Clocking In: How Grief Shows Up at Work

Grief taught me how to “perform wellness.” What did that look like? I grew conscious about the expressions my face wore while at the office. I wanted to ‘look’ okay - although I knew I was not. I could not afford for anyone to see how badly my heart was breaking each day. Losing my sister to Cancer in April and then my father to a Stroke only six weeks after that, left me feeling like my head was on a swivel. It was as though the ground beneath my feet had moved, leaving me feeling vulnerable and fragile in ways that I was ashamed to admit.  For most of my life, I had proudly carried this banner of being ‘the strong one’, even without knowing it. I was the pillar against which my friends leaned. I listened to other people’s issues more than I spoke about my own. I gave more to others than I took – whether it was from family, friends or even colleagues. I loved that I was always willing to help the people around me. To many of my friends and family, I was their go-to person to share their issues with; seeking advice and sometimes a word of prayer. Both of which I was happy to bestow. But ironically, now that I was the one in need I was afraid to admit it.  I didn’t know how to admit it. I didn’t know how to ask for help. So rather than being honest with the true state of my being, I began to perform wellness. I had a quick smile ready for anyone who would look my way. I had an automatic “I’m doing well” response for every “how are you?” question. Like a hard-working farmer out in the field, I spent many hours in the gym plowing for Endorphins like my life depended on it – and believe me, it did.  I busied myself. Buried myself in work taking meetings after meetings, working later hours than was my norm and just doing the most. And I was doing well too…or so I thought. My personal mantra became ‘a jam-packed day, keeps the memories away’. However, as inevitable as a shower of rain in October, after a few months of ‘performing wellness’ in the workplace, the façade began to break.

Grief Showed Up with Her Briefcase in Hand

It started with missing a meeting here and there. Even the ones I had set. I would get calls like, “hey, are you jumping on soon?” Only for my response to be, “what for?” Then I would slap my forehead in remembrance. Ah, yes, I have a meeting to attend! And when I actually did make those meetings, I would be totally disinterested; not being able to follow the lines of conversation that were being had.  Brain fog had descended like a thick, gray mist hovering over the mountain of my mind. The simplest of things began to elude me. Things like where I left my coffee cup or ordering lunch when I had already brought my own. Or my personal favourite, reading the same email over and over again just to be able to grasp its content. At this point, the thought that I may need therapy entered my mind, but  I pushed it away and kept rallying on.

Sudden Emotional Waves

Then there was the emotional numbness. High stake deliverables became irrelevant to me.  I found myself often wondering, “why am I here? How is this important?”  One of the more common symptoms of grief was feeling as though nothing in life mattered anymore. I had frequent thoughts of “we’re all going to die anyway, so why bother?”  I lost the motivation to do anything. I stopped showing up: to lunches, meetings, for chit-chat in the coffee room… all of it. I felt completely detached from my coworkers and the conversations around me.  I thought, if I become more productive, then that could be my excuse for being less present. I knew I had to take a step back and get myself checked when trivial things began to trigger me. From the words people would choose to use to the tone or cadence of their voice. The slightest thing would leave me feeling confused, and confusion often left me feeling put off.  I was an emotional wreck. I didn’t know at the time that it was because I was trying so hard to stifle my grief. I wanted to hide the fact that I was mourning while being bitter on the inside that I had to be at work anyway.  I was lying to myself that work would be good for me to help me keep my mind off things, but deep down I wanted to be anywhere but there.

Then there were the tears. Those were new. They seemed to be constantly lying in wait just below the surface. At the slightest inconvenience or a missed deadline had tears gushing down my face like a burst pipe. At other times, I found myself stepping away from conversations often just to regroup and to gather myself. Other times I stepped away because my melancholy mood tend to kill the general ‘vibe’ of the people I was around.

The Pressure to “Move On”

Though it was never said outright, it was always something I felt to be true. I noticed that after a few weeks, people stopped asking me how I was doing. When a few did, I found that they hardly waited around for an honest response.  On the very few occasions where I was given the opportunity to respond honestly, I found that people often did not know what to say in response or what to do next. In most cases, they say the wrong thing. I mean, I get it. What can you say to someone who is having the worst day/week/month or year of their life? It’s not their fault really, although when you are down in the rabbit hole of grief, you can’t see it that way yet. I remember a case where I honestly tried opening up to a colleague, only to be met with constant interruption. This individual kept cutting me off while I spoke, giving me the sense that they either did not want to hear what I had to say or they wanted me to hurry the conversation along.  That was probably the last time my responses sounded anything other than, “I’m fine”. The pressure to move on also seemed to come from the work itself. Those deadlines were not going to meet themselves. Yes, my managers sympathized with me, but at the end of the day, business is business, right?. The work had to get done. No one said it outright, but it was understood.  So, knowing this, it created more internal pressure to suppress grief. I convinced myself that at the end of the day, no one cared. All that mattered was getting the job done.

Allowing the Shift to Happen

Slowly but surely, I began to learn that loss was something I would have to learn to live with, not work around.  What did that look like? It meant leaving space to grieve. It meant pausing throughout my day to acknowledge my feelings of sadness and/or dread. It meant escaping to a secluded area where I could allow myself to feel everything. I stopped holding back the tears and gave them permission to flow freely – messy makeup and all.  I began to regularly take inventory of the way I was feeling and took the day off if I thought it necessary.  And if something happened at any point during my day to cause a drastic shift in my ability to cope, I would excuse myself from the office – even if that meant completing a task the next day.  I found that when I gave space to grief, I got more done. Maybe not at the pace that I was used to before, but I was able to put out quality work – if not the quantity.  After learning that grief was here to stay, for however long, I cultivated a new way of functioning with her by my side.

What People Saw vs Reality

People saw me responding to my emails in a timely fashion.

They didn’t see that I had to reread the same sentence 5 times before my brain could satisfy itself enough to generate a response.

They saw me meeting deadlines.

They didn’t see the number of used napkins in the trash as I worked late into the night to make up for all the time lost to crying that day.

They saw me smiling, waving hello and goodbye.

They didn’t see how exhausted it felt to pretend to be okay.

Grief doesn’t disqualify me from being capable.

Grief taught me that two things can be true at once. I can be celebrating a big win yet in the midst of the cheering and applause…feel nothing.

I can deliver great work on the outside while silently falling apart on the inside.

I’ve learnt that if I wasn’t able to show up and something important fell through as a result, to give myself grace. I am not failing. I am grieving. Grief doesn’t disqualify me from being capable.  I have accepted that the way I work is going to change. There is no right or wrong way to do this and it’s going to look different in each and every space that I show up to. Work included. And that deserves compassion – not criticism.