I just realized something. I think sometimes we mourn for ourselves. When you let go of past traumas, and finally deal with it all, you can experience grief. I know I did. And sometimes still do.
For me, it’s loss that triggers grief. Losing a loved one because they’ve died. But also sometimes losing a friendship. Or a girlfriend. It’s not just people. When I lost all of my writing that put me into grief for years. I wasn’t even fully conscious of it until recently.
Loss, of any kind or any scale, can bring on grief of any kind or any scale. And if the losses are similar to each other, they can pile onto each other.
There was a scene in ‘Castaway’ that I thought about a lot during the early years of my CPTSD therapy. Chuck is on the raft after escaping the island. He lost his old life, and found a new one on the island. He became a lithe, fierce, warrior version of himself. And also was lost to madness. He knew he needed to leave. He’d considered suicide during his time on the island, but decided he didn’t want to experience the physical pain of it if he failed. Which is a blessing itself, that some part of him decided living was better even in his deepest despair.
He sees a chance to change his life. And he works his ass off to do it. And then this challenge he’d faced in the past, the waves, is defeated by the symbol of his resilience and the means for his escape – the winged port-a-potty sail. The moment is mythic, not the least because the waves act as a threshold guardian. He’s gained the wisdom to finally pass this gate.
And he does. And then he lives in the netherworld, the time between the person that he was (the mad Island warrior) and the man he sought to become (the free civilized man). He’s adrift on the ocean, and has a totem of his old life and self – Wilson. He learned to love Wilson, and appreciate his company. But Wilson is also a voice of doubt, the part of Chuck’s psyche that needs to be stoic and accept the island to live. But he sometimes hates that voice. On the island, he has a one-sided argument where ‘Wilson’ is clearly putting cold water on his idea of escape. He kicks Wilson out of the cave. And then regrets it. Wilson was his trauma. And his trauma on the island was part of his survival. Intrinsic to it.
On the raft, in the netherworld, Chuck loses Wilson. The raft itself is also broken. The wings have left him during a storm. And then he had a choice. Cling to Wilson, to the self he was on the island, the familiar trauma that helped him survive that ordeal. Or let it go.
He chooses the uncertainty of letting go. And in that moment, he mourns the loss. He’s crushed, and we all understand his grief. Adrift, between worlds, in the middle of his change, walking away from his trauma but not yet in his new life. And then, the great ship. The ship’s horn, a clarion for the change. He reaches for them and begs for help, weakened.
And he gets it. And then we see him again, a changed man again.
That part, the time in the netherworld. The uncertainty. The traumatized person mourning their traumatized, familiar self. That part is something about trauma and transformation we don’t often talk about. It’s like a person who grew up with someone smashing their foot with a hammer every morning. And then, they become someone who smashes their own foot every morning. One day, they realize what they’re doing. They learn to stop smashing their foot.
And the thing that’s hard to explain is how much you may miss smashing your own foot after you’ve stopped, but before you’ve learned to stretch and pamper your feet instead. Of how much you may consider smashing your own foot on the day you get receive the best pedicure of your life.
Sometimes, after you’ve made a wonderful change. Moved to a new city. Gotten your dream job. Told your sweetheart of sweethearts you love them for the first time. There may come a moment, or multiple moments, where you just cry. The emotions have overwhelmed you. Maybe you even feel sad. And it may not make sense to you, and you may question it, and you may even want it to stop.
But it might just be you, adrift on the broken raft in the netherworld, after you lost Wilson, before the ship’s horn. Mourning the loss of your old torments and self. Because they’re gone.
And in that moment, if you can give yourself the grace to feel, and let it out, and let it go, there may be joy, too. A smile you can give yourself, when you realize that your life on the island is over, and your new life is here. Just give yourself time to let what’s beautiful in your new world sink in.