Grief, Love, and Oxytocin
Someone asked me about grief the other day and my mind went blank. Instead of a clear path to the next cogent thought, I hit a wall. How could I capture an experience so universally human and so deeply individual?
As a therapist, my work with clients often focuses on the acute emotional or psychological pain a person experiences, made manifest by symptoms. It’s often after some deeper navigational efforts that we reach the source of this pain and its linkages to the past—recent, or not so recent. Concepts like attachment wounding and emotional burdens are ways we can look at this, but often, the more concise word is grief.
Grief shows up to tell us about our heart’s greatest longings and the absence thereof. It is love’s negative space, the imprint left by something important.
In Tennyson’s poem about the sudden loss of a friend, he writes, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” but tell that to someone in acute grief—someone who just lost a baby, someone suffering their 6th miscarriage, someone who watched their spouse walk out the door. I bet it won’t go over well.
So what does it mean to live with grief, and if it is, in fact, the trace of love, then why do these remnants hurt so much?
Grief can look a lot like depression. That can mean low energy, social withdrawal, difficulty concentrating, sleep and appetite disruptions, and “anhedonia,” or loss of pleasure in things you once enjoyed.
Context typically drives the differentiating factor here, grief from depression. It’s important to consider if a triggering event just happened, or if these symptoms have been longstanding.
And that framework is ok-ish.
It requires thinking about the human experience in terms of a box in which to put people and their life events. That box helps inform treatment plans and set specific goals. It offers a medicalized map for “healing.”
But the human experience doesn’t fit neatly into a box. Start and stop times for adversity are not always so delineated.
How do we capture the relational loss of a loved one, even though they remain physically alive?
How do we withstand the repetitive and cyclical nature of infertility? That brutal back and forth of hope and loss.
How do we hold the stillborn child’s memory, for whom there is no obvious evidence of, but their existence lives in the bones of a mother?
For your specific purposes, dear reader, I do not have the answers. Everyone has their own soft spots and sharp edges. I trust that you will tend to those.
What I can say, is that there is a solid chunk of evidence on the impact of oxytocin, aka, “the bonding hormone.” This hormone surges through our bodies after birth, after orgasm, and during breastfeeding. It also flows when we are watching a clip of adorable furry animals or getting a hug from a loved one.
Our body’s first home was in our mother’s womb, which is the most physically connected we will ever be to another body. Maybe oxytocin is our neurobiology’s way of helping us remember what “home” feels like. Maybe the thing we need most in navigating our grief, is actually built in. Maybe oxytocin can help bring in a sense of safety, nurturance, and protection as we weather the storms of grief. (see note below)
There are other ways of managing grief, certainly. If you’re interested in exploring this pathway further, however, consider these:
Give and get a hug from a trusted person for at least 30 seconds. That might actually feel like a long time, but notice shifts in your body afterward. Notice your breath.
Use imaginal work: think of the last time you spent time with someone you love. What did that experience look like, sound like, smell like, feel like?
Hold, hug, or pet a beloved animal.
For more information on oxytocin, check out this short article from Harvard Health:
https://www.health.harvard.edu/mind-and-mood/oxytocin-the-love-hormone
As always, wishing you wellness and warmth.
Until next time,
-Kristin
Note: I’m referring only to the initial and physiological aspects of connection with mother as is the case during pregnancy. I fully acknowledge that for many, their relationship with their mother is not at all “homey”, and lacks safety, nurturance, and protection.
