How Grief Shows Up at Work (Even When you Think you’ve Hidden It)

Grief taught me how to “perform wellness.” What did that look like? I got more conscious about what expression my face was wearing while at the office. I wanted to ‘look’ okay. I could not afford for anyone to see how badly my heart was breaking each day. Losing my sister to Cancer and 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’, without even knowing it. I was the pillar against which my friends leaned. I listened to people’s issues more than I spoke about my own. I gave more than I took – whether it be from family, friends or even colleagues. I loved that I was always willing to help, to share with and to walk people through a problem until they were clear on how to move forward. But ironically, now that I was the one in need, I was ashamed to admit it.  I didn’t know how to admit it. I didn’t know how to ask for help. So rather than learn, I began to perform wellness. I had a quick smile ready for anyone who looked my way. I had an automatic “I’m doing well” response for every “how are you?” question. I was in the gym digging for those Endorphins like my life depended on it – because 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. I thought I was doing well too. Well enough to get by. My personal mantra became ‘a jam-packed day, keeps the memories away’. But after only a few months of ‘performing wellness’ in the workplace, the façade started to break.

Grief Showed Up to Work with a 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?” And my response would sound like, “for what?” Then I would slap my forehead in remembrance, ah, yes, I have a meeting! When it wasn’t that, I would be totally disinterested; not being able to follow the lines of conversation that were being had.  Brain fog had descended. I started to forget even simpler things; such as where I left my coffee cup, ordering lunch when I had already packed some, reading one email multiple times to understand its content.  I pushed the thought away that something was wrong and just kept pushing through.

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 I learnt was feeling as though nothing in life matters anymore. I had frequent thoughts similar “we’re all going to die anyway, why bother?”  I lost the motivation to do anything. I stopped showing up: to lunch, to meetings, for chit-chat in the coffee room, for all of it. I felt completely detached from my coworkers and the conversations around me.  I thought, if I became 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 I would be triggered suddenly by trivial things. From the words someone would say to the tone and cadence of their voice. The slightest thing would leave me feeling confused, and confusion almost always turned to anger very quickly.  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 someone left the faucet on. 

At other times, I found myself stepping away from conversations often to regroup and to gather myself. Other times I stepped away because I didn’t want to kill the moods of those around me with my “sadness”.

The Pressure to “Move On”

It was never said outright, but it was always something I felt to be true. People stopped asking you how you were doing. When the few did, they hardly waited around for an honest response.  On the very few occasions where I had the chance to respond honestly, my colleagues, understandably, often did not know what to say or do next. I remember a case where I honestly tried opening up to a colleague only to be met with interruption. This individual kept cutting me off as 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 I tried to say anything other than, “I’m fine”.

Then there is the work and the deadlines that are not going to meet themselves. Yes, my managers sympathized with me, but at the end of the day, business is business. The work has to get done. No one said that outright, but it was understood.  So, knowing this, it created more internal pressure to suppress grief. I convinced myself that 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. No, not at the pace that I 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 learnt 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 comprehending.

They saw me meeting deadlines.

They didn’t see the number of used napkins that surrounded my laptop as I worked late into the night hours to make up for all the crying I had done that dayl

They saw me smiling, waving hello and goodbye.

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

Grief doesn’t disqualify you from being capable.

If you’ve ever stared at your screen and felt nothing, I’ve been there. 

If you’ve ever delivered great work while silently falling apart on the inside, I see you.

If you just couldn’t show up and something important fell through as a result, give yourself grace. You are not failing. You are grieving. Grief doesn’t disqualify you from being capable.  Accept that the way you 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 you show up to. Work included. And that deserves compassion – not criticism.