Author: Jill Gross

Why We Shouldn’t Rush or Feel Guilty About Emotional Pain

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” ~Friedrich Nietzsche

In July 2012, a conversation changed my life.

Prior to this, I had been struggling to right myself after a difficult loss. Several months had passed, yet I continued to revisit the same sad, angry place again and again. I believed the presence of these difficult emotions meant I was “doing it all wrong.”

I thought, if I could figure out why these feelings were so persistent, I could make them vanish altogether. To assist in the quest, I enlisted the help of a spiritual mentor.

I very carefully explained to him that, despite reading books, exercising, spending time with loved ones, eating good food, working, and indulging my passions and hobbies, the daily waves of sadness were still so strong it seemed as if I would drown in their undertow.

“If I am doing all of the ‘right’ things,” I implored, “why am I still feeling this way?” If I had the answer to this question, surely I could be free of all of this nonsense and get my life back to normal (or something close to that).

With the kindest eyes and gentlest smile, the man explained to me that the problem wasn’t anger, sadness, or loneliness—these were normal, healthy reactions to loss. The real issue was my erroneous belief that pain could be controlled with logic.

What the…what now?

Instinctively, I wanted to resist his rendition of my predicament. First, because my life’s work up until that point had been helping others “make sense” of their suffering. So, if pain could not be controlled, how could I help console those seeking pain relief?

Secondly, my shame filter translated his gentle statement into, “What’s up, control freak?!”

Shame does not allow for kind discourse.

Once my resistance subsided, I realized the guru was right: False ideology was preferable to being with sadness, anger, and loneliness, the end date of which could not be predicted or scheduled. Further, I just plain old didn’t like how I had been humbled by loss.

As the words left my mentor’s lips, something inside of me shifted. I did not feel angry, sad, or scared. A little annoyed, yes—sort of like a child being invited to part with her favorite blankie.

The predominant feeling in that moment was relief.

Once fully felt and accepted, the guru explained, emotional states will naturally dissipate over time. The determination to find out “why” was an unnecessary resistance to a tide that simply needed to ebb and flow on its own course. Thus far, swimming against the current did was doing little more than making my arms tired.

I set a conscious intention that day: to do my best to let the waves of grief carry me wherever I was meant to go.

It wasn’t all sunshine, rainbows, and Oprah Winfrey moments after that. In fact, it pretty much sucked for a while. But, after two or three months of swimming with the current, I felt more confident in my ability to survive the tide.

Anyone who has lived or loved has been privy to emotions that seem to come and go without explanation. I believe we cannot control how we feel, but we can control how we choose to respond to these feelings when we have them.

Healing resides in how we choose to respond to pain.

Here are some things to keep in mind the next time the waters feel turbulent:

1. Feelings do not have brains.

Logic cannot “fix” feelings because feelings are not broken. Sometimes we are lucky enough to see a clear path between our heads and our hearts. For example, when someone says something hurtful, we understand why we may feel angry or hurt.

There will also be times when feelings don’t make sense. They don’t need to. Whether your feelings have a logical explanation or not, recognize them as valid and trust that, when given permission to exist, they will eventually pass. (I promise they will.)

2. The presence of pain is not an indication of failure.

There will be times when pain persists, even though we are doing all of the “right things.” This does not mean that you have failed at anything. It just means you may need more time (see #3).

Failure is the voice of shame. Shame simply heaps suffering on top of preexisting pain. No one deserves this, including you, so try to talk to yourself as you would a beloved friend when shame surfaces.

3. There is no timeline for things that cannot be scheduled or controlled.

Give yourself time and take as much of it as you need.

4. Instead of fixating on why, ask what and how.

Shift your attention away from why and ask yourself what’s happening in the present moment and how you feel about it. Loving acknowledgement is the first step toward acceptance.

More often than not, “why” is a signpost for the inner child who falsely believes pain should not be part of life. Your feelings are a testament to your aliveness. The next time you hear yourself asking “why” you feel the way you do, I invite you to breathe, lean back, and let the tide carry you wherever you were meant to go.

August 28, 2016
Falling Apart at Inconvenient Times: Why There Is No Shame in Public Pain

“The major block to compassion is the judgment in our minds. Judgment is the mind’s primary tool of separation.” ~David R. Hamilton

On the evening of October 28, 2014, the phone rang. When I heard my stepmother’s voice, immediately, I thought, “This can’t be good.”

Last I had heard, my father was resting comfortably after routine surgery earlier that day. Now it was past midnight in North Carolina.

“Jill,” my stepmother implored, “please talk to the nurses. I have no idea what they are trying to tell me.” Sometimes we cannot listen to what we do not want to hear.

The nurse came on the phone and confirmed my worst fears. My father had suddenly become septic and was quickly heading into multiple organ failure.

In her “I’m trying to tell a complete stranger her father is dying in the nicest way possible” kind of voice, the nurse told me I might want to make plans to get out there as soon as possible; now would be good.

I booked the first available flight. Sleepless and terrified, I boarded the plane. After settling into my seat, a lifetime of Dad memories raced through my mind. A lump in my throat began to rise and swell at the thought of seeing my father, helpless and frail, making his way from this world to the next.

“Please don’t lose it on this plane,” I carefully cajoled myself.

A distraction seemed in order, so I put the earbuds in, set the music to shuffle, and held my breath. As luck would have it, the first song depicted a powerful tale of loss that felt like an illuminated road sign on a dark, lonely highway. Death is a road we all travel.

When I heard the words of my own story, told by someone I had never met, I couldn’t hold back anymore. First a few quiet tears, followed by the full-on ugly cry—right there in row 17, seat C.

“Oh dear,” I thought, “I am officially that person.”

We all know that person: the one who breaks into tears in the grocery line after discovering “happily ever after” was not to be. The co-worker stifling sobs behind the fourth-floor bathroom stall when he learns he is next to be downsized. Or, in my case, the middle-aged woman in 17C trying desperately to get home in time to say goodbye to her father.

Amidst heaving sobs, I glanced across the aisle and met the gaze of a fellow passenger. With only his eyes, he kindly whispered, “Yep. You’re that person.” With only my eyes, in return, I answered, “Yep. You’re right.”

It was as if life had stolen my undergarments and hung them in the public square to dry. I felt exposed, raw, ashamed. If only my feelings would have shown up on schedule, preferably in the privacy of my own home, thank you very much.

Humans can be parsed into two categories: those who have been that person and those who will be. Like a rude party guest, the unsoothable pain of loss can show up, uninvited, at the worst possible times and demand from us things we don’t want to give.

So often we shun grief or sorrow that cannot wait for a convenient time to be felt. Perhaps witnessing another’s sorrow ignites our own, so we create a safe distance with our judgment: “Some people really oughta learn how to keep it together.”

We wouldn’t tell a child in pain to knock it off and keep it together. Why would we say this to ourselves? Why would we demand this from others?

I regret to inform you feelings cannot be scheduled. There will be moments when the thread unspools faster than we can wind it. This is okay.

Feelings do not need to be fixed because they are not broken; neither are you.

It is when we are most vulnerable that we are most deserving of our own loving-kindness. Those song lyrics and the compassion in my aisle mate’s eyes were the only things I needed that day. While it didn’t make the pain stop, I did feel a little less alone with it, which made all the difference.

We know that person because we are that person.

When it is your turn in the cosmic hot seat, I invite you to offer yourself the blessing of your own loving grace. Speak to yourself as you would a child in pain. If you get the honor of bearing witness to another’s unspooling, why not offer your fellow human the same blessing: I see you. I hear you. I love you.

Sad girl image via Shutterstock

March 31, 2016
The Gift Of Unsoothable Pain: Darkness Can Lead to Light

“Blessed are the cracked for they shall let in the light.” ~Groucho Marx

In 2008, after ten years of marriage, my former husband and I decided to divorce.

It came as a shock to those who knew us. We were living what most would consider the American dream: two healthy children, beautiful home, great friends, strong careers, two incomes—the works.

Though my ex-husband and I got along well, the marriage was missing an intimate, heartfelt connection.

Loneliness and longing grew with each passing year until I could no longer ignore them. I knew the kind of intimacy for which I yearned was not possible in my marriage, so I asked for a divorce.

Because my ex-husband and I led mostly separate lives, I assumed the transition through divorce would be fairly smooth. Boy, was I in for a rude awakening!

Divorce, like most significant losses, takes the safe and familiar contour of our lives and blows it to smithereens, leaving us vulnerable and unprotected until the new shape forms. It is easy to underestimate the comfort we draw from what is known; I sure did.

Shortly after the separation, much like a Ficus tree seems to all but die when moved from its familiar spot, I went into a state of shock.

It was as if my nerve endings were relocated outside my skin, perturbed at even the slightest agitation. Once-routine tasks, like getting out of bed or going to the grocery store, seemed barely doable.

I spent the days toggling between two modes: “about to cry” and “full-on blubbering.”

I told myself it was not okay to feel the pain because it was a consequence of my own choices. My emotional suitcases were so heavy with fear, shame, and self-doubt, I thought these feelings defined me.

One night, the struggle reached a crescendo. Sadness and dread filled my entire body, from the inside out, until I was heaving with sobs and howling like a trapped animal. I was convinced the pain would either not stop or that it would kill me. I secretly wished for the latter.

It was in this moment I realized that some pain is, quite literally, unsoothable: there is no one, no place, and nothing in that moment that can make it better.

The only way out of unsoothable pain is to go straight through it. Even with this awareness, however, I still wanted to run.

At first, I tried to numb the pain with limerence. The new relationship went about like any would go between two wounded people lacking awareness; like a train wreck. What’s more, I convinced myself I needed that train wreck to work to prove I wasn’t a failure.

When we tell ourselves that we need something, we inadvertently look for it in places we are guaranteed not find it.

This is life’s clever way of showing us, again and again, what needs our own loving attention. If I kept numbing the pain of loss with romantic love, I would keep choosing unsustainable relationships.

At the base of every true heart connection is acceptance. We cannot offer acceptance to others until we can accept ourselves, wrenched heart and all.

Three years and two failed relationships later, I decided it was time to stop trying to soothe the unsoothable, to face grief, and to build a solid life on my own.

I eschewed romantic relationships for well over a year, devoting that time to friendships and long-neglected passions, like skiing and music. I felt lonely and frequently got scared, but fear was outmatched by a deeply held conviction to stay the course.

Though I once hoped it would, I am happy to report unsoothable pain did not kill me. In fact, the willingness to push through its contractions has increased my confidence to handle life’s loss and uncertainty. The same can be true for anyone willing to face his/her own darkness.

If you are experiencing unsoothable pain, you may be tempted to reach for something or someone to numb yourself.

Avoidance is a way of inviting into your life more of the very thing you are attempting to banish; resistance is futile. Your feelings are intense because something important is happening, so keep going!

Sometimes unsoothable pain presents itself as fear, telling us the struggle won’t end.

Sometimes it assumes the voice of self-doubt, convincing us we can’t do it.

Sometimes pain is accompanied by shame, which cajoles us into believing there is something fundamentally wrong with us because we are hurting.

Fear, self-doubt, and shame are the normal, temporary emotional byproducts of significant change. Do not believe their stories; they are untrue. Unsoothable pain is the threshold over which we must cross to access more love and more light within ourselves.

While masking its symptoms won’t cure the disease, taking good emotional, spiritual, and physical care of yourself goes a long way. Here are a few things to consider:

1. Slow down and breathe.

It may feel like you are dying when you pause for a bit, but I encourage you to do it anyway. When we slow down and sit with hard feelings, we are taking a brave step toward showing ourselves that we are stronger than pain.

2. Create small goals.

During the darkest times, the idea of getting through an entire day felt like a lot, so I broke the day into small chunks to make it more manageable. My goal list looked like “Shower and put on makeup” or “Make it to lunch time.”

3. Celebrate achievements.

When I reached each milestone, I would sometimes say, out loud and in my goofiest cheerleader voice, “Woot! You made it to bedtime! Another day is history!” (Sidebar: always laugh at yourself—the alternative is too unpleasant to consider).

It may feel silly to celebrate events that seem otherwise unremarkable but, when your nerves are inside out, even the simplest of tasks can feel like a big deal.

4. Trust more and confide often.

Make a short list of the people in your life you feel safe falling apart with and let yourself fall apart with them.

There is nothing shameful about unsoothable pain—it is our vulnerability that allows us to create meaningful bonds with other humans. Sometimes a supportive comment or gesture from a trusted friend can be the encouragement you need to keep going.

5. Move around.

You don’t have to qualify for the Boston Marathon, but please do move your body at least once per day.

Whether your preferred movement is yoga, walking, running, dancing, hiking, or biking, remember that emotions are physical events—we can literally move through them sometimes. If this idea seems like too much, start with your mailbox and work your way out from there (see #2).

6. Do something that scares you.

Keeping health and safety in mind, figure out two or three small things you can do that are outside of your comfort zone.

I wanted to reconnect with my musical side, so I joined a group of singers and songwriters. It wasn’t easy (I cried in the car all the way to the first gathering), but it eventually got easier and the strangers in that group eventually became friends.

7. Speak kindly to yourself.

We are more likely to advocate for people we like so, when you are in pain, speak to yourself as if you are a valued friend. It is when we are hurting that we are most deserving of tenderness. Gently remind yourself that you are doing your best to take care of you.

8. Be patient.

Building a new life shape takes time, so give it the time it deserves. Acting hastily merely increases your chances of having to start over later.

Building a friendlier relationship with discomfort can eventually diminish its strength and frequency.

In the meantime, it may help to remember that unsoothable pain is often the sign of a well-lived life—it proves you were courageous enough to risk, to love, and to be affected by loss. After all, it is when the shapes of our lives are wide open that the most light can get in.

Man walking into the light image via Shutterstock

April 23, 2015
Transforming Shame Into Love, One Good Deed At A Time

“No one is useless in the world who lightens the burdens of another.” ~Charles Dickens

A few years back, I saw a sticker that read, “Be the change you wish to see in the world. –Gandhi.”

My knee-jerk reaction was annoyance because the sticker was affixed to the bumper of a car that turned left in front of me. I was in the middle of a long stretch of bad days, so pretty much anything would have set me off.

My search for happiness during that bleak period seemed fruitless, most likely because I didn’t know that happiness is not a destination where, upon arrival, we get to unpack our bags and stay forever. Happiness is just one of many “rest stops” on the highway of life.

Just as rest stops are meant to come and go, so is happiness. We recognize a feeling in our conscious field, stretch into that feeling for as long as needed, and eventually, get back in the car and “drive” until the next one comes along.

Of course, there are other stops along the highway as well: loneliness, excitement, hope, anger, longing, etc.

Eight months after ending a toxic relationship, I was spending an inordinate amount of time at the rest stop of shame.

Not only had I allowed myself to stay in a relationship with someone who treated me poorly, I felt like a failure when the relationship ended. Seems I had special talent for beating myself up, both coming and going.

Each one of our feelings speaks to us in its own unique voice. For me, shame sounded like, “You’re a loser!” or “You’re boring!” or, my personal favorite, “No one will ever love you!” The voices of our feelings can tell us things that feel true but, in fact, are not true.

When I heard the voice of shame, it took everything in my power to fight the urge to isolate from a world I was convinced I didn’t deserve to be part of.

The world seemed pretty dark at the time and I worried I would never find the light again. (This is what hopelessness sounds like, by the way.)

It was at precisely this time that Gandhi’s words came along, disguised as an obstacle in my path. Seeing those words reminded me that we cannot control how we feel; we can only control what we do with how we feel.

While I could not control shame, I could control how small I allowed it to make my world.

I had no idea how to “make” myself happy, but I was desperate to try anything. I decided to conduct a little social experiment to test Gandhi’s words. Because I wanted to transform shame into happiness, despair into love, it was up to me to sprinkle happiness and love into the world.

I called the experiment “The Mizvah Project” and challenged myself to perform at least one good deed per week. The good deed could be any action, small or large, as long as the net result would put more positive energy into the world.

I wasn’t feeling too positively energetic at the time, so a week seemed plenty of time to do at least one small thing. (After all, starting from ground zero, there was nowhere to go but upward.)

Once the goal was set, I noticed a slight positive shift in perspective. I was no longer wondering what in the world could make the pain stop, I was asking myself what I could do to bring more love into the world.

The experiment began.

If I appreciated something about someone, I went out of my way to tell them.

If I knew someone who was struggling and needed a sympathetic ear, I called and listened.

If I saw a piece of trash on the sidewalk, I picked it up.

A friend needed help redesigning her office, so I did it.

If my son was having a bad day, I surprised him at school with takeout from his favorite restaurant.

Momentum didn’t take long to build, so I quickly bumped the target up to three mitzvahs per week. Augmenting the goal brought with it another noticeable shift in my worldview: a significant uptick in the compassion. This was encouraging.

If a car turned left in front of me, I told myself the driver was probably lost and needed help; if someone was rude at the grocery store, I assumed they were having a bad day and needed extra patience; if I screwed something up, I spoke nicely and encouragingly to myself.

I began to believe—I mean in-my-core believe—that all human beings, even those who hurt us, are deserving of love and compassion.

It’s been almost two years since The Mitzvah Project started. I am happy to report the shame that once felt like a constant companion has given way to greater connectedness with the people around me (whether they are trusted friends or complete strangers) and with myself. Overall, thankfully, I spend less time in despair and more time in contentment.

It hasn’t been all wine and roses since I started the project—shame still shows up on the highway from time to time. The difference is, where I once would have addressed the voice of shame with harshness and criticism, I now speak to it in a kinder, gentler voice; as if I were a child in pain.

Approaching our shame with loving curiosity eventually reduces shame’s need to manifest itself in ways that don’t serve us.

Inside each of us is a deep well of love, patiently awaiting our own recognition. Mindful acts of kindness and compassion, however large or small, are the portals to this love.

If you have been spending more than your fair share of time at the rest stops of shame and despair, I urge you to consider asking yourself how you can bring to the world the change you wish to see.

The voice of shame may try to convince you that you cannot do it. Shame lies; don’t believe it.

It is easy to overlook the gifts we can offer the world, just by showing up and giving of ourselves.

Perhaps there is someone in your life who could benefit from a pair of good ears and strong shoulders; a park in your neighborhood that could use a little clean sweep; an overdue birthday card that needs a stamp. Start small and, if you feel inspired, work your way up from there.

Shame can be stubborn and may stick around for a while, and that is okay. It is when we are visiting the rest stop of shame that we are most worthy of our own loving support.

When you feel the darkness, gently remind yourself that this is where you are right now; it is not who you are for always.

Feelings are temporary—the next one will come along eventually. In the meantime, remind yourself that you are doing everything in your power to put loving energy into the world; this is enough.

Healing can be found in unexpected places when we embody the change we hope to see.

Acting in service of bringing love and light into the world helps us find the love and light within ourselves. One good deed at a time, today’s despair slowly transforms itself into tomorrow’s hope.

Friends laughing image via Shutterstock

December 23, 2014
How Painful Relationships Can Be The Best Teachers

“Sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places.” ~Unknown

“This is it,” I thought. I finally found the man I had been waiting for.

Of course, it had taken me thirty-nine years and a painful divorce from my husband of ten years. But that was all worth it, I told myself, because it had led me to the man who seemed to see, understand, and love me the way I had always hoped someone would.

Things were blissful in beginning. We made breakfasts together, took romantic vacations to exotic locations, we fantasized about buying vacation houses. Our developing story read like a fairy tale.

But this fairy tale did not have a happy ending. The once-sweet Prince Charming eventually became cold, distant, and abusive—a man in constant pursuit of new “shiny objects” to distract him from the remnants of his troubled past.

I was that shiny object…until I wasn’t shiny anymore.

The clock struck midnight, and I was left with a broken heart.

There was a firestorm of mixed emotions after the breakup: betrayal, rage, sadness, and disappointment. I wanted someone to wake me up and tell me it was all just a bad dream. I wanted Prince Charming to return so I could feel those loving feelings again!

I spent countless hours mentally rehashing the details of the story, torturing myself, trying to see precisely why things went wrong.

This fruitless nonsense only made me angrier and sadder. Then, one day, amidst the noise of the fruitless nonsense, I heard a gentler voice inside me whisper, “Be patient. The most painful relationships can be the best teachers.”

After I heard that voice, I began to let myself consider that, just maybe, this heinous experience was serving a benevolent purpose I had yet to discover. And that’s when the learning began.

I recognized that I had been so willing to make someone else the focal point of my life because, deep down, outside of a romantic relationship, I had no idea who I was, let alone how to love myself.

I had spent so much time after the breakup focusing on my ex-boyfriend’s shortcomings because I was not ready to see that, in some ways, I was just like him.

I spent the majority of my adult life bouncing from one relationship to another because I told myself that “happiness” was just around the corner; all I needed was the right partner.

The pursuit of Mr. Right kept me at a safe distance from pain I spent a lifetime avoiding: the acrimonious divorce of my parents at age thirteen and subsequent abandonment by a mother, who left an emotionally unavailable father to raise my sister and me.

It turns out that betrayal, rage, sadness, and disappointment were actually remnants of my own past; feelings I thought romantic love would magically erase.

The harder we work to escape unwanted parts of ourselves, the greater the likelihood we will choose relationships that help us find these unwanted parts.

I thought a relationship with Prince Charming meant I would never have to feel the pain of grief, but what I really needed was to learn how to welcome grief. The feelings associated with grief are our body’s way of inviting us to honor and grow from loss.

When I decided to stop running away from my feelings, it didn’t take long to discover that avoiding psychic pain is like running in front of an avalanche: When we stop running, all of the once-forbidden feelings cascade over us with such a great force, it can feel as if we will be crushed by their weight.

At first, it felt like I was dying. I cried with such intensity and regularity that I began to refer to these daily crying spells as “taking out the trash.” The only problem was, there was so much trash that I feared this chore would never be finished.

I attended weekly therapy sessions, furiously wrote in my journal, and confided in trustworthy friends.

Through this, I slowly (and I mean slowly) started to see that the life I once thought of as empty was actually quite full. I had my health, two healthy children, a successful therapy practice, the ability to play and sing music, and a village of supportive friends.

I was so busy searching for happiness outside of myself that I couldn’t see that the makings of happiness were already there, waiting for my own recognition.

Looking back, what initially felt like a death was actually a rebirth. All of my feelings, even the ones I feared were too destructive, deserve to be acknowledged and felt.

When we welcome our feelings into awareness, we are taking the first brave step toward accepting all of who we are. This acceptance is the beginning of unconditional self-love.

Working through grief eventually yielded a life of creativity and abundance that my once fearful heart never knew was possible!

Bonds with old friends became stronger, I started writing more, and I began to discover activities and interests, both new and old, that brought me joy. Eighteen months after the breakup, I noticed I wasn’t just surviving each day any more; I was actually living a pretty decent life—by myself.

None of this would have been possible had it not been for the blistering heartache of betrayal and loss.

So, if you are in the shadowy aftermath of loss and it feels as if you are dying, perhaps you are really in the process of being reborn. It is your own inner wisdom that has led you to where you are, so trust it.

Though you may feel awful now, remember this is how you feel, it is not who you are. Feelings are temporary energy states that, when given permission to exist, like the weather, move in and out of our conscious field.

There is no point in fighting your feelings because they will only scream louder until you hear them. Why make them work that hard?

As you progress through your own journey, gently remind yourself that everything you seek, you already have. You may feel broken right now, and that’s okay. It is important to remember that all of the pieces are there, waiting to be put back together in the form of a stronger, wiser you.

You might stumble along the path, and that is also okay. Life isn’t like the Olympics—we don’t have to perfect the routine or stick the landing—we just have to keep showing up, trying our best every day to travel our own path at our own pace.

So, I invite you to ask yourself, “How could this pain be an invitation to grow?” If you are patient and listen closely, the answer will find you. It might be slow and subtle at first, but it will come.

September 24, 2014