Dear Clients,
Welcome to my first newsletter. I have been meaning to start this for a while as a way to share thoughts and updates with you, and it feels fitting to begin with a topic that's been close to my heart recently.
In my practice, I have been sitting with many different forms of loss – some fresh and raw, others weathered by time. These conversations have deepened my understanding of how we carry grief, and I hope these words find those among you who are navigating your own journeys through loss. Sometimes, in our most isolated moments, there is comfort in knowing we are not alone in stormy waters.
Life's persistence can be startling when you are grieving - how it stubbornly continues in all its mundane glory even as your world has shifted. Flowers break through pavement cracks, people queue for coffee, birds build nests and so on. At first, this contrast can feel offensive, brutal in its nonchalance. Yet somehow, gradually, this very persistence can become a gentle companion to grief. These small, defiant displays can make loss a fraction softer. Phoebe Judge captures this beautifully in her recent podcast episode about losing her mother:
Death has a peculiar way of bringing clarity too - shocking us into the reality of our fleeting existence and fragile bodies. While this awareness can be overwhelming, it can also illuminate our path forward. Frida Kahlo understood this deeply. In her final artwork, she painted a vibrant still life of watermelons with the bold inscription "Viva la vida" (Long live life). While facing her own mortality, she chose to celebrate life's persistence. It's challenging to appreciate such nuances when we're caught up in the mundane – scheduling dentist appointments, putting off accounting tasks, searching for mysteriously disappeared socks. But when we or our loved ones have months, then days, and suddenly only seconds left, the appreciation of our fleeting existence becomes startlingly obvious. The only solace is that life will indeed go on – in the tiny black teardrop seeds of a humble watermelon, waiting for their turn to sprout. Both Jung and Campbell wrote about how our encounters with mortality can become doorways to a more meaningful life - awakening us out of our ordinary existence and into our own great adventure.
There is profound wisdom in how different cultures approach loss and remembrance. In the Western world, our grief often comes wrapped in layers of shame and isolation – as if mourning should be contained, tidy, and private. We might learn from practices like 'Día de los Muertos' in central and South America to see a shameless way of honouring our dead. These celebrations create a dedicated space for grief, a time when remembrance is expected and embraced. By making room for our losses regularly, collectively, we prevent grief from building up and ambushing us in unexpected moments. These traditions show us how grief can be communal, colourful, and even joyful. Perhaps you might create your own ritual. These personal ceremonies can become an anchor that gives grief its moment to be fully felt and acknowledged.
If you are struggling with a complicated loss, know that various responses are likely to emerge. Sometimes, the hardest part is separating our pain from their pain, our loss from their loss. In these cases, professional support can provide a steady hand to help guide you through.
Before I close, I wanted to let you know that my in-person sessions are open for an intensive and regular format throughout December. If you are seeking to gather some footing in your grief journey, this could be particularly beneficial. For those with unused Medicare sessions, this would be an ideal time to utilise them before your eligibility resets with the new year. Please note that I will be taking leave for all of January, so I encourage you to book your December sessions soon, as they tend to fill quickly.
Warmly,
Katerina Nemcova
Clinical Psychologist
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