On Spiritual Bypassing, Uncomfortable Truths and The Courage to Speak Up

There is a particular kind of loneliness that can show up in grief - not because you are alone, but because you are surrounded by people who have not yet met it. Last night, I sat at a dinner table for six with strangers, ironically all of us attending the same spiritual conference. Two married couples and me. Kind faces. Easy conversation. Shared intention. And beside me, an empty chair - literally and figuratively, in all the ways that matter. The space where Jon would have been. The quiet, familiar absence I carry into rooms now. 

Following normal chit chat, one of the wives asked why I was dining alone. When I shared that my beloved Jon passed almost four years ago and that I am now alone, she responded: “I find grief to be very narcissistic.” Her words landed in the center of the table - sharp, awkward, and suddenly loud in the silence that followed. And in that moment, I chose not to remain silent, as I probably would have four years ago. I took a deep breath and immediately asked God for words that would soften hers. I responded that her words stung. That I would have to take some time to process if they were true. I explained that grief is a personal journey and that I believe we can do a much better job as a culture of embracing grief, rather than dismissing it. 

She didn’t hesitate with her response. She looked me square in the eyes and said, “I would never spend any time grieving, knowing someone is in heaven.” Deafening and awkward silence formed over the table.

And there it was - the belief that if we are spiritual enough, we should be able to rise above our humanity. I found myself calmly building strength to respond. I took a deep breath, asking God for words…..And they came….gently but with a firmness I’m not yet quite used to. 

“I don’t believe that is transcendence,” I responded. “It sounds more like disconnection. Yes, I believe the veil is thin. I have lived in ways that make no sense without that truth. But belief in something beyond this life does not erase the reality of this one. I am still here. In a body. In a life that once held two. Not abstractly, but in ordinary ways:  the empty chair, the shared glances that no longer happen, the rhythm that was once ours. Grief does not follow a timeline. It does not respond to logic or theology. It moves like the tide - quiet some days, overwhelming on others, returning when you least expect it.” 

I took another deep breath and continued: “And still, I am grateful. Grateful that I have not lost sight of the fact that I am having a human experience. That love, when it is real, does not disappear simply because someone is no longer physically here. It changes form. And we learn to carry it. So, no, I don’t believe grief is self-centered. It is evidence that someone mattered enough to become part of you. I am thankful you have not yet had to experience it to the degree I have. You are fortunate your husband of 53 years is sitting next to you." The husband smiled and nodded. Otherwise, he was silent.

I offered I was incredibly proud of myself to be able to travel alone, to sit at table for six with an empty chair by my side. I politely held my ground, even though the silence made me quiver on the inside. The other woman at the table dabbed away tears, finally turning to me, offering, “I can’t imagine your pain. You are so brave.” 

I was proud of speaking up. Grief has changed me in ways I never imagined. I’m no longer willing to be silent. I can be kind, considerate, and loving, all the while speaking my truth in hopes of helping others understand the impact of their words and actions. I believe we can raise the bar of better understanding grief in our culture. I am no longer able, nor do I desire, to remain silent on the subject. 

If you are in the grieving process, please know this: Your process is yours and yours alone. We may all grieve differently, but grieve we must. No bypassing. No wrong or right way. No damaging short cuts. And certainly no tolerance of spirituality bypassing theological nonsense. Yes, faith is important. But so is the acknowledgement that we are still human. So, grieve your way forward - living, loving and honoring yourself and your loved ones in all things. And above all else, honor yourself with gentleness, love and the embrace of your humanness. 

Namaste.