When we meet “the One,” there truly is chemistry. “The neurochemistry in our brain and our body stimulates, and is stimulated by, falling in love,” notes O’Connor. And when our beloved dies, “all our neurochemistry – all the dopamine, the opioids, the cortisol – are motivating us to seek out this person again”. A vital element is lacking, and to the brain the solution is obvious: “Go get them.” And it is very painful, she adds, when the solution, so important to your survival, “simply does not happen”.
It’s not unusual for a bereaved person to feel as if a part of them is missing – and this isn’t poetic licence. O’Connor says that while, of course, in many ways we function in the world as individuals, “our brain also thinks of us as part of a larger whole – as a couple, or a parent and child – and I believe, it encompasses the two of us as a functioning unit.” And so, “when a piece of that is taken away, I think the experience of it isn’t just that, metaphorically, a part of us is gone, but there are enough suggestions in neuroscience that it feels that physically a part of us has been taken away as well.”
So how do we cope with an experience that is an inevitable part of being human, yet feels so savage, surreal and devastating? The idea that there are “five stages of grief” (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) that occur in order is a misapprehension. In the 1960s, explains O’Connor, psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross interviewed people who were terminally ill – and gave an accurate description of their states of mind. But not, as is often assumed, a prescription for how grief should be.
“The dual process model” of grief is a more recent concept – and partly a reaction to the idea that traditionally, when thinking about grief, we focus on the losses people are coping with. The authors of this newer model “critically recognised there’s another set of stressors that grieving people have to deal with – what they termed ‘restoration stressors’,” says O’Connor. As in, “How are you going to restore a meaningful life?” So – how do I talk to my son now his father isn’t here? How do I plan for retirement?
“Most genius in my mind,” she adds, is the idea that in grief we oscillate between those two kinds of stressors – each of those within a larger set of experiences: day-to-day life. (“Sometimes you’re just peeling the potatoes and it has nothing to do with loss or restoration.”) Over time, oscillation helps us learn to be flexible, she says, “to learn what makes sense now in your life. And to some degree, then those stressors recede a little bit, and the amount of time you just spend in everyday life grows larger”.
Yet in grief, our brain can be our own worst enemy. Guilt, for instance, is a way we may unconsciously try to avoid the truth of our situation. “The trouble with those virtual realities we play out – I should’ve, they should’ve, the doctor should’ve – is that each of them ends in ‘and then my loved one didn’t die’,” says O’Connor. “And so this amazing capacity that the human mind has to tell alternative stories – which works for us in so many ways – living in those stories actually keeps us from living in the reality.”
Whereas when we do live in reality, we slowly develop the ability to tolerate the strong feelings of grief. Though grief is wild and chaotic in part, and we find our own way. The truth is, “grief just changes who we are” and with that may come unexpected clarity. “The surprising side of grieving is that it does cut through all the BS,” says O’Connor. “You really do suddenly know what’s important to you, and what matters and what doesn’t.”
Meanwhile, she adds, “There’s actually nothing wrong with a little avoidance – our body and our brain need a break from grief. But the trouble is, if we’re avoiding negative feelings –anger, sadness, yearning, guilt – it turns out human beings can’t just turn off a part of that channel – so we are also turning off positive feelings as well – pride, joy, silliness.” Ultimately, it leads to us feeling numb.
Are there behaviours that are more helpful? She says: “If you’re able to listen to music, if you’re able to love your grandkids, and you’re able to get lost in a project at work – if you’re able to do all these other things, in addition to just feeling bereft, or having things remind you of your loved one, that to me is good mental health.”
Yet often we’re at a loss as to what to do. O’Connor cites a study that asked participants about the most appropriate and effective ways to grieve: going to a party with friends; staying at home to watch a favourite film; spending time with family, telling stories about the lost loved one, or writing about their grief in a journal. The majority felt the last two activities most apposite and useful. They were wrong (which is not to say that the party will always help – just that it can).
“We’re often not very good predictors of how we will feel,” explains O’Connor. “We think, ‘I’m not going to enjoy going to the movies,’ but it turns out that entertaining things are still often entertaining – and having a little bit of time in that other state of mind can actually help us as we’re dealing with this magnitude of pain.”
There’s also the sense that we’ll be judged. “There is a belief that grieving people should not feel happy, which we pick up from society,” she adds. Or within: “Well, if my sister has died and she can’t enjoy life, then I can’t enjoy life either – it’s not fair.” As O’Connor says, long-term this isn’t very helpful. And while she believes that our bonds with the lost loved one continue, and that person can never be replaced, certain relationships may strengthen or develop. “We still,” she says, “have needs for love and to be loving on this earthly plane.”
The Grieving Brain: The Surprising Science of How We Learn from Love and Loss, by Mary-Frances O’Connor. To order from Telegraph Books for £20, call 0844 871 1515 or visit books.telegraph.co.uk
