How often do we unknowingly create the very hell we want to escape? Whether we are active participants in our lives or simply passive observers, we are always choosing a path—either toward connection with others or into deeper isolation. It’s easy to imagine that we’re not responsible for the state of things, that our silence or disengagement somehow protects us from pain, but that illusion only creates more suffering. When it comes to healing, we are only as healthy as the community around us, and that community can only be as strong as its most vulnerable member. So, with that in mind, let’s talk about how the personal choices we make to heal or not heal reverberate through everything, influencing not just our inner lives but our relationships, our communities, and even the larger world.
In Restorative Grief, we recognize that healing isn’t an isolated experience, nor is grief. Grief is relational—it touches every part of our lives, even when we try to compartmentalize it or pretend it’s not there. We are always looking for the holistic approach, and in this instance, the part of our whole that applies so clearly to me is our spirit. It’s not just our sense of spirituality. It is our sense of connection to ourselves, others, our community, and even the world at large. Understanding and nourishing our spirit is central to our healing, because our personal grief doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is intertwined with our sense of self, our relationships with others, and the world we live in. When we acknowledge that our own healing is connected to the healing of others, we begin to see how our choices to either engage with or avoid our pain have far-reaching consequences.
The allegory of the long spoon captures this perfectly. One day, a man dies and meets a guide, who ushers him into what looks like paradise. The trees are lush, the sky is bright, and the streets are paved in gold. When the man enters through golden gates, he smells incredible food. He is taken to a room full of tables and people, sees all the food, and then notices how sickly every person in the room appears. They’re gray skinned and malnourished, holding long spoons and eating nothing, for the spoons are too long to feed themselves with.
The man wonders how this could be paradise as the guide takes him to another room. This room is identical, with each person holding the same long spoon. However, in this room, each person is feeding the human across the table from themselves. They’re thriving, healthy, and enjoying the paradise around them.
It’s wild to realize that those trapped in hell have all the tools they need to feed themselves, but the spoons they’ve been given are too long to reach their own mouths. It’s only when they learn to feed each other that they can finally be nourished. The message is clear: we need each other to heal. We cannot heal alone. But that doesn’t mean we can simply show up for others without doing the hard work within ourselves first.
True connection—whether to ourselves, others, or the world—requires us to face our own grief, our own unhealed wounds, and the parts of ourselves that we would rather ignore. The work begins within, and it’s deeply personal. Yet, it’s not just for our own sake. The personal work we do in grieving, in healing, and in becoming more whole allows us to show up for others in ways that are meaningful and authentic. It’s not transactional care; it’s transformative.
But what happens when the work feels overwhelming? When grief comes from the places that seem impossible to heal—estranged family relationships, political divisions, broken religious communities, and more—we may be tempted to step back, to protect ourselves by disengaging or staying silent. But in doing so, we often perpetuate the very isolation and pain we’re trying to avoid. Silence isn’t protection. Disengagement isn’t neutral. They’re choices that shape our inner and outer worlds, reinforcing the disconnect we feel from ourselves and others.
In grief work, especially in hot-button areas like political differences or religious and familial estrangement, our participation matters even when we don’t realize it. Our absence or silence, whether it’s in conflict, in difficult conversations, or in showing up for those we care about, contributes to the collective experience of isolation. Choosing to remain outside the conversation doesn’t save us from grief—it only deepens it by reinforcing the idea that connection is too painful or too risky.
But healing is risky. Connection is risky. It requires vulnerability and openness, and sometimes, the willingness to confront parts of ourselves we’d rather leave in the shadows. It’s easier to choose isolation because it feels safer. But safety is not the same as healing. In the long run, true safety comes from being in relationship with ourselves and others in a way that acknowledges both our grief and our capacity for care.
As Rumi said, “Do not be satisfied with the stories that come before you. Unfold your own myth.” Our stories of pain, division, and isolation don’t have to define the future. We have the power to choose a new narrative—one of engagement, healing, and connection. The spirit of connection is essential to both grief work and community care. When we choose to heal, we not only transform our own lives, but we contribute to the healing of the collective. And that’s where the magic happens.
Every choice we make—whether to engage, to withdraw, to heal, or to remain stuck—has ripple effects. The spirit of connection reminds us that our healing is not a solitary endeavor. We are always in relationship with others, even when we feel most alone. And that’s where hope lies. Though the road to healing may seem long and uncertain, every step we take toward wholeness creates a path for others to follow. Our personal healing is an invitation for others to do the same, and together, we build the kind of community where no one has to carry their grief alone.
The truth is, we are never powerless. Even when the work feels too big, too overwhelming, or too far off, we are always capable of creating spaces of safety, security, and belonging—for ourselves and for each other. And it starts with a simple choice: to show up, to engage, and to heal.
Let us not be satisfied with old stories of isolation and pain. Instead, let’s commit to unfolding new myths—myths of community, connection, and shared healing that become truth and that guide us toward a world where grief is met with compassion and where we all find a place at the table, long spoons in hand, ready to nourish one another.
Thank you for listening to episode 184 of Restorative Grief. Even as we confront the hells we’ve created, there is always room for hope. We are never powerless to create a different reality. Our grief, our silence, our pain—these are not the end of the story. They are invitations to begin again, to heal, and to reconnect. With each choice to show up for ourselves and for others, we begin to transform the spaces around us into something that looks more like heaven—a community where we feed one another, where we are seen and nourished, where belonging is not conditional but abundant.
If this is the first time you’ve joined me here on the podcast, thank you so much for listening! Get more content like this on our Patreon or in our social media communities – be sure to subscribe to the podcast so you never miss an episode, and leave a review! That feedback helps others find the show and the support they need.
And as always, before we go, one last thing: Please remember, the only solution for grief is to do the work of grieving. Thank you for listening. I’ll see you next week.
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