Last week’s message about the loss of my friend Melissa and becoming more comfortable with grief left me thinking about the power of experience.

In the blog I wrote:

Losing so many loved ones in a short amount of time is teaching me to make friends with grief. I’m less afraid of pain. I yield to unexpected tears. And I’m learning to welcome sorrow, knowing that it will pass through me if I receive it with respect and open arms.

When I sat down to write this morning, I reread that passage and wanted to say more about how we come to befriend the things that frighten us. Too often, we equate the value of experience with things like success in work or creative endeavors. But the experience we gain from navigating difficult situations may be even more valuable. Here’s an example of what I mean:

A year ago, our cat Wednesday was diagnosed with asthma. As she grew increasingly ill, she coughed regularly, and it was painful to watch. After multiple episodes a day, I was constantly on edge, waiting for the next coughing spell. It was awful living in a state of perpetual dysregulation. I did everything I could to try to fix it – multiple visits to the vet, extensive research, consulting a friend who is an experienced vet, finding a local pet acupuncturist, and trying several treatments. Finally, I faced the challenge of teaching a cat to use an inhaler (now that’s an interesting experience!).

Wednesday is now doing much better and uses an inhaler like a champ. The other day, when she suddenly coughed out of the blue, I noticed a big change in my reaction. When I heard it, I went to make sure she was okay, but then went back to what I was doing without a second thought. A few minutes later, I realized how unfazed I was by her cough. Look at that, I told myself, now that you’ve been through the experience, you know what to expect and you can handle the situation without suffering.

Grief is a similar process. When we first lose someone close, for example, it’s painful, disorienting, and honestly, unbearable. Facing this new experience requires a kind of self-care that is spacious, forgiving, and gentle. If we step back now and then and get curious about how we’re handling it, we can learn a lot about our personal healing process.

When I lost my dad, for example, I cried a lot, withdrew from work and from people, and grieved alone much of the time. I poured my pain into a journal, and it was a year before I could look through a box of his cards and letters. When my husband Michael lost his dad, he gathered photos right away, kept them close, and talked to his father all the time. We often shared our different ways of processing grief, and I learned to add some of Michael’s strategies to my own.

It’s a beautiful thing to hold ourselves tenderly during these difficult times, and it’s especially important as we age. After all, we’ll lose parents, siblings, and friends who feel like family. We’ll face medical issues that trigger anxiety, witness changes in our bodies, navigate shifts in relationships and energy levels, and confront life circumstances that push us out of our comfort zones.

And therein lies the gift of aging. We gather more and more experience that teaches us we can survive. We come to know: I’ve been here before, I know how to care for myself, and I can trust myself to find my way through.

Love,

Cheryl