Grieving as an Enneagram 1Sample

### Conversation around grief is performative, which can make you feel inauthentic. There’s something about grief that seems so very rehearsed, and badly rehearsed at that. There's unspoken expectations about what grief should look like, what to say, and how to say it. And we're all bad at it. There's no thing that can perfectly fill the space so we rehearse canned lines or say nothing at all. If you experience the loss of a loved one, you soon realize how true this has been of you when others have gone through tragedy in the past. How performative I, you, others can be! For me, to now have been on the receiving end of the “imperfect condolence” has been fascinating and humbling. It’s helpful to know that you will not know what to say or how to say it. You won’t know what to do or how to do it. ### You’ll grieve imperfectly. This stings. I’ve often described myself as a recovering perfectionist, and the Enneagram Ones that I know typically relate. So to face the loss of a close loved one and not have a clear manual or guidebook to follow adds to the discomfort. I recently wrote a poem (shared below) in which I call out this need to grieve perfectly. Perfectionists avoid doing things they’re interested in or curious about simply because they know they won’t do it well in normal circumstances. Why start something you can’t finish? Why do something you can’t do well? When someone you love dies you have to grieve. It’s tough to not know how to do it or to do it well. Acknowledging you won’t do it perfectly is important, even freeing. Today, in your grief, remember that even if you don’t know what to think or how to even grieve, God is there with you too. ## Here’s that poem about grief. May it minister to your heart. All this, too, is grief I have screamed with my head underwater yelled while driving alone at high speed Stared blankly at the page blankly at the open sky blinked as Heaven seemed to blink back in mutual, respectful silence I’ve held my head high held others up put my hand in the hand of another to hold it tightly Coiled arms around stomach as my insides burn, left the phone unanswered I’ve laid awake in bed empty like the husk of a shelled peanut void of coherent thought all through the night Imagined a solitary crystal tear so exquisite and ordained strangers want to lick it off my skin as it rolls down my cheek I have glimpsed you at a distance in airports on escalators only for you to disappear suddenly morph into strangers who wear blue coats, buttoned shirts I’ve been turned and heaved in moments unexpected spun like a feather in the wind