Grief in Pieces

Grief often comes in pieces. It’s not only the heavy silence of a funeral or the first night alone. It returns later, quietly, when you reach for the phone to call your mother and remember she is gone. It returns when you read something that your best friend would have laughed at, and for a moment you think, “I can’t wait to tell him,” before the memory settles in.

The Stoics knew this ache. They did not command us to shoulder through grief without feeling. They taught instead that grief itself proves the depth of our love, and that while it must be acknowledged, it must not hold us captive. When paired with the framework of the five stages of grief and the echoes of Christian and Eastern wisdom, Stoic practice helps us carry loss with dignity and live more fully in the time we are given.

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Apatheia in Practice

This essay is not only about ideas. It comes from my own season of upheaval. I was laid off in June. My husband has just been laid off from his job. I’ve been away from home for three weeks, staying in my mother’s house while she was in and out of the hospital. This past Wednesday, she died. I was holding her hand as she took her last breaths. In the middle of all this, my study of Stoicism has helped me keep some balance. Not by taking away grief, but by helping me live through it without being consumed.

Apatheia means freedom from being ruled by unruly passion. It does not mean coldness. It does not mean apathy. The Stoics were clear about this. Seneca wrote that “anger is a short madness.” Epictetus warned his students not to confuse love with clinging. Marcus wrote, “Take away the thought I have been harmed, and the harm is taken away.” Apatheia does not erase feeling, but steadies it. It gives room for grief, anger, and fear without letting them take over.

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