There’s a shame in admitting pain; doubly so if you’re a believer and an African. With this combination, we silence pain. Even if we express it, we shouldn’t for long. Even if we express it, we must offer the right and acceptable reasons.
“You’re sad over just this?”
“But you pahnn…oh, this small thing?”
“Just shake it off.” “Just let it go.”
These words make me irate because if I could, wouldn’t I have?
The Grief We Are Allowed to Feel
There’s a bigger shame in admitting pain that isn’t spoken. It’s acceptable to be in pain when your body goes through physical turmoil or when you lose a loved one to death. The world understands because the world can see: you had a parent, and now they are no more; you had a perfectly functioning leg, and now it’s twisted. They see that, so they get that. Therefore, the world readily accepts your tears in any of these scenarios.
And then we have a type of pain that often isn’t articulated. It often feels humiliating, like a trumpet of death reverberating with each breath—a pain as present as though you broke a leg or lost a parent. But you didn’t break a leg, and you didn’t lose a parent.
What I am describing lies between disenfranchised grief and unlived grief. The former describes a grief society refuses to acknowledge or accept, while the latter points to a version of yourself you never became or a path you never took. What I am describing can be an amalgamation of the two: where the version of yourself you did not become led to a non-death, non-physical loss.
I told myself this heartache from a lost connection shouldn’t cut so deep, yet I couldn’t cushion the impact.
A Season of Reckoning With Grief
I recently felt this pain. Or should I say, I experienced a repetition of a version of this pain. However, this time it felt more painful. This time, I tried, not once and not twice. I felt as though the version of me that tried simply wasn’t enough. I told myself this heartache from a lost connection shouldn’t cut so deep, yet I couldn’t cushion the impact. Some days, numbness filled my heart. Some days, I felt no pain. But by night, the darkness of the sky engulfed my mind, and I was confused—I was angry. Angry for feeling pain. Upset that I am upset. Annoyed… annoyed because I am merely human.
I know this sounds like parables, but bear with me. You’ve probably gone through this: grieving the road not taken, or even grieving the road taken that still led to a loss—in a connection, in time, or in an opportunity. It can feel like a rollercoaster. You feel yourself making progress as a scab forms over the wound. But then on other days, the scab is ripped off like a Band-Aid, only to be plastered back on later with tears.
Unpacking What I Wrapped Haphazardly
I felt ashamed to admit this pain to God. I internalized it as irrelevant. Maybe you have too. Maybe you have gone through a loss, not the typical kind though. The kind people don’t easily speak about. The kind where, when you bring it up, others chastise you for overthinking and caution you to “get over it”.
As you may or may not know, I am marrying soon, God willing. And lately, this journey toward marriage has forced me to be honest with myself and with my Creator in ways I didn’t know I could be. In this journey I have had to reconcile my reality with my past. As a result, there are pockets in time that have caused pain that I have felt too ashamed to admit; whether it is to myself or it’s to God. However, in these past few months I have had to unpack things I wrapped up haphazardly, and the season of reckoning seems to be at hand.
The Courage to Admit it Hurts
Now don’t get me wrong or imagine things I am not saying or advocating. I am not romanticizing pain or asking you to wear it like an identity, but I am asking you to recognize it. I am asking you to be courageous to admit that this hurts badly, and in a way you didn’t think it would. Why you may ask?
Because your healing is the most important thing. Because the next time you are faced with a similar situation you cannot sell yourself short by not trying or allowing that experience to influence your thought process and actions. We rarely allow ourselves to explore the full humanity and expanse of our emotions—a theme I’ve explored before when discussing emotional availability and vulnerability—which always narrows our understanding of ourselves and of those around us
No one gets to classify the magnitude of your pain, because no one can truly grasp it. Keep going to Him when it feels like you still haven’t gotten over all your pain, and when your soul is in crumbles. It’s okay if you keep revisiting the same pain and heartache, because thankfully, He is not going anywhere.
We rarely allow ourselves to explore the full humanity and expanse of our emotions, which always narrows our understanding—of ourselves and of those around us.
I don’t know what healing will look like for you. I don’t know how long it will take. What I do know without a shadow of a doubt is that He will turn your mourning into dancing and clothe you with a garment of praise. Regardless of what that journey looks like, you can lay at His feet with your Hands Lifted High.