The Power of Sharing Your Story of Loss

This week, there's a good chance you’ve seen an advertisement for a Father’s Day-related product—a card, piece of clothing, or even a food item, and if you’re missing your father, like I am, seeing these ads can be tinged with a moment of angst.

This Father’s Day marks 45 years since my father died (in 1979) from advanced cancer. I was two weeks shy of my fifth birthday when he died. And over the decades, both in my personal and professional experience, I learned that loss frames our lives in unexpected ways.

When a loss happens, an asymmetry occurs. You no longer have the person you relied on to balance your personal or professional life, and this can impact your sense of balance. And while you may be able to replace a title or role with rehiring or even a remarriage, your person can never be replaced. Although this may sound counterintuitive, the “replacement” can increase the intensity of your loneliness because you see what isn’t there and that’s your loved one or the one you counted on (in a professional relationship) to make things happen.

Our lives are very focused on making things happen. While there’s wisdom to the adage “live in the present, not the past,” what others can fail to understand is that for the bereaved, the present moment is often filled with subterranean memories of our loved ones. In a moment, for example, a stranger’s words can transport me back decades to the memory of seeing my father in a wheelchair.

Under normal circumstances, a person would stay fully in that present moment with the other person, but going through loss can transform the present moment from one of joy to bittersweetness. The “sweetness" comes from these full-circle moments. For example, I know that I am often able to connect with others on a deeper, more authentic level because of my own grief. And this makes my relationships richer.

One of the things that can help enrich your life after loss is sharing your story. When I was doing research for my book, I traveled across the globe to listen to women tell their stories about loss and grief. And when I couldn’t meet someone in person I called them.

I’ll never forget the conversation I had with a woman named Margaret (name changed to maintain confidentiality). She was married for several decades before her husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. As the disease progressed, Margaret watched how it robbed him not only of his memory but also of his ability to walk and care for himself. To cope with the unrelenting stress both as a caregiver and wife, she entered individual therapy.

Sadly, when Margaret and I spoke, her husband had recently died. As Margaret shared her story, I listened to every word. I could hear her tears, and the long pauses were punctuated by sorrowful sighs. I didn’t want to interrupt her, so I said very little.

Then came a very deep pause. I looked at my phone thinking perhaps she disconnected the call. And yet, I saw that we were still connected. Margaret said something to me that I’ll never forget: “You’re the first person who listened to me without interrupting me… Thank you.”

I was stunned because I knew she had participated in therapy, a grief support group, and even spoken with her pastor. I struggled to find the right words. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Margaret said, “I feel like a weight has been lifted.”

Our call ended years ago; however, the lesson still resonates with me. I’ve found when people share their stories, healing occurs. I think it is why, although I am not a member of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), when members of AA share their stories, something powerful and impactful happens.

And I've learned to heal from almost anything—betrayal, loss, aggression, a breakup—one must share their story. When we have the opportunity to talk about our experiences, we feel seen, heard, and valued. As Anaïs Nin said, “Stories do not end”—and I know neither does our healing.