Normalising The Narrative: My thoughts on grief and trauma

Normalising the Narrative: My thoughts on grief and trauma.

In my previous blog I laid bare the trauma and grief that’s occurred so far in my life. I put so far, as there will inevitably be more to come.

That inevitability is always there for the absolute vast majority of us, from day one, it’s inescapable. The trauma each and everyone of us will experience at some point in our lives will be different, one persons trauma will never be the exact same as another’s. However, there will be many similarities.

Thinking about the inevitability of grief and trauma, why has the narrative around trauma and grief not been normalised?

I know that doesn’t mean it’s not normalised by everyone, and I might be wrong. However, basing it on my experiences as well as simply observing and listening over the last 34 years (yes, I know I know I look younger...) it’s clear to me that the language and actions around the aforementioned grief and trauma is so often suppressed.

Suppressed through our own doing. 

In my view because it’s indoctrinated in us through decades of what we consider to be social norms. We seem to believe it’s easier that way. Maybe it’s as though we feel if we equivocate we feel it’ll be easier on others as well.

It’s as if we do everything we can to make things “easier” by avoiding reality, by being in denial, by “just getting on with it” when in fact I believe it has the opposite effect.  

I truly believe the internalising of trauma  has a destructive affect on a lot of us. 

It can make us introverted, shy, lack self belief, stifle our ambition, fuel addiction, increase anxiety and depression. The list is vast, I’m sure. 

This isn’t necessarily the “real” you though. It is a version of “you” but a watered down one

A suppressed “you”.

I bet that trauma is the precursor to a lot of things that happen in people’s lives. Hence why it’s so vital to recognise it early in life.

Trauma in childhood is recognised to have a significant impact on a person in adulthood.

By not “dealing” with it there and then or at the very least ensure it is being recognised,  it can fester, often for many years. For me, the normalisation of trauma and grief has to happen at a young age. We’re more than capable of learning and understanding, especially at a young age. 

I felt that having someone acknowledge and recognise my trauma really helped. However for most it appears like it’s swept away and hidden. Under whatever can be found. Not to be spoken of. 

Often it’s dismissed, denied, or simply not believed.

Most people who are traumatised and/or are grieving will often not want to feel like a burden on other people. They don’t want to upset others by sharing their thoughts and feelings. You feel as though if you share, people won’t understand. That people might run a mile or will think you’re being over the top, too dramatic or you’re “seeking attention”. 

Often the narrative that dominates is negative. You don’t want to make other people “feel uncomfortable”, it’s probably best to “keep it to yourself” or “you’ll get over it eventually”.

It appears to me the ignorant always dominate the narrative, in the press, on our tv screens or in conversation.

Those that shout loudest.... 

There’s often guilt involved in some way. The feeling of guilt that maybe you could’ve done something or done more to prevent the actions that have lead to whatever trauma you’re experiencing. That guilt can almost force you to become introverted, to not talk, to not share how you’re feeling, to simply not want to face every day life that’s still going on around you. 

I have carried one particular guilt with me that’ll probably never leave me. It relates to my dad, who committed suicide (as talked about in my first blog).

My sister and I spent months doing everything we could in our power and energy to make sure my dad was safe. My sister initially moved in with him, we sought help from medical professionals, we did his shopping etc. We visited him in hospital pretty much every day. Had countless discussions with psychiatrists to see what we can do. However, it had that feeling of inevitability about it. The last time he was released from hospital he said he was better but was clearly in denial.

So one day I decided to change ‘tactics’ and sent him a message that said “I won’t be contacting you until you admit that you need more support and still have suicidal thoughts.”

I felt it may be that a ‘shock tactic’ might have ignited something within him, which unfortunately it didn’t.

Unbeknownst to me, during the inquest into my dads death the last message on his phone was read out and it was my aforementioned message.

I cry every time I think about it. It haunts me, almost daily.

Annoyingly I just slightly burnt my pain aux raisins I put in the oven because I was crying whilst writing this! I know it’s good to cry but just be prepared you might burn your pastries.

I’m still going to eat them of course!

Where was I...

I still feel overwhelming guilt, even though in my heart I know it’s not my fault and that I couldn’t have done anymore.  

I will still always hold on to the memory of the last time I saw him. It was outside his house, and he hugged me goodbye. Which for my dad was an incredibly affectionate gesture as he’d hardly ever hugged me before. 

Maybe that’s why I love a hug so much. Hugs are so simplistic in a way but can make all the difference when you’re suffering or simply need a bit of comfort. Once Covid is under control it’ll be so lovely to just hug people, for hugs to be a thing we ‘can’ do again.

Grieving during a pandemic has certainly made it far more difficult. Fuck, it’s been so hard. I’ve wanted a hug from my family and close friends so often, it’s been excruciating at times, but the risk of such close contact isn’t worth the potential consequences at this time. There were months where we couldn’t do the basics to help us grieve, like meeting friends, go on trips, play sport, a holiday, just doing “normal” things. 

I know others will have experienced similar feelings. The number of people that would’ve experienced trauma during this pandemic will be incredibly high. Surely this has to be part of the overall picture and to be recognised? To deny 1000’s of people of that would be incredibly disheartening.

Of course it’ll be great to have some form of “normality” back, to meet up with friend and family, just to socialise, to play sport etc, but I also feel we need to recognise that a lot of people would’ve experienced significant trauma during the past year. The trauma of loved ones dying and not being able to see them, medical staff having to go above and beyond in horrendous circumstances, people that have missed cancer treatments, people that have lost their livelihoods, people that have suffered abuse in unsafe homes. 

The list is long.

It’s often easy to forget that we all have an affect on each other. Through our actions, things we say, a little look, the tone in which we speak, a gesture, a hug, a smile, a joke.

Sometimes all a person needs is for someone to be there when you need support. Be there when you are struggling. Be there when you need someone to talk to. Be there when you seemingly can’t help yourself. Be there when you need an arm around you...

Just be there. 

Being there doesn’t necessarily mean all the time, in person or at the drop of a hat. It can be subtle, it can be as easy as a little message to let them know you’re thinking of them. A small gift, dropping round some food or offering to be a listening ear. Any distraction will pretty much do.

As well as guilt, shame also manifests itself. You feel worthless. Hopelessness starts to creep in and you might feel that others will view you differently. You start to feel other people might be judging you or think certain things when highly likely the vast majority of people want to support you and make you feel better.

These types of thoughts and feeling are likely incredibly common and all part of the process. However I want to express my thoughts around the language of grief, trauma and mental health and how we might approach it differently.

I will start with the narrative around miscarriage or as I and many others refer to it, pregnancy loss. I will call it pregnancy loss, not the official medical term of miscarriage. As I feel pregnancy loss is far more appropriate and can encompass a whole range of losses.

For those of you that have read my previous blog will know my wife and I have experienced two pregnancy losses. One at 11 weeks 6 days and our baby boy Albie was born but died at 22 weeks 1 day in March 2020, just before the first lockdown was introduced. 

Albie has been at the forefront of my mind every day since and always will be I’m sure. A perceived stage of grief is about “letting go” or “moving on”.

I don’t feel that “letting go” or “moving on”, or that  “time will heal” has any meaningful basis in terms of trauma and grief. There’s just some things that can’t be healed, and I accept that. I will carry that with me, and that’s okay. I won’t always be “myself”, won’t always be in a frame of mind where I want to be around people or be in a position where I feel I can’t cope. That’s okay as well. I’m aware it’s not as simplistic as that, as it requires a support network around you that understands and can help you.

That isn’t always the case for everyone which is a major reason why funding for mental health support is so important.

We’ve got a print of Albie’s little feet and he’ll be right there with me every step of the way. I wasn’t given the chance to guide them but he’ll be guiding me in all that I do or say. I got to the acceptance stage of grief pretty early on but the letting go part is not for me. That isn’t to say I won’t be focusing on myself and others, or that I’m not able to function, to laugh and joke or to enjoy things. I’ll just be doing it with Albie by my side.

The grief and trauma won’t end, it’ll subside but will always be there in some way shape or form. 

I know that. I accept that. It’s now a part of me.

I’m certainly not the same ‘me’, just a different version of me. 

I’m probably Kevin Van Betlem version 5.0 right now!

I think trauma certainly changes you, and not necessarily in a negative way.

Before I kissed Albie goodbye for the last time I promised him I’d do everything I can to make my little world a better place and I’ll be adhering to that for the rest of my life.

I’ll lend my voice and support to all those that need it, which at this moment in time seems more important than ever in my lifetime.

I’ve written about the entire experience if you’d like to read my previous blog but won’t elaborate too much more here.

With regards to the narrative around pregnancy loss. I find certain elements difficult to understand and comprehend. Any form of loss before 24 weeks is called a miscarriage and after that it’s termed a still birth. This is despite the fact a baby is essentially fully formed by 22 weeks. I should know, I held my beautiful little boy Albie for a long time. Saw his lovely little nose, his gorgeous face, his tiny little hands and feet. Albie was born alive but died shortly after so his death was legally recognised, for others that isn’t the case. In my humblest of opinions, that law MUST change. How the fuck can we not recognise  babies being still born before 24 weeks? 

It’s dehumanising and quite frankly sickening.

It can also have a significant detrimental impact on women in terms of what help and support they receive. I know my view point will have an element of bias and I’m certainly not disrespectful of the fact that there will be hundreds of medical professionals that have studied to devise these terms and to have a legal framework around it. However, simply the term miscarriage just makes me feel it’s less significant and there’s common misconceptions around it. 

Looking back at the pregnancy loss at 11 weeks and 6 days still affects me. Just seeing a tiny baby foetus that died, on the scan is an image I carry with me to this day and always will do.

Which makes me wonder why the social norm with regards to telling people is 12 weeks. I completely understand that the chances of pregnancy loss are dramatically reduced after 12 weeks, but then it’s almost as if anything that happens before 12 weeks has little relevance. This loss is incredibly significant and it needs to be recognised as that.

There will be so many people out there that won’t have told anyone that they suffered pregnancy loss because the norm is to tell people at 12 weeks. I’ve had numerous private messages after my first blog stating that. People that haven’t told anyone, they’ve simply kept it to themselves.

That’s fucking harrowing. How have we come to this? That people actually feel like they can’t say anything. Of course some people simply won’t want to, but I truly feel a majority will, and all will need some form  of support.

In fact, any pregnancy loss can have an enormous impact on the people involved. Like I stated previously, most people will feel this prominent parental instinct kick in and in your mind you’re essentially parents as soon as you find out about the pregnancy.

Trauma and grief around pregnancy loss has got to be recognised no matter what the stage the pregnancy is at. It’s so common that I believe it needs funding and support within our health care system and communities.

With regards to mental health and particularly suicide I believe there’s a significant amount of changes needed in terms of how we talk about and approach it. 

It’s so common that people will be called “mental”, “nuts”, “bonkers” and many more adjectives can be put here. The language is often negative, almost accusatory at times. As though it’s been exaggerated or it’s unnecessary. People are just “attention seeking”, some will even have the temerity to deny a persons suicidal thoughts or mental health issue.  

It might be the case that some people will weaponise mental health for their own gain, but that’ll be a minuscule percentage. For the absolute vast majority it’s incredibly real and significant.

The narrative and rhetoric around mental health appears to me to have always been dominated by people who haven’t really experienced it themselves. You see it everywhere when you look and hear it if you listen, in every day conversation, in the press, on television.

Thankfully that’s now changing, surely but slowly. Long may that continue.

I believe it’s incredibly important to try and reduce the times we use the type of language I mentioned earlier as it’s incredibly unhelpful to anyone experiencing a mental illness or episode.

We could look at it in different ways and use language such as “Perrson (X) is struggling” “X doesn’t appear themselves, I wonder if I can support X in any way.” “They’re unwell or ill” “Their mental health ...”

*Any thoughts and ideas welcome 

The first thought or action doesn’t have to be that “they’re being over the top”, “they’re mental” and so forth.

A first thought can simply be “they seem like they’re struggling, what can I do to help them?” That doesn’t have to be anything significant, even something subtle and little can go a long way.

It’s of course very easy to say when things are ingrained, and terms such as “bonkers” and “crazy” are normalised. We can try though, trying isn’t hard either.

I think all of us need to be aware that we don’t often know what’s happening or has happened in other people’s lives. There could be a 101 things that can affect any person at any given time. These triggers don’t care where you are or who you’re with. Being mindful of this can certainly be helpful. 

Nonetheless, I do believe the onus also has to be on the person themselves as well. As I said in my previous blog “The more we share, the more others will be aware.”

I know this is difficult, extremely difficult for some, but simply telling one other person you trust that you’re struggling with something can make a significant difference.

The narrative and rhetoric around suicide is something I find the most worrisome. I know for some people simply the word suicide can make you feel uncomfortable, give you a little shudder.

The way suicide is often talked about is to put it quite frankly, completely ignorant.

What you hear very often is “coward!” or “easy way out!”.

Just imagine, for a minute, what it must take for a person to take their own life. To kill themselves. 

It’s almost unimaginable isn’t it? For most of us. Think about the lowest you’ve ever felt. You must’ve felt horrific, really down, depressed. 

A person who’s suicidal will probably feel a hundred times worse than that. I’ve seen that first hand.

Every person that commits suicide will have gone through a different process but I can speak about my dad.

My dad, from a young age had suffered from incredibly low levels of self confidence. His parents were not affectionate and not particularly kind. Both died before I was even born. His sister also died young. This explains why he might have ended up the way he did.

Throughout his life my dad did remarkably well, he went from living in a squat with no heating to becoming a professor in law. He taught lectures to hundreds of people, but there was always that underlying depression and crippling lack of self belief.

I talked about my dads suicide in my first blog, so won’t go into greater detail but it culminated one day when his work got too much for him, he simply couldn’t cope. Instead of telling my sister and I he kept it to himself.

Gradually his mental health deteriorated as he was by himself in his house for considerable periods of time. He became paranoid the house was falling apart and caving in. I once entered his house and saw him crouched at the top of the stairs rocking. He could barely speak in full sentences and didn’t really appear to recognise my sister and I.

He was dangerously ill.

If this was any other illness there would be empathy and immediate medical support available. For me severe mental illness simply hasn’t got the same “status” within our society. 

This is despite suicide being the biggest killer in men under 45. 

The single biggest killer.

More men under 45 die by suicide as a percentage than any other illness.

This is astonishing. What I find more astonishing is that this doesn’t appear to be a primary health concern. I understand it’s an incredibly emotive subject matter. It’s not easy to talk about. A taboo subject. It’s not something that a lot of people can ‘relate to’ and those that have experienced this will inevitably do everything in their power to avoid talking about it.

However, the alternative is right in front of us. Many more people (vast majority men) will continue to die of suicide. 

The pandemic will no doubt increase levels of mental illness across the country. Another inevitably and consequence of the horrific handling of this serious public health event.

There has to be a comprehensive holistic approach to mental health. Suicide is the extreme end of the spectrum of course, there will be a whole host of other mental health related illness and trauma that need recognition, funding and support.

We can bury our heads in the sand, to have mass denialism but that unfortunately won’t get us anywhere. We can chose to avoid it, to ignore, to keep our feelings to ourselves.

Or.

We can chose to be there for each other, our loved ones, our friends, our colleagues and our wider community.

*In memory of my dad Gerrit Betlem and as always my baby boy Albie Van Betlem*

🧡