Courage in the Face of Grief and Sadness
By: Mead Reed, MA, LAPC, LAMFT
Courage is the ability to do something frightening; having strength to face pain or grief. Ambrose Redmoon says “courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.” Courage, therefore, only takes place when fear is actually present. Being brave is going face to face with fear, feeling scared to do something, but choosing to do it anyway.
Mary Daly says you gain courage by practicing courage; thus, choosing courage once empowers one to be courageous again in the future. Courage training is similar to muscle conditioning; they both require persistently hard work. An inexperienced weight-lifter would not start bench-pressing 100 pounds the first time he lifts weights. In the same way, a person must train himself to become courageous so that bravery can become a more habitual response and fear can become less of an automatic response. All behavior is learned, which means it can also be unlearned. Choosing courage requires that one must discipline herself to become a more rational, future-oriented thinker than a present moment person distraught by fear. Choosing courage brings anxiety that will not feel good or comfortable in the present moment. A person will gain confidence; however, as she pushes through her anxieties, because she knows that she will eventually overcome her fears by facing them.
My journey to living more courageously was accelerated in January of 2010 when my mother was diagnosed with stage 3C ovarian cancer. I was overwhelmed with grief the night I heard the news; I knew my mother’s illness would so powerfully impact me that my life would never be quite the same. My intense feelings of sadness and fear were coupled with the joy and love that I felt for my mother. The immense pain that I felt was helping me further understand the depths of my love for her. My mother battled cancer for four and a half years; that season was mixed with courage and challenge. My mind was often filled with fear questions such as: how long did I have with her and would the time that I had with her be enough? Anytime she called me, I wanted to hit an invisible pause button so I could drop everything and be with her. I knew that it didn’t always make sense to do that, but I never wanted to miss out on one single moment with her. I did not want to live with regret that maybe I could have done more or could have spent more time with her. I was gripped with this nagging feeling of wanting to fix the pain she felt. I knew that I did not have the power to heal her and that left me scared and sad. It brought me peace to visualize myself placing my fear of losing her in God’s hand.
As I look back on that January night over six years ago, I realize how God was always present with me in my grief. There are events that took place during that time that did not make sense to me at the moment, but they are now clearer as I reflect back on them. One of these times happened when I was at the doctor’s office a few months before my mother died. I was reading in the book of John about Jesus healing a blind man; before he healed the man, the disciples asked him why this man was blind. They asked if he had sinned or if his parents had sinned. Jesus said neither has sinned but this has happened “so that the work of God might be displayed in his life” (John 9:3). That verse spoke to me so profoundly about my mother’s sickness. I cried thinking how the Lord had always been using my mother’s battle with cancer for others to see his mighty power displayed through her. She was a constant source of encouragement for others who were struggling. After reading those verses, I recall telling my mother about my experience. I told her how sad it made me that she was struggling with a terminal cancer diagnosis, and how I did not want that for her. I voiced how painful it was for me to see her struggling. I told her that I knew that God was using her faith, incredible courage and upbeat personality to encourage others in a way that the Lord would not have otherwise been able to do through her. I knew that God would not waste a single ounce of the pain that she was experiencing; he would transform into a beautiful part of her story.
As I reflect back on my mother’s journey with cancer, I am reminded that God is sovereign over my life. God can always see the whole picture of our lives, and we can only see the adventure of each day as it unfolds. He knew that my pain and grief would ultimately be used to transform me into a more compassionate person when I could only see the pain I was experiencing. I recently had a dream where my mother was telling me “Mead, there are events taking place in your life right now that don’t make sense to you at this present moment. They will make more sense as you look back on them though. You just have to trust that everything will work out.” Hearing her telling me that in a dream brought more comfort to me than anything else could because it reminded me that God is sovereign of my life.
During the time my mother was sick, I often avoided my sadness. I wanted to remain upbeat for her. I was so scared that if I leaned into my sadness, that I would be led on a journey of unending sorrow. For a while, I thought I could keep myself busy and the sadness would just subside. I began to realize that avoiding it only worked in the short term; my sadness was coming out as worry. To give you a visual of running from grief try imagining this mental image. Picture yourself running from a mean squirrel who is trying to attack you. You see it coming towards you, so you turn the other way and to try and run from it. You think that you have outrun the squirrel, only to realize later that the squirrel has been on your back the whole time and was following you around. Fear or grief that is not recognized or brought into the light will become like this squirrel on our backs. We think we have out run it and are managing it well, in fact, we even think we are getting ahead of the grief. We only find out later though that it was following us around the whole time.
My mother often told me, “Everything in life is a risk. You must be willing to take the risk though.” There is always a risk involved when we allow ourselves to love others, because we open our hearts to the possibility of getting hurt if we lose them. There is a risk involved in feeling that kind of deep pain. I believe, however, that it is scarier to live in fear of getting hurt than to actually feel the hurt. I have found that when I do lean into my sadness, I actually feel more relief. When the tears start to flow, they can be similar to a healing balm one puts on his face to protect his skin from being dry or cracked. These tears can bring life to the broken places in our souls that thirst for healing and need to be nourished.