When it began, it was emotional.
Our physical needs were quickly taken care of as friends and family stepped in to help. Clothes, meals, iPads for school, books, and even spices to cook with started showing up at our doorstep.
My husband, five children, and I joined a club we never intended to be a part of, “The Lost Everything in a Fire Club.”
July 30, 2020, is a day that will be forever marked in our minds. You can read the full story in my upcoming book, “The Freedom to Feel.”
Summer turned to fall just when we were sure it never would. We settled into our rental as best we could, and I began unpacking all my feelings. There’s not much out there to help unpack this kind of grief, which is why I felt led to write a book in hopes of helping others.
I heard a lot in those early days from good intended people, but I’m here to say, “It’s not just stuff.” It’s so much more than that. It’s twenty years of our life. Twenty years of collecting Christmas decorations and keepsake ornaments. Twenty years of accumulating valuable possessions. Those old sweatshirts from college. The letters my husband and I wrote back and forth to each other in our early days of dating. Journals. Bibles with notes in them. Pictures. But I think your peace of mind is the biggest thing stolen from you. Suddenly, you feel bare and vulnerable.
Unexpected loss happens so fast that you don’t have time to process it, and the things lost aren’t from a good spring cleaning. As time passes, you’ll reach for that one thing and remember, “Oh yeah, it’s been destroyed in the fire.” A heavy feeling will overcome you, and tears may sneak out, remembering life before the fire.
Now, life is divided into two: before and after the fire. This is trauma. It doesn’t have to be a fire. It could be a divorce, a diagnosis, a fatal accident, or abuse. What they do all have in common is life as you know it is now over, and a new life begins, which requires a grieving process.
If you are at the beginning of a loss or trauma know there is hope. The heavy, vulnerable, unbearable feelings you’re experiencing will not stay forever.
I tried to keep doing all the things I had scheduled. Life must go on, right? But I began to develop sicknesses, an outward cry for an inner ward battle. My unattended emotions were leaking out through different physical signs. For the rest of that year, my life primarily consisted of managing my sicknesses and processing grief, along with attending to my older children, who were also very much affected by the fire.
When the trauma first hit, it was emotional, but now it’s both physical and emotional. There’s no pushing through this; there’s no fake it till you make it. My mind grew foggier by the minute, and I had to spend countless hours racking my brain to make an endless inventory list of everything we owned to submit to the insurance company. A quick tip: Ensure you have good fire insurance because you may need it one unexpected day.
Through this, I’ve learned to allow myself to feel and to allow myself to be heard. We had so many people caring for our physical needs, which I’m grateful for, but the few people who gave me a safe space to feel and process became my lifeline.
In the early months of trauma and loss, give yourself heaping amounts of grace. Over those early months, I desperately wanted life to carry on as usual. I threw in the laundry, took out the trash, drove the kids to school, and made dinners. I even tried with all my might to make our rental house feel like home. The more I did, the more my mind clouded, and I increasingly felt overwhelmed. I later found out grief takes a lot of energy. Your brain works overtime to heal the trauma and process the grief.
So, if the last few years have taught me anything anything at all, it’s that you can’t compare your grief or trauma. Grief styles differ. We all process it differently. I kept condemning myself, “Lots of people go through way worse. Why can’t I snap out of it?” But we never grow until the pain level gets high enough. Having all of life crashing down on you was a crash course, not one I would have chosen or handled well. It was a painful education on grief, but one I needed, one that forced me to embrace the risky but deeply beautiful belief that grief isn’t something to be scared of but something to embrace, something you receive or allow, like a balm, like a benediction, even when you’re at your worst.
I learned to stop feeling uncomfortable in my grief.
Because even in the darkest pit, there is Hope. So stop running from thing to thing. Allow yourself to slow down, rest, and accept help. People love to help. Let people bring you things, help you clean, and even take your kids for the afternoon because it’s not about performance; it’s about resting. It’s about allowing yourself to grieve and process.
Moving through grief and healing isn’t linear. It’s not a straight path with no detours. It’s a living, breathing learning process. There’s so much loss in the world, and it can all be challenging to navigate. I am here for you. Join my newsletter list to be the first to pre-order my upcoming book, The Freedom to Feel: Finding God in the Midst of Grief and Trauma. I’m also about to launch grief coaching sessions; don’t miss out. Sign up below.
I’ve also created a 5-Day devotional to help you live from hope and joy through loss and disappointment. You can go ahead and get it here.
You may not be actively grieving, but I bet you know someone who is. Share this post to encourage them in their loss. My heart desires no one to feel alone in their pain and to know there is always hope.