The loved one I mentioned last week who was dying passed away and their memorial celebration was over the weekend. It was gut wrenching to see another person go through the experience of being widowed. The death was expected but as I’ve said before, that doesn’t make it any easier for those left behind. My loved one’s widow had the same shocked, glazed look I probably had after my husband died.
Experiencing the death of another loved one and witnessing his wife become a widow has brought on fresh waves of grief for my husband. At the memorial event, for example, I felt like I knew exactly what my husband would do and say—I could nearly hear him and see him. I swear I felt his arm around me and his voice in my ear. Sometimes I miss my husband so much I think I can’t stand it. I think I will just explode or dissolve right there.
I’m still having mood swings, feeling exhausted, and being on the verge of tears around the clock. Some nights I feel like I slept hard but I’m exhausted all day. Other nights I feel like I didn’t sleep at all.
I know all this will pass and that it is normal.
At the memorial event, I talked to other grievers and learned about how they had shown up for my loved one while he was dying or how they had supported his wife. One person sent a photo every morning of a beautiful nature scene or awe-inspiring animal from their morning walk. Another made arrangements to show up after my loved one had died with groceries to make a fresh cooked meal for his widow and sit in quiet company.
Someone at the gathering who knew I’d been widowed fairly recently asked very directly, “Is being here hard for you?” I so appreciated the elephant in the room being addressed explicitly. It was hard for me and I was relieved to have someone acknowledge that and invite me to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I was grateful for the invitation.
I have seen so many people hold space for me, my loved one, his widow, and others experiencing grief in the last two weeks.
If you’re not familiar with the term “holding space,” it may sound like psycho-babble, but it simply means listening and offering support without judgment, without trying to fix the problem or situation. I don’t think it’s something that necessarily comes naturally or easily to a lot of us. I know I often find myself trying to fix things, so when someone says they are tired, my automatic response is to start trying to identify what is keeping them from sleeping better. That is not holding space.
Holding space in the example of someone who says they are very tired might be expressing sympathy by saying something like, “I’m sorry to hear you aren’t feeling rested,” and then perhaps remaining quiet for a beat or two to allow them to say more about how they feel or what they need.
Remaining quiet for a beat or two is something I’m working on building into my conversational skills. I grew up on the East coast where conversation tends to be fast paced and people often speak over each other. Overlapping voices, regular backchannel affirmations (like “mmm” and “uh huh”), and spirited interjections are all hallmarks of East coasters’ conversations, and when there’s a pause, everyone gets uncomfortable and rushes to fill the silence. I’ve had to work hard to become comfortable with silence and learn other conversational strategies.
A beat for me translates to a complete breath—breath in, breath out—at a normal pace. After someone speaks, I take a complete breath before speaking myself. If I’m holding space, often the person I’m holding space for speaks again while I’m taking my breath. If they don’t, I usually follow up with a neutral response to what they said—something like, “That sounds like a lot” or “I’m sorry to hear that.” Any response that sounds like it ends with an exclamation point is not neutral. “Oh my god!” or anything like it is not holding space.
Then I might ask a question about how they feel or what they need. “What would you like from me?” is a question I like to ask. Sometimes people don’t know what they want, so I might make some suggestions. “I can sit here with you quietly, if you’d like” or “I’m happy to listen if you want to talk” are two suggestions I make often.
Questions that begin with “have you tried . . .” are geared toward fixing and are not holding space. No matter how pure your intentions are, fixing is just not holding space. Fixing is fixing. Fixing is fine but it ain’t holding space!
Holding space is essentially about slowing down an interaction. Instead of rapid-fire questions and answers, think of a leisurely unfolding. It acknowledges the pain or confusion or other difficult emotions a person is feeling without minimizing them or rushing to get rid of them (which is what fixing does). And it normalizes those difficult emotions.
The tricky part is that the situations in which we need to hold space are the same ones that feel stressful to us. When we feel stressed out, are brains can go into fight or flight mode, which often produces a feeling of urgency in us. Urgency equates to speed in our lizard brains and we may want to speed up these conversations.
That’s why I make myself take a breath. It helps me slow down the interaction and a deep breath also signals to my brain that I’m safe and it can relax.