Grief

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  Give them meal requests. Ask them to help you out with your kids. Even though lifeguards are trained to look for people who are silently drowning, it doesn’t hurt to put a hand up and say exactly what you need if you’re able. At the same time, if you’re reading this and you’re wanting to support someone who is grieving, don’t be shy about jumping in. It’s better to make a misstep (such as not saying exactly the right thing or overstaying your welcome) than to not be there at all. The most important thing to remember is that your presence alone is what is needed most. You can’t replace what has been lost but you can buffer the edges of the new gap. And as much as we can help each other out, sometimes the lifeguard we need to let in the most is ourselves. Acknowledge the change that has taken place in your life. Reflect on what you’ve experienced and how it’s changed you—for better, for worse, and without judgment. Begin to develop a narrative of what you’ve gone through. It’s helpful to jot down your memories of the person you’ve lost, the experience you’ve had, or what the journey has meant to you. Note the feelings that are attached—are you shocked, confused, disappointed, or angry? Make room for those feelings to bubble up without judgment. As you process your experience, it doesn’t mean you “find the reason” for why things happened as they did. As is often the case with grief or trauma, there’s no good reason. We can learn and grow through the experience, but part of the processing is sitting with the reality that sometimes that evil popcorn struck in your life and it just plain sucks. One of the best things you can do as you process your loss is to honor what has happened. While you may engage in a public ritual, such as a funeral, 80 percent of people also engage in a private ritual to reflect on what has happened.188 This can be impactful if you’re seeking closure over a breakup, a job change, or a friendship ending. I often do this with clients, including with Sam. They decided that they wanted to frame a picture of their house and put it up in their new room. This was a way for them to remember the memories that were encapsulated in their family home. They didn’t want to forget, and the photo was a way to remind them of that home’s significance. It wasn’t a memory to be buried. You can engage in your own ritual. It can be something you do one time, daily, or on an anniversary. This can be a healthy way to process your pain, rather than push it away. Having a ritual can also integrate the loss into your daily lived experience more often—it doesn’t have to feel like a distant memory that grows more and more faint.

• From Paul and Palestinian Judaism (40th Anniversary Edition) (2017)

  6 So also Bomkamm, Paul, p. 121. Bomkamm's formulation here seems intentionally to counter that of Bultmann cited in n. 3 above. 7 Cf. Bomkamm, op. cit., p. 109: 'Jesus Christ himself and the salvation based on and made available through his death on the cross, his resurrection, and his exaltation as Lord form the subject of Paul's proclamation.' On the difficulty of precisely identifying Paui's missionary preaching, see Munck, Paul, p. 91 and funher references there. 2] The solution as preceding the problem 445 asleep.' Belief in Jesus' death and resurrection is also implied in Rom. 6.8 ('But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him') and explicitly stated in the common confession cited in Rom. 10.9: 'if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.' Bultmann has accurately pointed out that phrases such as 'believe in Jesus Christ' (Gal. 2.16) are equivalent to 'believe that he died and was raised' (I Thess. 4. 14). 8 Wherever Paul mentions 'those who believe' or 'faith' absolutely (I Thess. 1.7,8; 2.10,13; Phil. 1.29; Gal. 1.23; I Cor. 1.21; 14.22-4; 15.17; II Cor. 13.5; Rom. 1.8,16), it is presumably this faith which is in mind, which implies also hope in one's own salvation by being raised to be with Christ (II Cor. 4.13f.). Thus 'believers' is the word for 'Christians' (which was not yet coined), and both Jews and pagans are called 'unbelievers' (apistoi). 9 There are further implications of saying that the content of Paul's preach ing and his hearers' faith was the death and resurrection of Christ. First, resurrection implies Christ's lordship, his return, the judgment and the salvation of those who believe. The well-known passage concerning the events of the end in I Cor. 15.20-28 is by no means unique. We should note, for example, Phil. 3.18-21: For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, live as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is the belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. But our common wealth is in heaven, and from it we await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will change our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power which enables him even to subject all things to himself. The subjection of 'all things' is especially reminiscent of I Cor. 15.27f. Similar is I Thess. 4.15-17:

• From Little Women (1868)

  I look in with loving eyes, For folded here, with well-known care, A goodly gathering lies, The record of a peaceful life— Gifts to gentle child and girl, A bridal gown, lines to a wife, A tiny shoe, a baby curl. No toys in this first chest remain, For all are carried away, In their old age, to join again In another small Meg's play. Ah, happy mother! Well I know You hear, like a sweet refrain, Lullabies ever soft and low In the falling summer rain. "Jo" on the next lid, scratched and worn, And within a motley store Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn, Birds and beasts that speak no more, Spoils brought home from the fairy ground Only trod by youthful feet, Dreams of a future never found, Memories of a past still sweet, Half-writ poems, stories wild, April letters, warm and cold, Diaries of a wilful child, Hints of a woman early old, A woman in a lonely home, Hearing, like a sad refrain— "Be worthy, love, and love will come," In the falling summer rain. My Beth! the dust is always swept From the lid that bears your name, As if by loving eyes that wept, By careful hands that often came. Death canonized for us one saint, Ever less human than divine, And still we lay, with tender plaint, Relics in this household shrine— The silver bell, so seldom rung, The little cap which last she wore, The fair, dead Catherine that hung By angels borne above her door. The songs she sang, without lament, In her prison-house of pain, Forever are they sweetly blent With the falling summer rain. Upon the last lid's polished field— Legend now both fair and true A gallant knight bears on his shield, "Amy" in letters gold and blue. Within lie snoods that bound her hair, Slippers that have danced their last, Faded flowers laid by with care, Fans whose airy toils are past, Gay valentines, all ardent flames, Trifles that have borne their part In girlish hopes and fears and shames, The record of a maiden heart Now learning fairer, truer spells, Hearing, like a blithe refrain, The silver sound of bridal bells In the falling summer rain. Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Four women, taught by weal and woe To love and labor in their prime. Four sisters, parted for an hour, None lost, one only gone before, Made by love's immortal power, Nearest and dearest evermore.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and his own mouth curved derisively. “Instead of demanding satisfaction from me, her brother approached Edmund, whose damned sense of honor prevented him from refusing. I learned of the duel only after it was over. My father woke me from my bed with the news.” He didn’t even attempt to hide the bitter edge that crept into his voice. “I was foxed and debauched when he shouted the congratulations at me, as if I’d planned Edmund’s demise.” He closed his eyes. “Edmund was groomed for his place. I, on the other hand . . .” His voice trailed off. Why was he telling her these things? The words falling from his mouth had never left his lips before. “You, on the other hand, are too wild and untamed for such a station,” Olivia finished. Sebastian opened his eyes to find her facing the window, allowing him a modicum of privacy to collect himself. He moved to stand behind her, close enough so that his breath stirred the strands of hair at her crown and her evocative scent fired his blood. His hands clenched into fists. “I’d wager you were a wild child,” she continued, her honeyed voice pouring down his spine, hardening his cock. “You most likely could not bear to sit through your lessons, got dirty regularly, kissed girls you had no business kissing, and defied your father at every turn just to spite him for having such a perfect firstborn—a sibling you could never hope to measure up to.” Stunned at her perceptiveness, Sebastian stared sightlessly out the window. “Am I close?” she asked. “Too close,” he admitted gruffly. “How did this conversation progress so rapidly to the deeply personal?” “Your remarkable eyes betray the ruthlessness of your nature and your restlessness. I’ve been pondering what circumstance could possibly have driven you to this life you live.” She turned to face him. “Did your father tell you how sorry he was that it was not you who had died instead of Edmund?” His breath hissed out through clenched teeth. Olivia looked through him, into him, seeing things she had no right to see. Her eyes filled with a sympathy he didn’t want, damn her. Lust, yes. Passion, admiration—he wanted all of those from her. But pity . . . His teeth ground together until his jaw ached. “So you are determined,” she continued, flaying him with her words, “to prove to him and anyone else paying attention that he was indeed correct and you are a worthless ‘spare’ for his heir. Being the man you are, you can do nothing half-measure. No, you had to rebel in the worst possible manner. Perhaps you’ve even hoped to be caught in the midst of your misdeeds. Then your father’s humiliation would be complete. Why else would you wear the signet ring that betrays you?”

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  When we lose them (or almost lose them), it’s okay to feel the magnitude of it. It’s not insignificant. So whatever you may be going through—or will go through at some point—take the time that you need. Whether you’ve lost a pet, a job, a home, a marriage, a baby—don’t diminish it any way. It was yours for a precious piece of time. Not having it anymore can be profound. There’s no point in judging how you grieve, either. Allow yourself to honor what’s been exceptional for you. It was so important that I helped Sam hold this. The home that was beloved to them would no longer be what it was. There was no going back to it, even if it was rebuilt. That’s a hurt that’s not worth ignoring. We took the time in our sessions to reflect on the significance of that home—how they came to understand their gender identity and fall in love for the first time in that house. They drifted away from their parents and got close to them again in that house. Like in the Miranda Lambert song, it was a house that built Sam. As you process your own grief, see whether you can start to let people in. You don’t have to keep your pain in like some shameful secret. You don’t have to silently sob or pretend you’re not crying with one of those dumb “it’s the onions” jokes. Let yourself wail. Curl up into a ball. The people who love you want to be there for you. Do what you need to do to restore yourself—even if that means doing nothing but crying, reflecting, and sitting in one place. There’s no right way to grieve. No one should be pressuring you—including you yourself—about how to proceed. LET A LIFEGUARD INSometimes we feel like we have to bear our suffering alone. You don’t. While it’s good to take time on your own to reflect, you’re not a burden to others if you are in pain. You don’t need to go into a play-by-play of what you’ve gone through (unless you want to), as some research has even suggested this may not be helpful.187 What is helpful is to allow others to support you, whether it’s with meals, conversations, or just sitting together and watching a movie. You don’t need to be embarrassed by your pain or minimize it in any way to make someone else feel more comfortable. You’re a human with a beating heart. Sometimes that heart bleeds when we’ve lost something extraordinary. That’s okay. You don’t need to feel guilty about asking for what you need. Sometimes people can get flooded by their own anxiety and may retreat when you need them the most—it’s not because they don’t care about you. It’s more likely that they’re afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing when you’re already in distress. That’s why you don’t need to be shy about being explicit with how they can help.

• From Love & Sex: A Christian Guide to Healthy Intimacy (2018)

  “I’m so glad you have chosen to be a part of this group. We will be together for most of this year, meeting weekly. I know it’s a big commitment, but healing takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight and you can’t heal alone. You need relationships around you to heal. I want this to be a safe place for you to get the pain out and let healing begin. So, it’s vital that everything said here stays here. Confidentiality is of utmost importance and I would hate it if you heard through the grapevine of this small town something you shared in this group. I also want you to commit to being here. You are a part of this group and your presence matters. If you must miss more than three times, please say so now.” The women looked at each other, assessing one another’s commitment level to the group and if they could trust the women in this room. “I’ll share a little bit of my story first and then we can go around the room and introduce ourselves,” Olivia said, as she made eye contact with each member of the group before continuing. “My story is perhaps a little different than yours; I became interested in the effects of sexual addiction when I was in graduate school. We were required to do a research paper and for some unknown reason I picked the topic of sexual addiction. It wasn’t until I was reading the fourth book and the twentieth article on the topic that I realized my father was most likely a sex addict. “I remember sitting at my desk when the realization hit me. My father had porn stashed under the couch in the family room, like we kids wouldn’t notice it there, and I am pretty sure he had affairs on my mom. He stayed out late more nights than he came home, and he sexually abused me as well. “Before you freak out, I’m not saying men who struggle with sexual addiction sexually abuse their daughters, but we do know, when untreated, addictions can escalate. I’m sure my father never thought he would stoop to the level he did, but he did. When you add alcohol to the mix, people lose inhibitions and do things they wouldn’t do sober. “By the time I realized my dad most likely was a sex addict, I had spent several years in therapy working through my own trauma. I was part of a sexual abuse recovery group, and I healed enough I could actually feel some compassion for my dad. Not making excuses for him, but compassion in that he came from a family with tremendous amounts of dysfunction, he had personal trauma, and addiction was part of the culture he grew up in.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Two days later Korin was led into the guard-room of the palace, and the Lord said to him: 'I myself will execute you, Korin, as a warning to my courtiers not to deceive me. Prepare to die.'And he took a halberd in his hands. Korin smiled at him: 'I thank my Lord for wishing to take my life with his own hands, in memory of our past time. I am quite ready.'And he Stood up. Then the Lord cut off his left hand, and asked: 'How do you feel, Korin? 'Korin held out his right hand to be cut off also, and said: 'With this hand I caressed and loved my lover. You should hate this hand a great deal also.' The Lord at once cut that hand off. Then Korin turned his back to his master and said: 'My back is very beautiful. No other page was as attractive as I am. Look at my beauty before I die.'His voice was weak and low through the mortal pain he was enduring. Then the Lord cut off his head and, holding it in his hands, wept bitter tears for the death of his favourite. The body was buried in the cemetery of the temple Myofukuji. In this temple there was a little pool called' Glory of the Morning.'Korin's short life was like a morning glory. Everybody accused and blamed his cowardly lover, who had remained hidden after his friend's death. They despised him as we despise a Stray dog. But next year, on the fifteenth of January, Sohatjiro killed Shinroku, who had betrayed Korin to the Lord. He cut off his two hands, as the Lord had done to Korin, and finished him by piercing his throat with his sword. He sent Korin's mother into a safe place. Then he went to the cemetery, wrote a memoir in which he recounted his love for Korin and his vengeance against Shinroku, and killed himself by Hara-kiri on his lover's tomb. As he opened his belly, he traced with his knife the armorial bearings of his Korin there. For seven days after his death his friends and admirers loaded his tomb with flowers. Korin and Sohatjiro became an illustrious example of the love of comrades. [image file=image_rsrc1KG.jpg] 5 Thes Soul of a Young Man smitten with Love follows his Lover on a JourneyIN A SPRING MEDDOW STUDDED WITH GRACEFUL flowers and fresh grasses were two richly and elegantly clothed persons gathering spring flowers. Their faces were shaded by large hats.

• From The City of God

  Hermes goes on to say, "But do we know how many good things Isis, the wife of Osiris, bestows when she is propitious, and what great opposition she can offer when enraged?" Then, in order to show that there were gods made by men through this art, he goes on to say, "For it is easy for earthly and mundane gods to be angry, being made and composed by men out of either nature;" thus giving us to understand that he believed that demons were formerly the souls of dead men, which, as he says, by means of a certain art invented by men very far in error, incredulous, and irreligious, were caused to take possession of images, because they who made such gods were not able to make souls. When, therefore, he says "either nature," he means soul and body,--the demon being the soul, and the image the body. What, then, becomes of that mournful complaint, that the land of Egypt, the most holy place of shrines and temples, was to be full of sepulchres and dead men? Verily, the fallacious spirit, by whose inspiration Hermes spoke these things, was compelled to confess through him that even already that land was full of sepulchres and of dead men, whom they were worshipping as gods. But it was the grief of the demons which was expressing itself through his mouth, who were sorrowing on account of the punishments which were about to fall upon them at the tombs of the martyrs. For in many such places they are tortured and compelled to confess, and are cast out of the bodies of men, of which they had taken possession. 27. _Concerning the nature of the honour which the Christians pay to their martyrs._

• From Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence (2014)

  Sikhs had suffered from this imperial violence. By this time Sikhs, who had once eschewed all external symbols, had developed some of their own. The fifth guru, Arjan Dev, had made the Golden Temple at Amritsar in the Punjab a place of pilgrimage and had enshrined the Sikh scriptures there in 1604. Sikhism had always abstained from violence. Guru Nanak had said: “Take up arms that hurt no one; let your coat of mail be understanding; convert your enemies to friends.”99 The first four gurus had had no need to bear arms. But Jahangir had tortured the fifth guru to death in 1606, and in 1675 Aurangzeb beheaded Tegh Bahadur, the ninth guru. His successor, Gobind Singh, therefore faced an entirely different world. Henceforth, the tenth guru declared, there would be no more human leaders: in the future the Sikhs’ only guru would be their scripture. In 1699 he instituted the Sikh Order of Khalsa (the “purified” or “chosen”). Like Kshatriya warriors, its members would call themselves Singh (“Lion”), carry swords, and distinguish themselves from the rest of the population by wearing soldiers’ garb and keeping their hair unshorn. Yet again, imperial violence had radicalized an originally irenic tradition and had also introduced a particularism that was entirely alien to the original Sikh vision. Gobind is believed to have written to Aurangzeb that when all else failed, it was only right to lift the sword and fight. Militancy might be necessary to defend the community—but only as a last resort.100

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Once, when he was Still young, Sennojyo took his diary from a little private chest. Its title was My experiences with many men, and it was a very interesting record. He Started to read it through. He had noted down in it all his impressions, from the very first day, of widely different people. Sometimes he would go to a samurai's room. By the mere caress of his hand he would soothe a demon in an angry man. He would make men of refinement or priests even out of farmers. In a word, he had treated each of his different patrons in the way most suitable to him. He shut the diary with a smile. But suddenly he thought of one of his patrons who had been most devoted to him. Sennojyo did not know where this man was. That evening a violent gale blew up, and snow began to fall. The mountains to the north of Kyoto were already white. A wretched-looking man was Standing under the Gojyo bridge. He lived on the bank of the river Kamo, and there he slept during the night. In the morning he gathered pebbles from the river Kurama and sold them in Kyoto for gun flints. Those that he had been unable to sell he threw away in the evening. His life under this bridge was very miserable. He had formerly been one of the rich men of the Province of Owari. He had been given over to male love. He had written a book in four volumes, called A Collection of Stories Pure as Crystal in which he had recorded in every detail everything that he knew of any of Sennojyo's actions and gestures. In it he mentioned even such a trifling matter as a black mole on the actor's back. He had loved Sennojyo with all his heart from the first day the latter had appeared upon the stage; but some time afterwards he had wearied of all earthly joys and had hidden himself away from society. Sennojyo had been greatly grieved at not being able to find this man again, and always bitterly regretted his disappearance. Someone informed him that his patron was living miserably on the bank of the Kamo, and he burst into tears, saying: 'Truly the destiny of man is variable. If he had let me know of his situation, I should not have left him in such misery. I have written him many letters to his house in Owari, but he has never answered me. I sorrowfully thought he had forgotten me, as frequently happens with us poor actors.'

• From The City of God

  Wherefore he who sorrowed because a time was coming when the worship of idols should be abolished, and the domination of the demons over those who worshipped them, wished, under the influence of a demon, that that captivity should always continue, at the cessation of which that psalm celebrates the building of the house of the Lord in all the earth. Hermes foretold these things with grief, the prophet with joyfulness; and because the Spirit is victorious who sang these things through the ancient prophets, even Hermes himself was compelled in a wonderful manner to confess, that those very things which he wished not to be removed, and at the prospect of whose removal he was sorrowful, had been instituted, not by prudent, faithful, and religious, but by erring and unbelieving men, averse to the worship and service of the gods. And although he calls them gods, nevertheless, when he says that they were made by such men as we certainly ought not to be, he shows, whether he will or not, that they are not to be worshipped by those who do not resemble these image-makers, that is, by prudent, faithful, and religious men, at the same time also making it manifest that the very men who made them involved themselves in the worship of those as gods who were not gods. For true is the saying of the prophet, "If a man _make_ gods, lo, they are no gods."[326] Such gods, therefore, acknowledged by such worshippers and made by such men, did Hermes call "gods made by men," that is to say, demons, through some art of I know not what description, bound by the chains of their own lusts to images. But, nevertheless, he did not agree with that opinion of the Platonic Apuleius, of which we have already shown the incongruity and absurdity, namely, that they were interpreters and intercessors between the gods whom God made, and men whom the same God made, bringing to God the prayers of men, and from God the gifts given in answer to these prayers. For it is exceedingly stupid to believe that gods whom men have made have more influence with gods whom God has made than men themselves have, whom the very same God has made. And consider, too, that it is a demon which, bound by a man to an image by means of an impious art, has been made a god, but a god to such a man only, not to every man. What kind of god, therefore, is that which no man would make but one erring, incredulous, and averse to the true God? Moreover, if the demons which are worshipped in the temples, being introduced by some kind of strange art into images, that is, into visible representations of themselves, by those men who by this art made gods when they were straying away from, and were averse to the worship and service of the gods,--if, I say, those demons are neither mediators nor interpreters between men and the gods, both on account of their own most wicked and base manners, and because men, though erring, incredulous, and averse from the worship and service of the gods, are nevertheless beyond doubt better than the demons whom they themselves have evoked, then it remains to be affirmed that what power they possess they possess as demons, doing harm by bestowing pretended benefits,--harm all the greater for the deception,--or else openly and undisguisedly doing evil to men. They cannot, however, do anything of this kind unless where they are permitted by the deep and secret providence of God, and then only so far as they are permitted. When, however, they are permitted, it is not because they, being midway between men and the gods, have through the friendship of the gods great power over men; for these demons cannot possibly be friends to the good gods who dwell in the holy and heavenly habitation, by whom we mean holy angels and rational creatures, whether thrones, or dominations, or principalities, or powers, from whom they are as far separated in disposition and character as vice is distant from virtue, wickedness from goodness.

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  We tell ourselves we should be “back to normal” as soon as possible. Heaven forbid we inconvenience someone or make another person feel uncomfortable by our grief. You need your self-care more than ever when you’re in a season of sadness, though. Putting a countdown clock on how much time you have to rest isn’t going to help. Take the time that you need. When you start should-ing on yourself by saying, “I should be over this by now,” or “I shouldn’t be so upset by this,” you’re only shaming yourself further. You feel how you feel. And that’s okay. After all, if a friend were grieving, would you say to them, “It’s been six months. Time’s up. Move on.” Probably not. So why are you putting these harsh parameters on yourself? You’re not impressive because you got through your grief the fastest. Sorry to tell you, but there’s no trophy for speediest griever. That’s a record you don’t want to hold. We’ve all collectively grieved in our own ways over the last few years. Whether we lost loved ones to COVID-19, didn’t get to walk at our graduation ceremony, or had to quit our jobs to stay home and care for our family, we all had our own unique losses. I can’t tell you how many times I would hear clients minimize their pain. They would say, “I shouldn’t be sad. Others have it so much worse than me.” Sure, there is always someone that has it “worse” than you. But are you sad? Are you disappointed? That’s all that’s required to get yourself a golden ticket to the gates of grief. No one wants to go there, but there aren’t VIP passes that warrant which rides you get to go on. You don’t need to compare your grief to others. It is what it is. There’s no one who can take away how you feel—and that includes how you treat yourself. I try to model this for my clients. I’ll never hide what I’m going through if it’s going to potentially impact how I show up in session. It’s important to me that my clients know that I’m a real human being, just like they are. As I would hope they could set boundaries if they needed a break, I want to show that for them as well. I’m reminded of when I had to take some time off when I almost lost Mochi. He hadn’t even turned five yet and he had been gradually and unexplainably losing weight for months. Things took a turn when he was coming out of anesthesia after getting an ultrasound.

• From Opening Up by Writing It Down (2016)

  Early in his career, Jamie and his students were putting together a questionnaire on health issues. The idea was to break out of the traditional way of thinking and simply ask a large group of students a broad range of questions about their lives. In putting together the questions, the group decided to ask about people’s childhoods, their favorite foods, maybe even color preferences. One member of Jamie’s research team suggested that they include an item on traumatic sexual experiences in childhood. There was no specific reason for including the question—but it was a question no one appeared to have asked before, and it made intuitive sense that such experiences might be important. So, toward the end of the 12-page questionnaire, they added a question that very few researchers ever ask: “Prior to the age of 17, did you have a traumatic sexual experience (e.g., rape, being molested)? Yes _______ No _______” Of the 800 college women who later completed the survey, about 10 percent answered in the affirmative. Overall, the women who reported traumatic sexual experiences in childhood did not differ from others in terms of age, social class, race, or even number of close friends. Most striking, however, was that those who reported a sexual trauma evidenced more health problems than any other group we had ever seen. Soon afterward, a writer for the magazine Psychology Today—one of the most popular magazines of the early 1980s—was able to get 24,000 adults to complete a health survey that included the traumatic sexual experience question. Overall, 22 percent of the women and 10 percent of the men reported having a childhood traumatic sexual experience. These rates roughly corresponded with those found in numerous national polls on the topic. Even though the reported sexual trauma had occurred almost 20 years earlier, it was associated with large increases in ulcers, the flu, heart problems, cancer diagnoses, and virtually every other category of health problem. In fact, those who reported a traumatic sexual experience as a child had been hospitalized nearly twice as often as those who did not report such traumas. On the Psychology Today questionnaire, respondents were asked to include their name and telephone number for possible future telephone interviews. Fifteen people who claimed to have experienced a sexual trauma were called by Carin Rubenstein, the author of the magazine piece. In her article, she writes: One woman was raped at 16; another was a victim of incest at 8; yet another had been fondled at the age of 5 by a man selling ponies. A 51-year-old woman from Los Angeles told me that she had been raped, at 5, by her neighbor, who was a friend of the family . . . “I never told anyone about it. You’re the first,” she said. Later on, not making the connection, she remarked, “I’ve always had health problems with organs in that area . . . since I was 5.” (p. 34)

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  Even though he sensed her distancing, it was a whole other thing to hear her words aloud. Eventually he asked, “Are you sure? Can’t we wait just a little longer?” With a resigned sigh, Grace responded: “We’ve waited long enough, Ryan. You know I love you so much. But the reality is that we want different things. I know how badly you want to have a kid. I have to be honest with myself that it’s not what I want. And we need to be honest with each other that we’re just not going to get there.” “But I can’t lose you, Grace. You’re everything to me. You’re really going to let this go?” Grace replied, “I know this is so painful, Ryan. Trust me, it’s breaking my heart just as much as yours. But I really believe you’ll thank me for this someday. You deserve to be with someone who is going to be on the same page with you. And I deserve that, too.” I could see Grace shaking. She’d just said the hardest words she’d probably ever have to say. She was letting go of a relationship she loved for the sake of her own values that were yet to be fulfilled. It was honorable—but brutal. I was so proud of her for owning her truth and not continuing to wait for Ryan to come around. She had waited long enough and she was true to the ultimatum she set. Even though Grace was devastated in the moment, we all knew that she was doing this out of respect for herself and for Ryan. It wasn’t the easy choice—it was the brave one. They both entered a stage of grief at that point. We continued to work together to process what had happened in the ten years leading up to this moment and how they would peacefully part ways moving forward. We explored how anxiety had been such a cornerstone in their relationship. With Grace’s anxious attachment, she was afraid she’d never find another partner and had hoped that Ryan would change his mind. She had unfairly told herself that if she was “enough,” he would forgo his values, particularly having children, because she would be “worth it.” As we learned through our conversations, it wasn’t that she wasn’t amazing. It was that Ryan’s devotion to his dream of becoming a father was too great. Ultimately, Grace couldn’t fault him for this. She also couldn’t lie to herself or to him about having children. As much as he wanted them—she didn’t. As we discussed it, she felt relieved in being able to own this truth. She no longer had to placate him in hopes of moving the relationship forward.

• From H Is for Hawk (2014)

  But now my father had died. Hold tight. I hadn’t ever imagined that making jesses could be a symbolic act. But as I sat there, cutting hide into long strips, soaking them in warm water, stretching them, greasing them with leather dressing, turning them this way and that in this strange room of broken objects, I knew they were more than just pieces of leather. These were the cords that would hold me to the hawk, just as they would hold the hawk to me. I picked up the craft knife and tapered the end of one jess to a point with a long, smooth cut. There. I was conjuring presences, doing this. Suddenly the hawk was very real. And so, in a burst of remembrance so fierce he could have been there in the room, was my father. Grey hair, glasses, blue cotton shirt, a tie slightly askew, a cup of coffee in one hand and a look of amusement on his face. He used to make me cross by calling falconry equipment by the wrong names. He’d call hoods hats. Creances, bits of string. He did it on purpose. I’d get cross and correct him, thinking he was teasing me. And now I saw that Dad had known exactly what these things were called, but in the world of the photojournalist, the more expert you were, the less likely you were to call anything by its proper name. For him, photographs were snaps. Cameras simply kit. It wasn’t ever teasing. He was paying me a compliment. Bloody fourteenth-century French vocabulary. Shit. Shit shit shit. It wasn’t his way at all. My throat hurt. My eyes hurt too, and my heart. I cut the end of the other jess. Shaking fingers. Then I placed the two jesses side by side on the glass tabletop. They matched. Tomorrow, I thought, I’m meeting a man I don’t know off the Belfast ferry and I’m going to hand him this envelope full of paper in exchange for a box containing a goshawk. It seemed the unlikeliest thing imaginable.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Whatever our go-to response, the million-dollar questions is this: How do we get unstuck? Dr. Peter Levine, founder of Somatic Experiencing, a “body first” approach to healing, teaches that trauma requires us to learn how to discharge the stored energy from our trauma responses in order to restore our nervous systems and return to a sense of safety. He was inspired to study stress on the animal nervous system when he realized that animals are constantly under threat of death yet show no symptoms of trauma. In order to return to homeostasis, animals in the wild release survival energy by shaking, trembling, yawning, breathing deeply, moaning, and so forth. This allows them to turn off the threat response by completely cycling through the experience. Whether we realize it or not, humans have this capacity, too. We can learn to actively engage in behaviors that support trauma and stress release. For example, shaking your whole body as a yogic practice has been around for centuries. Studies have shown that chanting “om” stimulates the vagus nerve, which sends the signal that a threat is no longer active. We’ll dive into other methods in the “Caring for . . .” section below, but the point is, you can learn to silence the alarm bells and calm your system. And here’s why this is important: our nervous systems don’t forget. If our threat response is left perpetually firing, it creates both physical and psychological problems, including severe dysregulation and even dissociation. When Dad was dying, it felt like he was abandoning me. Even though I knew that wasn’t true, my body didn’t. So it’s no surprise that it kicked up my own PTSD from the lack of relationship I had with BD, as well as my cancer diagnosis. No wonder my body felt like it was falling apart. Try as I might, my go-to tools to keep my shit together were failing. At some point, even my wellness practices started to feel like I was just leaning on hollow platitudes to cover up the depths of fear and pain I felt. That’s when I knew I needed additional support to help me access the deeper, more hidden parts that needed tending. CARING FOR GRIEF & TRAUMAIf this conversation is the medicine you need right now, set the intention that whatever comes up is OK. You don’t need all the answers—you just need the willingness to explore. Start with talk therapy: Both grief and trauma need to be witnessed, and one of the most healing things we can do for ourselves and others is to tell our stories. Tell your story. Allow your feelings to move through your body: When you’re ready, explore working with body sensations to reach the unexamined parts of yourself, possibly for the very first time. Deep breaths, full-body sobs, gut-wrenching screams, ecstatic dance—whatever helps you release your emotions. Here are some therapeutic tools that may help:

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  We’d be glad to have you.”After what must have been one of the shortest prayers in Holy Roller history, the preachers stepped away from the body. Shoulders relaxed in the family section. Randall would remain dead and his body would stay in the coffin. The organ music swelled and Brother Terrell moved to the side of the coffin. The audience lined up to shake his hand as they had years earlier. As they filed by, they gripped his arm, pulled him close, and offered their condolences.“So sorry for your loss.”“We’re praying for you every day.”“Don’t give up. God’s gonna see you through.”After everything they knew about Brother Terrell, after all the affairs and lies and moneygrubbing, these people had only soft words for him. I brought my hand to my face. It was wet. Only then did I realize I had cried silently and steadily throughout the funeral. Not over Randall or the loss, so much loss; not the visions of family or redemption laid to waste. It was something else, something alien and familiar as my prodigal heart. I watched an elderly couple make their way through the line. I saw the concern in their faces as they approached Brother Terrell and grabbed his hands, eager to convey all they carried in their hearts for him. He inclined his head as he listened and nodded.“Okay. Okay. We ’preciate that. Bless you, now.” A flash of a smile that moved from shy to showtime in an instant, his eyes sliding off to the next in line. The couple walked past me, hands clasped, each leaning on the other, faces shining. They looked . . . blessed. Yes, that was the word. By a con man? A prophet? A performer?I had spent a lifetime deciding, and each time I thought I knew, the answer proved too small to encompass my experience. Or was it the question? Maybe it wasn’t about Brother Terrell, but two worlds: one under the tent and the other outside. Each time I turned toward one, I turned away from some part of myself. I watched the people move through the line. Women with their arms folded across their chests, hugging their elbows. The men with their straight-ahead stares. Kids tugging at their parents. I recognized no one and yet, I knew them. I had always known them. There was no separation, no division, no choice to be made. They had been with me all along, and without knowing it, I had been with them. After all this time. It wasn’t belief or unbelief. It was love. It could not have been otherwise.I walked to the front of the church and took my place in line.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Senpatji sighed: 'Alas, it is indeed a Strange world! I never suspected that you were his son. Yes, I killed your father. But I am happy, OShynosuke, to die at your hands. Come, kill me, and avenge your father.'And he threw away his swords and offered his neck to Shynosuke. Shynosuke cried: 'No, take your sword and fight with me. I cannot kill you in cold blood, who have been so good to us.'His mother was watching this scene from the next room, and called her son to her, saying: 'I admire both you and Senpatji. Each is a man of honour. Love each other again for this one night. I wish to grant you such an interval. Celebrate your separation, but to-morrow without fail, O Shynosuke, avenge your father.' Then Shynosuke brought dishes and cups of wine, and the two rejoiced. The mother slept in the next room, and Senpatji and Shynosuke lay down together. When the woman woke in the morning, they were both silent, lying in the same bed. She called her son: 'Rise up, lazy boy! 'But there was no answer. She went into the room and turned back the blanket which covered them, and saw that Shynosuke had pierced Senpatji's heart with his sword passed through his own breast and out at his back. His mother Stood there for a long time overwhelmed at the sight of these two lovers' bodies, and then, in her sorrow and distress, killed herself in the same room. Surely a sad and a tragic tale. [image file=image_rsrc1KK.jpg] 7 They Loved Each Other even to Extreme Old AgeTHERE WAS A LITTLE SHOP IN A STREET OF the Yanaka district of Yedo, with a narrow bill hung in the doorway which read: 'We have a remedy for superfluous hairs. It is equally good for many other ailments.'Copybooks for Students were also sold there; but since these were written by the hand of an old man, no one bought them. A bamboo blind hung between the worn and dirty screens. The trade of that shop was negligible, and the proprietor did not make enough out of it to live by. A graceful pine tree rose above the sloping roof; summer chrysanthemums flourished in the garden, and there was a well of pure water and a pail on the end of a pole. Sometimes birds came and perched on the pail.

• From The Trembling of the Veil (1922)

  So you see that tho’ perhaps for the present it may afflict you to think of Henry’s sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die soon, and then his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my Trouble will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.” Thus I did all in my power to console her, but without any effect, and at last as I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of The Ham and Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He was not expected to live many Hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to break the melancholy Event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in spite of every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too violent for her reason, and she continued for many hours in a high Delirium. She is still extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly afraid of her going into a Decline. We are therefore preparing for Bristol, where we mean to be in the course of the next week. And now my dear Margaret let me talk a little of your affairs; and in the first place I must inform you that it is confidently reported, your Father is going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive so unpleasing a report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it. I have written to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for information concerning it, which as she is at present in Town, she will be very able to give me. I know not who is the Lady. I think your Brother is extremely right in the resolution he has taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to obliterate from his remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have lately so much afflicted him—I am happy to find that tho’ secluded from all the World, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy—that you may never know what it is to, be either is the wish of your sincerely affectionate C.L. P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind Susan, which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your own reflections. The enclosed LETTER My dear CHARLOTTE You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it you than I am. Sir George is certainly married; I was myself present at the Ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself your Affectionate Susan Lesley LETTER the THIRD From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL Lesley Castle February the 16th

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  NO MUD, NO LOTUSI was 38 when BD died. Our shared histories of grief and trauma were too big to heal in this lifetime, at least with each other. Neither of us had the emotional skills needed to tend to the wounds and regret between us, and that’s OK. It’s safe to say that all of us have experienced trauma in our lives, in some capacity, whether it be financial insecurity, chronic illness, abuse, or injustice. And, like grief, trauma is something that few of us know how to care for. Some of us may not even recognize the ways trauma lives inside us. Though our world is becoming more trauma literate, for many of us it remains yet another taboo subject that we lock away (consciously or unconsciously). Before writing this book, I was pretty clueless, too. I used to think of trauma as an “event,” but, according to Gabor Maté, physician and trauma expert: Trauma is not what happened to you, it’s what happened inside you as a result of what happened to you. And that’s the good news. Because if trauma was what happened to you, there’s nothing you can do to change that. But if the trauma is the wound that occurred inwardly, you can heal that wound at any time. So recognizing that trauma is an internal psychological wound with manifestations in your body actually allows you to heal it. Maté’s definition of trauma explains why two siblings may go through the same traumatic event (like their parents’ acrimonious divorce) and have completely different responses to it. Or how two people can be in the same car accident and have completely different recoveries from similar injuries. While there’s no right or wrong way to react to trauma, there is a universal place to begin the healing process: your body. That’s because trauma hides in our bodies, where it often remains dormant until something like a smell or a sound triggers it. As we’ve explored, when our brains perceive a threat, our bodies instantly go into self-protection mode. This physiological response is designed to be temporary. But when trauma goes unaddressed, it often gets stuck in our bodies, continuing to signal that we’re in danger even when we’re not. You’re already familiar with the three main responses to perceived danger: fight (when we react with aggression), flight (when we react by leaving a situation), and freeze (when we react by going numb and possibly dissociating). Therapist and trauma expert Pete Walker popularized a fourth response, which he calls “fawn.” This is when we react to threats by being overly people-pleasing or helpful as a way to defuse attacks. In his book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving, Walker writes: “Traumatized children often over-gravitate to one of these response patterns to survive, and as time passes these four modes become elaborated into entrenched defensive structures . . .”