THROUGH DARKNESS

THROUGH DARKNESS
'Finding Light in the Shadows of Grief'
Written and Narrated by Elizabeth Blake-Thomas

​I lost my four-legged daughter, soulmate, best friend, partner, and plus one eight weeks ago. She passed unexpectedly at 13 of a heart attack. My previous article explains the initial shock; the following is the next stage.

It’s eight weeks into my grief journey. What have I learned so far? Grief is lonely, yet it connects people. Grief is painful, yet it feels like a release. Grief is unique, yet universal. Grief sneaks up on you when you’re least expecting it. I’ll be honest—last night I went for a walk with Chai in her bag (I carry her ashes with me everywhere), and I started to think about her passing. Unfortunately, I began a bit of a rollercoaster and started downward spiraling. Normally, a walk clears my head, but for some reason I began crying more and more until I had to take myself home and cry some more—painful, releasing, moaning, groaning crying.

I had a day of pretending I was fine. Not in a bad way, just consciously trying to be in public and “carry on.” It had obviously been too much for me, and so my body needed to release when I got home. I let it. I let myself groan, cry, spiral, and then gradually, after two hours, I began to bring myself out of it.

Why is letting it out so important? Because otherwise all of that emotion would be stored somewhere in my body, and I know that will physically cause me problems. So I’ve done something I haven’t done since I was a child, when I was called “emotional” or “angry” or “attention seeking.” I have recognized how important it is to feel and let our emotions out! I’ve given my emotions the space to feel safe and have a voice.

It’s a cathartic experience which, believe me, in one way I wish I wasn’t experiencing and instead was home hugging Chai just like I used to. But in another, I am awakening something I didn’t know I had on such a deep level in me: an open vulnerability, increased awareness of self, space to let myself grow to a new level, and an empathy and understanding of others I thought I already had but is now super heightened.

My body was exhausted after my crying release. I just lay and slept—my body telling me what it needs. This will happen often, I’m sure, and when I least expect it. But I have to trust the process. I have to respect what my brain and body need to do whilst on this grief journey.

I’ve noted down a few things that are not making it better but assist me when I’m having a difficult time or moment. This is by no means a list of certain fixes, merely a way to feel and be with the grief and then do whatever you feel is right for the stage you’re at.

1. It’s 2:20 AM and I’m writing this article, so the first thought for you is: do whatever feels right. If you can’t sleep and want to get up, do. If you want to just sleep lots, do. If you need to turn on a TV series or go on TikTok in the middle of the night to distract yourself, do. For now, do whatever you need to do.
   
   
2. Create from your grief. Whether that’s writing, painting, drawing, singing, gardening—this could literally be anything. Find an outlet somewhere. You don’t have to be any good; this isn’t about perfection. It’s about an artistic release. I have my canvases on my easel and paints next to it so I can just go and paint. No thinking necessary. My books and pens sit on the side so I can just grab and draw. Having everything easily accessible allows me to just do.
   
   
3. ​Find those people or friends or confidantes you really can trust who truly get what you’re going through, and leave voice notes. When I’m walking along or just having a thought, I’ll go to their message and leave a rambling voice note—a conversation without having to be a conversation. Get it out! Too many people to thank here, but you know who you are.
   
   
4. Write, even if it doesn’t make sense. Write what you’re feeling at that moment. Have a specific pad you use so it’s all in one place. I’m grateful to read back on what I was feeling so I can see how those have changed and developed. My articles and journaling are what keep me in some sort of order and semblance of sanity. It reminds me how far I’ve come.
   
   
5. Feel. Whatever it is—feel it. Cry, scream, shout, swear, sob, whimper, moan, or groan. It doesn’t matter. Just allow yourself to feel. I didn’t stop myself from crying; I let it out naturally and when my body felt like it.
   
   
6. Recognize your emotions. You don’t have to understand them or accept them, but listen to them and say “hi.” Introduce yourself to them and realize they’re now going to sit with you until they need to move on or they become part of who you are. However, they won’t dictate who you are. Guilt, blame, shame, vulnerability, anger, jealousy. I’m having supper mostly with guilt at the moment!
   
   
7. If at all possible, try to do something: walking, stretching, grabbing a coffee, sitting outside in nature and seeing the sunshine. Anything to get you outside of the house even for a minute. Every day I make sure I get an hour of sunshine outside, either sitting or lying in it or actually walking.

​We are all beginning from a different foundational stage of life. This is determined by age, the stage of life we are at, what other grief we may or may not have experienced, and our physical and mental health. So whatever works above for you, great—and if nothing does, that’s also okay. This is about you and your grief journey, no one else’s.

The biggest thing I’ve learned is that time is not a healer. My cavern has got bigger and darker, the dark tunnel is longer, and there is still no light at the end of it. Each day I am more aware of the fact that Chai isn’t coming back and that life is different. But even being more aware of the tunnel and cavern means I’m seeing more in the darkness. This is even more powerful than seeing a light given by someone else. I’m having to create my own light here, inside the darkness—feeling, finding my way without outside intervention. Feeling safe in this darkness and allowing myself to get used to it.

I watched Love on the Spectrum the other night, and there was a psychologist who explained something to one of the girls (she drew three circles). The first circle is our comfort zone. The second larger encasing circle was the panic zone. But if you draw a thin circle on the outskirts of the comfort zone and in the panic zone, that is the secret space called the learning zone.

This really resonated with me. Not only because I enjoy visual diagrams to help understand emotions, but because it felt like an “aha” moment! At home, hidden from the world, safe with my emotions, I’m in my comfort zone. Out in the big world all day, trying to fake it till you make it, is the panic zone—the masking and feeling exhausted at the end of the day zone. BUT having taken that little step out there meant I learned something. I grew in some way. I could recognize I was in my learning zone. The things we learn may not be immediately obvious, but 24 hours later, or maybe a week or even longer, that learning zone will enable you to exist in this new way.

So have I worked out what my learning zone looks like? Not yet. But after the breakdown, I understood myself more. I was proud of myself. I reached out to a couple of dear friends I could trust to speak to (left messages for). I got through it. That’s the key—if we can “get through,” that’s a big win. For now, be kind to yourself. Take those wins, whatever they look like. Be unafraid to be you and feel. It really is better out than in.

Thank you for listening. All my love, Chai and I. ∎