The Anxiety of Grief

Panic after a death is normal. Here's how to live with it.

Today’s post was guest-written by artist, writer, and death doula Karen Miranda Augustine. Learn more about her work here.

---

I used to sleep with mom between the ages of four and eight because I got night terrors. It was always partway through the night, when things in my room would seemingly shapeshift. Or they would be caused from ruminations of news stories of fires miles away, spreading to us from Mississauga to Agincourt — an unbelievable feat when I think of it now, but to a child a very real and possible thing.

Alone in the dark, I would call out to my mom — hesitant at first, then louder when I got the nerve. She would wake up and come get me so I could sleep in the safety of her arms.

Sleeping on my mother’s arm at night became a regular thing by Grade One when my father left us for good. During this time, my mother was mourning the loss of her mother, who passed away while we were mid-flight on a plane to see her in Dominica. My mother spent her evenings praying and consoling herself in the basement, after putting me to bed — either in my own room or hers, I can’t even remember now. But I often think about her grief of losing my grandmother, her marriage, and having to start life anew. I like to think that needing her next to me at night, looking for comfort and security, gave her some solace at a time when she needed to be held by a loved one the most.

At the end of 2022, my mom passed away at home with me. I think about how fortunate I was to have been present during her transition. My apartment, I now consider sacred space. Her last conscious moments were of her making funny faces and joking with me — offering a loving and generous kindness by leaving these deliberate, last memories of her.

When I reflect on things now, I strongly suspect that she knew she would be transitioning soon after, and she did hours later. Even though I was prepared, there was some shock — you know, everything feels like an alternate universe, but you cope in the immediate moments.

A couple weeks later, after the funeral and the business of laying a loved one to rest, a friend encouraged me to walk his dog some mornings, which gave me a routine and forced me out of my home. It got me out of bed, engaging with people, and some special time with a lovely animal that provided affection and some laughs at a time when I needed it.

But a few months after, as the reality of her passing settled deeper into my body, the panic and anxiety attacks began. And they were relentless.

The worst ones would start in the middle of the night while I was trying to sleep. It would start with a deep feeling of dread that would roll around in my stomach, slowly inching its way through my body, keeping me up at night with a level of anxiety and hopelessness I had never experienced before.

And then they started leaching into my days.

There were a series of months that were spent playing Solitaire. Over and over, I would shuffle my cards, lay out my spread, and play. To add some mix to the routine, I would stream any reality show, movie, or crime series that I could let run as background noise (as company) to help calm me down. And I would keep playing cards — game after game, day after day.

Soon after, I learned that 1,000-piece puzzles were also my friend, so I would do those too. Morning until about 3:00 a.m., this became my regular routine for several months.

A couple concerned friends started sourcing puzzles for me so that I didn’t run out. Puzzles were better than cards: one usually took a couple weeks to do. They calmed me down, helping my mind to focus on the small pieces of coloured board in my hands and the scrambled patterns in front of me. It was like a meditation.

One day, a friend who does social work checked in on me to see how I was coping. She explained to me that my anxiety was my grief, and she encouraged me to sit with it and not to fear it. Journal, she said. Start exploring what it’s telling you. This is how your grief is presenting itself.

I never knew that anxiety attacks were an expression of grief until then. Having that knowledge decreased the intensity of them by at least 50%. I still get them, but I think it was the not knowing — not understanding what was happening — that was intensifying them even more.

So, I followed her lead: sometimes I journal when they happen, or I go for a walk, or I think about what may have triggered it. Sometimes I take a nap or rub lavender essential oil on my hands. Other times, I do Yin yoga, talk to a friend, or put on my mother’s hat. If the dread comes in the middle of the night, I micro dose CBD oil. And any chance I get to be out in nature or by the water, I take it.

Deep breaths are often the best. Kundalini yoga is very good for that.

Anxiety is about fear.

In mourning my mom, I hadn’t realized how safe she made me feel. Her physical existence made me feel safer in this world than I do now. She was the person who knew me best, had my best interests at heart, and provided me with unconditional love.

It’s strange to have no one in the physical world that feels that way about me anymore — that person who champions you above all others, is deeply invested in you, who gets excited by your mere presence, who sees you as so very special.

It’s a destabilizing feeling.

Although I know that my mother still loves me and looks after me from a different realm, it is not having her in the physical that I am still getting used to. And I accept that.

Understanding that my anxiety attacks are a normal part of the grieving process, makes things more manageable to bear. I now take it as a message to slow down, reflect, and accept all that I am feeling.

About the Author

Karen Miranda Augustine is an artist, writer, and death doula. This spring, she will be running Bluebelles: Therapeutic Art Workshops for the Bereaved in Toronto. She is the founder of ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM caregiving artists collective and co-founder of the Ancestral Arts Collective, which serves Black death care and grief workers. She is a peer bereavement care volunteer with Hospice Toronto.