Disenfranchised Grief

What do you think of when you think of being “disenfranchised”?

I normally think about politics, voting, and civil liberties. Full disclosure: I am not an expert on that.

However, “disenfranchisement” as it relates to your mental health describes a feeling of grief that, for one reason or another, cannot be openly acknowledged. I’d like to talk about Disenfranchised Grief, what it is, how it manifests, and why it deserves to be part of a broader conversation.

What is Disenfranchised Grief?

Introduced in 1989, Kenneth Doka described disenfranchised grief as a “hidden sorrow”. 

But, wait, why would someone hide their grief…?

In short, certain situations make grief either harder to talk about or raise questions about whether others will be receptive to hearing about it. You might call the subjects “taboo”.

Some notable examples:

-Pregnancy loss 

-Infertility

-Loss of a pet

The above examples illustrate situations that are generally easy to resonate with. Whether or not we have experienced any or many of them, we can access compassion for the individuals who have gone through them.

However, grief becomes increasingly complicated when topics evoke stronger opinions. Let’s turn up the heat a bit with these examples:

-Someone has an affair, and their extramarital partner dies

-A friend or family member overdosed on drugs

-A politician or movie star loses their home to a fire

-Being ostracized for political beliefs

-Loss of a same-sex partner when you were not “out” to your family or community

Now, things get sticky. These are situations where others are sometimes less sympathetic at best and, at worst, critical or angry. Others might respond to this grief by saying things like:

-”You shouldn’t have been seeing that person anyway”

- “They don’t deserve to be in your life because they’re a [liberal commie] / [MAGA nut]”

- “They did it to themself”

-“The world is better off without them”  

-“Those are ‘champagne problems’, they can just buy a new house”. 

When these are the feared responses, we clam up and do not honor our grief.

As a result, that grief turns inward.

Standard grief can wreak havoc on our systems: it can interfere with our sleep, cause physical pain and anxiety, bring up guilt, anger, sadness, and shame, and increase risk-taking behaviors and isolation. 

Experiencing disenfranchised grief can subject us to all of the above, plus disconnecting us from our communities, tanking our self-esteem, increasing sensitivity to future losses, and extending the bereavement process. 

Often, the internal narratives might sound like:

-“No one wants to hear about this”

-“I did this to myself”

-“Why am I so upset about this, anyway?”

-“What’s wrong with me?”

-“I should be over this already”

Where grief has an undeniably painful ache, disenfranchised grief has an ache tipped with razor blades.

We need to talk about it more, and here’s why.

While it is not new that everyone has an opinion, we now have thousands of forums on which to share those opinions. Further, we have what is called the “online disinhibition effect”- in other words, we act differently online than we do in person, and that often manifests in toxic ways. As such, there are millions of people (and bots) specifically criticizing people for grieving some of the exact situations described above.

In addition to alienating the bereaved and encouraging their silent struggles, these criticisms also numb us to others’ pain. Whether it's class resentment ('they're rich, who cares') or moral judgment ('they asked for it'), we selectively turn off our empathy. Further, those reactions incite matching aggression from those who disagree. 

We need to talk about disenfranchised grief because we are actively disenfranchising each other at an alarming rate, backing further and further into our respective corners.

The moment we tell someone they are not allowed to grieve, or their grief doesn’t matter because they- or the person they’re grieving- is an a**hole, we push them into isolation. We take their voice. I contend that isolation and disconnection are the primary culprits for the crumbling of our society’s mental and emotional health, and we feed disconnection every time we shut down or qualify others’ pain.

But, there’s still hope…

If isolation and disconnection are the diseases, then community and connection are the cures. What this means for the broader conversation is that we can begin to identify places where we are actively disenfranchising others, even if we start by looking only at the people we care about. How are we meeting and honoring their grief, even when we struggle to understand it? How are we connecting with them and showing them that their pain is seen and acceptable, even for situations that are hard to talk about?

If you are an individual struggling with disenfranchised grief, if you believe your grief is “weird” or “taboo” or somehow unworthy of compassion, here is what I want you to know:

1. Grief is always acceptable, even in complicated situations.

2. Even when we are angry at someone, or don’t like their views or life choices, we experience grief in their loss.

3. You deserve a place to talk about and validate your grief.

So maybe you are separated from your family because of political differences and feel angry and sad at their choices, and also miss the relationship you used to have; maybe you are struggling through another Mother’s/Father’s Day after a miscarriage five years ago and feel like it isn’t worth bringing up anymore; maybe an abusive parent just died and you feel confused because you are both sad, and angry…

I love working with clients with disenfranchised grief because I believe that everyone has a perspective that deserves to be heard and have their truth honored. Part of why I enjoy being outdoors so much is that it reminds me of our baseline connection to each other and to the world around us, even when we feel like we are miles apart. Nature offers us the space and time to hold such big and complex emotions as those that accompany disenfranchised grief. 

If you would like time to explore and process your disenfranchised grief, contact me, and we can see if a therapy intensive is the right space for you to unpack that and feel heard.

You are not alone, and your grief is both real and valid.

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And always remember: You’ve got this.

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