Discussions in Grief: Withdrawn

Grieving involves new emotions and considerations often too many to numbers. When you find yourself in overwhelming grief, you likely feel buried and lost. In this series, we slowly and compassionately look at one aspect of grief at a time from a biblical perspective for the newly grieving mother. Click {here} to read past posts in this series. 

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I don’t mind going to the dentist, but some of my friends and family avoid it. I avoid traffic, but I have friends who are completely unaffected by the stress of bumper-to-bumper cars and enjoy the time alone and the chance to catch up on phone calls or listen to podcasts.

Whenever there is something that makes us uncomfortable, we try to avoid it. If only we could avoid grief after loss. If only we could snap our fingers and be on the other side of grief—much like I would love to teleport myself across town and avoid red taillights.

When I want to avoid something, I tend to withdraw. Grief has forced me to withdraw to what I call, my cave, multiple times since burying my son twenty-three years ago.

Avoidance is a natural part of the grief process. But it’s a process—not a place.

After losing our babies, it is natural to want to avoid the sights, sounds, people, and places that remind us of our loss. I did.

I know it’s hard to attend the sister-in-law’s shower and watch your family make a fuss. I know it’s hard to go back into the doctor’s office and sit in the waiting room with pregnant women. I know it’s hard to go to birthday parties for your friends’ kids who are the age your child should be. I know.

Sometimes we need to withdraw in order to move through the process—to a new place. For years, I went to my “cave” emotionally every December as the anniversary of my son’s death approached. I gave myself permission to pull back as I anticipated the difficult day looming a few weeks ahead of me.

Caves are important geological structures in nature. They provide protection from the elements. Bears hibernate in them. Hikers know to huddle in them when storms arise in the mountains. They can be lifesavers, but are not permanent dwelling places. The bears emerge in the spring to find new life waiting for them. The hikers continue their adventures when the storm passes.

It is the same for the grieving mama. We may need to withdraw and hide emotionally for a bit, but we can’t dwell there. We need to emerge and look at life around us. We need to focus on the good and beautiful. We need to continue through the adventure of living life. 

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.
I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”
John 10:10

The Lord Jesus gave His life for us so that we might live—but not just live, live abundantly.

A few years ago, my husband’s work Christmas party was held on the anniversary of my son’s death. Not attending was not an option. On the anniversary day I usually allowed time in my cave to reflect and grieve a little, I found myself in a room far from home and surrounded by people I did not know. I was expected to mingle and be cheerful. I dreaded the event.

But I was pleasantly surprised. It really helped with the grief that day. It’s not that I forgot. I never forget. But the focus changed. This past year, I actually planned a fun outing for my husband and I on “the day” and we focused on being together and enjoying our day.

I didn’t go into my cave—and it was okay. It was actually nice not to withdraw.

“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this; The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is His faithfulness; His mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in Him. The Lord is good to those who depend on Him, to those who search for Him.”
Lamentations 3:20-25 (NLT)

When we trust the Lord is faithful—even in the awful times—we can dare to hope.

I still want to be able to teleport across town to avoid traffic, and I won’t ever look forward to a root canal. But, when it comes to grief, I want to avoid withdrawal because I need community. Good community helps us when we hurt and builds us up.

Remember, avoidance and withdrawal is part of the process—but it’s not a place.

Dear Lord, help us to lean into you and run to you when we want to run away and hide. Help us to reach out to others and let them link arms with us on our grief journey. Dear Father, help us to emerge from our caves of sorrow and look for life around us—to look for the abundant life you promised us.

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Shelly D. Templin is an author, speaker and blogger that shares a message of hope—with humor. She has three daughters, a son-in-law, and a granddaughter. Shelly lives in Texas with her husband, Jack, of 29 years and their two dogs.

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