Navigating the Mountain of Grief
I was catch up on a coaching class about handling stress when the instructor shared something that stopped me:
Imagine you're on a mountain with the rest of your family. You need to get down from the mountain but you all have broken bones and you cannot help one another. You can only help yourself down the mountain. Remember that some of you might not be able to get down the mountain.
I had to pause the video right there. Had to write it down. Had to sit with it for a while.
My mum passed away last year. We as a family handled it rather well, I think. Or peacefully at least. It wasn't completely unexpected, but it wasn't expected either - that strange middle ground families often find themselves in with loss.
I remember my mum telling me when I first became a mother myself that "mothers are made of steel". That stuck with me all these years. Maybe that's why I appeared pretty unfazed during our family's loss - I was just being that steel my mother told me about.
But this mountain analogy - it helped me understand something I hadn't quite pieced together before. We were all dealing with the same loss, but so differently. Same mountain, different broken bones, different paths down.
I've read somewhere that grief hits in waves - big ones, small ones, now and then. That makes sense with the mountain picture too. As you're making your way down with your broken whatever, these waves just crash into you sometimes. Some days the path seems clearer, you feel like you're making progress. Other days - whoosh - a wave hits from nowhere and you're stuck or even sliding backwards.
I'm a problem solver by nature, but this mountain analogy really struck me because it emphasizes the fact there are some things I simply cannot fix.
I can't help someone else down their grief mountain. I can't walk their path or carry them down. Some people might never fully "get down" from their mountain - their grief just becomes part of who they are rather than something they "get over.”
As a coach, the most helpful thing I can do is to witness the grief unfold and sit with them bravely. I can see them. I can acknowledge their journey. I can walk alongside them, not with solutions but with presence.
Another powerful part of this analogy is that it reminds us that whenever we have a choice, we should choose to be kind to people. When we really get that each person's grief journey can look very different, and that grief might not always be obvious, it helps us be more patient and empathetic.
Grief changes us. It breaks parts we didn't know could break. But as we navigate our own mountains and witness others on theirs, we learn things that make us more compassionate.
Next time you're with someone dealing with loss, remember the mountain. Remember their path is their own. And remember that sometimes, the most powerful thing you can offer isn't a solution, but just being there.