicated grief, 70 percent also had separation anxiety disorder.

My experience of separation anxiety

My separation anxiety comes and goes, depending on how vulnerable I feel. Sometimes it can be suppressed so that it never manifests on the surface of my mind but most of the time it is there, eating away at me and echoing  my most troubling and haunting childhood nightmares.

My husband travels a lot with work, which really tests my separation anxiety to the limit. Every time he boards a plane, I become like a dog with bone, rapidly checking the flight updates to make sure the plane has landed and calling him intensely until I hear his voice on the other end. During the time he is away I experience sleepless nights, lingering anxiety and uncontrollable sadness, as my mind and body prepares for the worst, that he may not return. Even when friends go away on holiday, they are sometimes surprised by my attentiveness at remembering their trips abroad and asking how they are going. I disguise this well but really it is out of complete fear that I will never see them again.

It is ironic that every time I leave the house to go to work in the morning, my dogs believe that I will never return, as what they don’t know is that I feel exactly the same way.

If you are experiencing separation anxiety after the loss of a loved one, know that what you are experiencing is exceptionally common and can be explained by your personal experience of the finality of death. It is a very real sensation and should never be dismissed, overlooked or laughed at. Sometimes it can be controlled, but if it ever gets to stage that it hinders your life then please do not be afraid to seek help from your GP or a local therapist.

Meera Shah

Founder, YNN