Setting Boundaries During Grief

When my late husband Bob unexpectedly died, some people leaned in, and others walked away.  Some folks were not helpful at all while others were way too involved.  Despite their intentions or capabilities, every single person overwhelmed me.

So many people had opinions. So many people wanted to help.  And as an empath, my tendency was (and is) to consider their feelings and needs while I was barely able to take care of myself and my responsibilities.  I could not be anything for them even if I wanted to be.  Life forced me to redraw my boundaries.  I needed to be alone.

About five months after my husband passed away, my four daughters (then ages 2, 3, 6 and 9) and I drove from California to look at neighborhoods in King County, Washington.  After twelve hours of stressful highway driving with my monkeys, coping with narcolepsy, I was emotionally and physically exhausted.  I hit my absolute limit. 

We stayed overnight at Bob’s relative’s house on the way.  When dinner with the extended family was over, I retreated downstairs where our guest quarters were and quickly fell asleep. I felt very rude to disengage, but my reality was that I had nothing left in my reserves.

It was so difficult for me to listen to my body and uphold my sense of self-respect.  I’m not sure they fully comprehended the situation as they were all excited to see us and had a lot of energy.  They thought they were loving us by giving us food and shelter.  And they were.  I was unable to graciously receive it because of the state I was in.  I was physically and mentally depleted, staring at an additional five-hour drive ahead the next morning into a future I wanted nothing to with.  All of this had to be done by me, while being responsible for my four dysregulated, special needs daughters as I was coping with PTSD.  Looking back, I should have just politely declined the invitation, elongated the trip into more manageable stints, and stayed at hotels.  I didn’t respect my needs.  I didn’t uphold my boundaries.

Upholding boundaries during that time during my grief journey also meant controlling the flow of information and setting limits according to the mental capacity I had.  I kept a phone log in order to remember who I talked to about what.  Life exploded and the volume of calls was obnoxious as all five of us had vast medical and emotional responses to Bob’s death, and school was starting for the older two just a mere few weeks after his passing.  I had to sell the house, find a new one and get reestablished. It was insane.  Thankfully I used to-do lists and had a personal planner to keep track of appointment dates and obligations because there was no way I could have kept up with all the things that needed to be done. 

I had hardly any capacity to get anything done.  When I went to reconcile the checkbook, my mind would literally go blank.  “Eight minus five is…. I have no clue.”  If this has ever happened to you, you realize how scary it is to have absolutely nothing going on inside there.  It’s like someone pulled a plug.  Being unplugged wasn’t an option.

During those first 2 years, I had no bandwidth for dialing in to anyone else’s needs except my daughters.  Surviving during the most tumultuous time in my life demanded everything I had, physically and mentally.  I’m certain that I was a rotten friend and thankfully my truest of friends administered a lot of grace and compassion for me.  We’re now even closer than before because of space, trust and pixie dust.

Space and Trust

My closest friends and family trusted in our relationships to withstand the heft of my healing process.  They trusted in my strength to negotiate the massive and lengthy series of challenges and trials I had to face alone.  As a result, this trust manifested in a grand depth of love and support.  More challenging than giving me their presence, my best friends and family loved me fiercely enough to step away and let go.

That was incredibly hard for them, because they all love me so deeply. They wanted to “be there” for me in every possible way: practical, emotional, in any way they could. But the reality was that I had to pick up the pieces entirely on my own. I was so disoriented I didn’t even know what those pieces were. I didn’t know what I was capable of doing by myself, something I suddenly had to learn quickly as a widow, because life demanded an immediate reconfiguration. I had no clear bearings. I was deeply broken and still trying to heal, yet my responsibilities left me no space to slow down or even to breathe.  Such a grand healing process like that requires space.  Lots of time and space.

I learned that during a time of great vulnerability, I had to shore up my boundaries to protect my well-being.  This is very hard for empaths to do because we have a tendency to feel guilty for not availing ourselves to others.  One of my #lessonsofanunexpectedlife that I’m still be tutored in is improving my understanding and application of boundaries for myself, as well as seeing and responding respectfully to those of others.

          Boundaries during grief are not about pushing people away, necessarily, but rather creating a necessary space to heal, breathe, and be tended to by oneself.  Sometimes we need vital space to heal alone.  Think of how someone in intensive care has a limitation on the amount of visitors permitted to be with them.  The patient is in such a dire need to use their strained resources to heal that even mere socialization - even just being aware that someone who cares about them is nearby, feeling pain for them - takes vital energy away from a crucial phase in the healing process.  Not all wounds have visible bandages, and not all patients have charge nurses to scurry away the visitors.

Respecting a Grieving Person’s Boundaries – A Guide for Grievers and Their Emotional Albatross Friends

To The Grievers

·       Set time limits for yourself.  Self-care means knowing your limits on how much time you spend with others, if you need to leave early from gatherings or not go at all.  Set limits with phone calls and visits, too. 

·       Let others know what your limits are.  There is absolutely no one who knows what you need, what’s acceptable and what feels supportive.  They’re not going to know and be able to respect you if you’re not clear about what you need. 

·       Be prepared to communicate your boundaries more than once because those who love you are albatrosses driven to love you in a way they believe is helpful.

·       Only you know your needs in terms of what is a productive or necessary use of your time.  Trust your instincts.

·       It’s ok to say no to requests of others in terms of your time and help.  Voice mail is your friend. 

·       It’s within your right to limit what you share about your grief.  Don’t let anyone guilt trip you into talking about anything you don’t feel comfortable about.

·       Limiting your exposure to people for a while can reduce the self-imposed guilt you feel for being present and accountable to others.  Some people will inadvertently drain you of energy. 

·       Honoring your needs is self-respect.  Apply self-compassion and show up for yourself.  This will afford you a modicum of self-control.

·       Since setting boundaries gives you space, you’ll have an opportunity to tune into your needs.  Hearing yourself is necessary for authentic healing. 

·       Grief and adjustment are exhausting let alone dealing with all the logistics you have to contend with.  Overwhelming. Give yourself space to rest.  This is self-care.

·       It’s not selfish to set boundaries.  It’s necessary.  Those who love you will come to an understanding of this.  Give them grace, too, but it is within your right to use the pool noodle.

To The Well-Intentioned Albatrosses

·       If your grieving friend needs a break, don’t chase them.  Don’t try to convince them to rejoin you.  Trust them to know their needs and limits.  In time, they’ll come ‘round.

·       Support can look like, “Hey, I noticed you need to be alone.  Please let me know when I can do anything for you.  I’ll check in with you later.  Don’t feel obligated to answer the phone/reply.  I’ll understand.  You know I care.”

·       It’s ok to ask your griever how you can be supportive.  Realize, however, that it’s kind of a trick question. They may not have an answer for you because they don’t even know how you can help.  Their needs can also change from moment to moment let alone day to day.  Listen, give grace and space, and abide by their wishes.

·       We all have a tendency when people back away to take it personally.   If your grieving friend is requesting space, most likely it’s not about you.  It’s about them.  Deal with your feelings because that’s part of your responsibility – that’s something within your own boundaries.

·       Although your grieving friend may be acting normal, talking normal, going through some normal motions, I assure you that their brain is straining and inside they are not their normal selves.  They will never be the exact person they used to be.  They are forever altered.  In time they will heal into a new, functional iteration of themselves.

·       Strength is born through adversity.  Think of the phoenix who rises from the ashes, transformed.  They must do this alone and they will rise a grief warrior.

·       Take your lumps.  Suck it up.  You’re going to get noodled.

Pixie Dust

Do you remember watching the original Peter Pan movie?  Do you remember when Wendy, John and Michael were taught how to fly?  

“All it takes,” Peter Pan said, “is faith and trust.  Oh!  And something I forgot… Just a little bit of pixie dust.”  Then he patted Tinkerbell to sprinkle them with sparkles.  “Now, think of the happiest things.  It’s the same as having wings.”

Faith.  Trust.  Optimism.

That’s another secret to healing from grief.  Have faith in the process of healing.  Trust your grieving friend to be honest and clear about their needs and boundaries.  Grievers, trust your albatross friends to be there for you and wait out this storm while you’re paddling alone.  Although you may need them to recede right now, the golden, loyal ones remain beside you.

 And know that eventually – and I understand that eventually may be a very long time away – eventually you will right yourself and “happy” will become part of your emotional repertoire again.  I promise.  If you doubt me, just come over to my office and I’ll sprinkle you with some pixie dust.