Working while grieving: The playbook that doesn't exist

If you’ve ever experienced a loss, you may have heard this line from at least one person at work:

“Take as much time as you need.”

As if grief were linear. As if, after any finite amount of time, you ought to be able to return and carry on the same as before – or at least pretend to.

As if your deadlines held the same weight as they once did. As if your brain could function reliably without fading into rumination.

Perhaps you haven’t been lucky enough to receive even this sentiment. Perhaps you received a few bereavement days off and had to return awkwardly, unsure if anyone really knows that, for you, a bomb just went off.

As someone who’s spent the better part of the last four years grieving losses – great and small – I will be really honest:

I still find it hard to work sometimes.

Why it's so hard to take a break to grieve

I thought that stepping away from the corporate world and focusing on my own businesses would make it easier; and in many ways, it has. I can take as much time and space as I permit myself to have to process big changes and complex emotions.

The key phrase being: “permit myself.”

Because despite being my own boss, there is still the same expectation and sense of obligation I place on myself: that I should work through it. That everyone else seems to be doing fine with so much more on their plate.

That it shouldn’t be *this* hard.

But grief creates a complicated landscape, one that defies logic and warps time. One day you can take on the world and the next day you’re rethinking every aspect of your life. It moves so slowly, pervades your existence so quietly – you could easily convince yourself you’re past it.

Until you hit a wall of apathy. Or frustration. Or another emotion that’s just grief masquerading.

Where grief lives when we ignore it

Because I read energy for a living I see this everywhere: people holding onto grief in their lungs, in their throats, under their arms. Freezing it there because it’s too big to express, too complicated to understand, or too burdensome to others. Hoping it will somehow offgas or bioattenuate on its own.

It weighs on their heart, stifles their voice, confuses their brain. It festers and presses in, until it becomes something physical and painful in an attempt to make itself heard: bronchitis, knee pain, cancer, dementia.

I watched it happen to my parents. But it doesn't need to be inevitable.

How to live with grief at work

It might not seem like it, but the small doses of grief we allow ourselves to feel (in the bathroom between meetings, in our car on the drive home, in a friend’s office with the door closed), those moments save us. They open the faucet briefly and let the pressure dissipate.

It doesn’t fix everything, allowing these moments to overtake us. It doesn’t give answers or provide clarity. But it expresses the truth: that we are still affected. That we are still holding something terribly meaningful.

And it builds trust: that opening the door to our grief, letting it flood our body for a little while, won’t break us. We can still dry our eyes, take a deep breath, and get back to our team meetings and spreadsheets and strategic plans. Even if we’re still only pretending to care about it all.

Allowing grief to live alongside us at work reminds us that there is more to life that matters greatly. Which is why it is so important that we let it in – lest we forget what we’re *really* here for.

And sometimes, the saving grace amidst it all are the people around us: steady in their routines, comforting in their normalcy and predictability. Let their steadiness be a grounding force, not an isolating one. When the waves are big, let them be the sturdy shore that holds the perimeter.

Letting grief change us for the better

It’s okay to fall apart, be unmotivated, and want to burn it all down. But the wonderful thing about grief is that it moves. And when we let it, the life and work and relationships we’ve cultivated can change in the most beautiful ways.

Expecting yourself to be the person and employee you were before the loss is what leads to disappointment. Let the big scary thing change you. Let others see it affect you, when it feels safe to do so.

To some it might look like weakness, laziness, or disinterest.

But we know: it is wisdom.