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What does “coping” mean and how can you overcome poor coping strategies? As defined on the Positive Psychology website, “Coping is the use of one or various types of mechanisms that are intended to reduce psychological stress (Gurvich et al., 2021).”
As bereaved parents (or friends, siblings, loved ones), we definitely experience an abundance of psychological stress regardless of how the child died.
I don’t know if you’re like me, but for a very long time after Dalton went to heaven, I waged war against coping strategies. I didn’t want to cope with this new life. I just wanted someone to give me my son and my old life back. Every idea shared was met with irritation and some level of anger. Well that sounds great, but it won’t change anything. How could that do any good because it won’t bring Dalton back?
It wasn’t until I finally gave up hoping to die from a broken heart that I began to see the value of these strategies. I soon entered a more realistic relationship with learning how to manage, not mitigate, my stressful, overwhelming tsunamis. My feet were forcefully placed on a course of pain management whether I liked it or not. Nothing would change my circumstances. I had to learn to live as best I could in them.
Overcoming poor coping strategies may sound like a mountainous task. But it doesn’t have to be.
Here are a few ideas to consider.
Many of the actions included here will focus on various spiritual disciplines. I feel it is important to note that although dependency on our Heavenly Father offers us tools to navigate the hard parts of life, our powerful, kindhearted God FAR EXCEEDS the textbook definition of a coping mechanism.
What have I found helpful in coping with my psychological stress associated with the loss of my son?
Learn the language of lament.
Although not a widely taught or even accepted style of prayer in churches, lament is found scattered throughout Scripture. In fact, over one-third of the Psalms are lament prayers. Simply put, lament is a prayer in pain. In Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy (a book I HIGHLY recommend), Mark Vroegop wrote, “Lament is how we bring our sorrow to God. Without lament, we won’t know how to process our pain. It’s a prayer in pain that leads to trust.” I have heard many people say they just couldn’t pray after their child died. Lament gives us the words in our despair to avoid giving God the “silent treatment.” Lament doesn’t erase our pain and fix our problems. But it does provide a way to take our swirling questions and doubts to the God that doesn’t seem to be acting like the One we thought we always knew. Read Psalm 6. It perfectly names everything I felt when I first lost Dalton. Use it as your own personal lament when you can’t formulate one of your own.
Check out these two presentations on lament done at OHAH conferences by Mark Vroegop and another by Jim Beardsley.
Focus on “just today.”
Thinking about emotionally surviving the days, weeks, months, and years ahead often overwhelms me. When my mind goes to how impossible it feels to live without Dalton in two months, two years, or twenty years from now, I recite two simple words: Just today. My mind stops spinning as I realize God will give me the grace I need for today alone (Matthew 6:34, Lamentations 3:22-23). And then He will give me what I need tomorrow and the next day and the next.
Don’t deny your tears their purpose.
Grief is an emotion given to us by God. It serves two key purposes. One, it expresses our love for our child. And two, it gives us a rehabilitation process for learning how to live without the child we can no longer tangibly love here on earth. When all of this unchanneled love accumulates inside us, our bodies need a way to release what has collected. Most commonly this release occurs in the form of tears. Sometimes guilt and shame convince us we are crying too much, not enough, or way too long in pursuit of making us feel weak. So, when location and time allow, honor those tears. Or perhaps you need to intentionally stir them up in order to let them out. Some people even go so far as to schedule time to grieve, especially when preparing for time in public spaces where tears aren’t appropriate.
In her book, Shattered, Rita A. Schulte explained it this way. “Our tears are the heart’s attempt at healing, watering the dry and arid places of our soul, bringing us back to life and feeling. Your feelings are trying to expose your pain; do not do them the injustice of denial.”
Wrestle with your grief through writing.
I’ve found writing to be incredibly effective in regulating my emotions. My journal is messy, unorganized, and brutally honest. I used it as a place to record whatever was in my head or crushing my heart. Sometimes it was aimed at God. Other times at Dalton. And often, it lacked a specific audience altogether. I didn’t worry about my grammar, spelling, or the chances of someone reading it. I just wrote. Journaling had numerous advantages. My toxic thoughts got freed from my mind’s echochamber where they were frozen on replay. Journaling gave me documented proof of the healing that was taking place inside of me. This proof would be significant as the months and years piled up. I knew that if I was going to comfort others some day with my own experiences, I would need physical reminders of the heavy burdens I faced, questions that plagued me, doubts that sprang up in the cracks of my faith, and encouragement God sent me through His word and those around me.
Turn up the worship songs.
Music is often a double-edged sword. Turn the playlist on and your mind fills with Truth, Promises, Hope, and endless reminders of God’s love. Or, turn the playlist on and fall to your knees in uncontrollable sobs. We can’t always predict the reaction we’ll have. Lean into whatever comes in the moment. Remember, just because we find ourselves weeping doesn’t mean listening to it is a bad idea. Our tears signal that we need to pay attention to what’s going on inside us. Music is often the necessary catalyst for helping us rid ourselves of the built-up stress that has collected.
Soak up scripture.
When my mind spins out of control with fear, confusion, and daunting, unanswerable questions, I turn to scripture. Getting alone in silence to read a few verses (as many as it takes) steadies me. The Lifter of my head (Psalm 3:3) shifts my eyes from the earthly perspective that torments me to the eternal perspective that swaddles me with Hope.
This free resource from Courtney Williams, 31 Days of God’s Character, provides a scripture calendar, journaling pages, and scripture cards that strengthen the foundation of your faith by reminding you of who God is.
Rest is a respite.
Busy life schedules smother us in guilt by convincing us we don’t have time for or are weak if we rest. I bet you’ve never found yourself just pushing through the demands of endless expectations and a violent calendar (yeah right)! When my actions begin resembling an over-stimulated cranky toddler who just needs a nap, I give myself permission to do just that-stop and take a nap. Jesus modeled resting for us in Luke 5:16 and Luke 6:12-13. God found rest so important that He created an entire day for it (Genesis 2:3, Mark 2:27-28). Respite for our bodies and minds makes us better equipped to identify, process, and manage the ever-changing wheel of emotions that whirs and whirs. Pay attention to what your body is begging for.
Physical activity isn’t just about our health.
I remember in the early days of grief reading books by other bereaved parents encouraging me to take care of my health by eating right and exercising. In all honesty, the last thing I was interested in was prolonging my days on earth, each one filled with unrelenting emotional pain! Why would I take actions to extend my misery? But what I didn’t see at the time was a much superior role that physical activity potentially held in my grief. There is something very therapeutic about the right-left-right-left rhythm of my feet pounding the pavement as a way to sync up the severed hemispheres of my brain. Moving my body also gave me time and space to talk to God, a friend, or fill my mind with worship music or encouraging podcast discussions.
Denial can’t be a life-long friend.
In His lovingkindness, God structured our brains to protect us from trauma’s crushing weight. Shock and denial serve as a cocoon of protection from the horrific events we witness. God knew precisely how to shield our minds from the brutal reality of devastating tragedies the broken world elicits. My personal experience with the grief process has taught me that denial was my friend until one day I had to unfriend it. When my loss occurred, it was imperative for me to mourn all of the what-should-have-been and what if regrets I would never get to experience with Dalton. They were painfully valid and, therefore, deserved acknowledgement. Pretending they weren’t a loss would merely bury them deep, leaving them in dark spaces to never be healed.
As I mourned these losses and began to believe that I might, in fact, be able to survive this tragedy, I was able to surrender to God’s sovereignty in this world. I didn’t have to like the pitch black valley God led me into, but I had to submit to my new surroundings if I was going to allow my pain to be repurposed for His glory.
It was impossible for me to live in both: the life I wish I still had AND the current world I was learning to exist in. Instead, I found a way to transplant my unfamiliar, one-sided bond with Dalton into the uncharterted landscape I now inhabited.
I had to consciously divorce denial every time the enemy taunted, Lisa, how could this be your life? How did this happen to you? I learned to shout back, God, I don’t know how I got here. Your answer for life with Dalton right now was no. Help me trust You.
While the mechanisms discussed above lean heavily on spiritual practices mostly related to grief, I will now share a few research-based clinical approaches related more to the trauma we carry. Our human brains can’t keep up in processing traumatic memories that arrest us. Our minds now see these events as a warning of danger. Convincing ourselves that a threat doesn’t exist is impossible. Instead, understanding that our minds are doing exactly what they were created to do helps us focus on managing our emotions rather than fighting our emotions.
Surviving Suicide Loss by Rita A. Schulte.
Rita is a licensed professional counselor who lost her husband to suicide in 2013. Her own personal experience combined with her Christian faith and professional expertise are dispersed throughout the book. However, chapters four and five contain numerous simple, practical exercises you can do on your own to reduce emotional overwhelm (these exercises apply to all types of trauma, not just suicide loss).
Types of trauma-therapy and other resources.
This is a helpful resource I received from one of my Grief Share leaders, Jenny Coleman.
Grounding Technique.
This site explains the Grounding Technique which is an exercise that helps individuals move their thoughts away from the traumatic memories and return themselves back to the present moment . (Please note: This website is shared strictly for its detailed explanation of the Grounding Technique, NOT for the peripheral content housed on its page.)
Breathing exercises.
This website includes ten different breathing techniques individuals can utilize when experiencing stress, emotional dysregulation, or anxiousness.
Body Scan.
Body Scan is a tool that allows individuals to take inventory of the parts of their body that are being negatively impacted by the traumatic memories. Once affected regions are identified, the person can then work to reduce tension in the specific areas. (Please note: This website is shared strictly for its detailed explanation of the Body Scan exercise, NOT for the peripheral content housed on its page.)
A few closing thoughts