Stories of Growth Guidelines

The cornerstone of our
Fourth Annual Hold The Door For Others Resource

Finding Your Way Through Loss:
An Interactive Journey of Preparing, Living with, and Growing Through Loss

Congratulations and welcome to our growing family. Hold the Door for Others is collecting stories of loss and growth for a new resource designed to inspire others who have lost loved ones to grow through loss. We also want to use these stories to teach people social and emotional coping skills to help them navigate the pain and challenges that loss brings. This resource will be provided for free to people of all ages who have experienced loss. We will be making a large effort to get these resources to those affected by Hurricane Katrina and those affected by the bombings in London.

Each of the Stories of Growth will have a theme woven through based on one of the eight OTHERS(S) resources. The OTHERS(S) model consists of eight resources, based on the research and experiences of the Hold The Door For Others team, that empower people to grow through loss:

1) Optimism/ Hope – your ability to maintain a positive outlook and have trust in the future.

2) True meaning – finding a purpose in your life that may or may not be connected to the
meaning of your loss.

3) Humor – your ability to maintain a sense of humor and laugh even in the toughest of times.

4) Emotional Intelligence – self-understanding of your feelings, understanding of others’ feelings and having the ability to communicate your feelings as well as manage your
emotions and support others. An aspect of emotional intelligence is having the ability to
connect with others and build supportive relationships.

5) Resilience – your adaptability, especially in times of adversity.

6) Spirituality – your connectedness to yourself and others. It does not have to be religion; it
can be whatever you define it as.

7) Self-Confidence – your belief in yourself and your abilities to grow through loss.

8) OTHERS(S) – having an emphasis on others. This can mean relationship building and/or healing through helping others.

If you would like to, you can learn more about the OTHERS(S) model by clicking here and reading the “Gaining From Loss” resource, pages 17-39.

Click here to read a personal account of what to expect when writing your own story of growth.

Please choose one of these eight resources as a theme to your growth story based on which one you feel has been a prominent part of your journey of growth through loss. Your story can include other aspects of the OTHERS(S) model in addition to the core resource you choose. However, we want each story to have one primary OTHERS(S) resource highlighted.

Some questions that may help guide you through your story:

1) Describe your loss
2) What were your initial reactions (emotions, thoughts, behaviors)?
3) Why was it challenging?
4) How do the OTHER(S) model resource(s) fit into your growth?
5) Where are you now in terms of your growth?
6) What are you plans for growth in the future?
7) How has your loss helped you deal with future adversity?
8) Have you experienced stronger relationships?
9) Do you have a new appreciation for life?

Guidelines for Submission:

Length: Because this is such a personal and creative process, please use your judgment about length. Keep in mind that we want to have this printed. A basic guideline would be around 4 pages double-spaced.

Submission:

Please send 2 hard copies of your story of growth Lauren Fazio at Hold The Door For Others, Inc., P.O. Box 755, Closter, NJ 07624. Please include a copy on disk or email your story to Lauren@holdthedoor.com. Please know that we will be editing the stories that we decide to incorporate into this year’s resource, Finding Your Way Through Loss: An Interactive Journey of Preparing, Living with, and Growing Through Loss. Note that there is the possibility that not all stories will be used because we want the resource to reflect a diverse range of experiences. You can include your name in the published resource, but it is not essential. You can also write your story and keep it to yourself. It is a great exercise in self-understanding. We will also place the stories we select on the Hold the Door website.
If you have any questions or concerns regarding writing your story please contact Breanna Winder, M.A. at breanna@holdthedoor.com or Jennifer Page, PhD at jennifer@holdthedoor.com.

Due Date:

Please send us your submission asap for submission in our fourth resource. If you are interested in submitting a Story of Growth, but do not think you can have it completed soon, please contact Breanna or Jennifer at the above mentioned email addresses to discuss an extension.

Notification:

All whose submissions are selected for the resource will be notified by mail or e-mail. Please provide your name, address, phone number, and e-mail address with your submission. Submissions cannot be returned.

Thank you for helping us empower others to grow through loss. Feel free to contact us with any comments, questions or concerns.

Example Stories of growth

Growing Through Finding True Meaning

By Jennifer C. Page, Ph.D.

We are connected, you (the reader) and I, through our shared experience of loss. What follows is an account of my journey and how finding “true meaning” helped me grow through loss. Surprisingly, despite the fact that I lost my father over nine years ago, this is the first time I’ve shared a written account of my story. It is my hope that it will be of help to you as you find your own way through loss.
My story starts in the spring of my senior year of high school. The year is 1996 and it’s March. I live in a small harbor town on Boston’s North Shore so the air still holds that crisp nip to remind you that winter has not yet departed. But I am eager to get out of the house to go spring shopping with friends up at the outlets in New Hampshire. I rush downstairs to catch my ride and attempt to brush by my parents. My father attempts to engage me in a discussion about breakfast, which I quickly dismiss. My mother reminds me to be home in time for dinner since we are going out in my honor to celebrate a local journalism award I received for my work with the school and town newspapers. But I am preoccupied with the adolescent concerns that, at the time, seem more important than spending time with my family. I run out the door with barely a good-bye.
I wish I had known that was the last time I would see my dad. While I was gone shopping, he took our dog, Jasmine, for their weekly Saturday walk. But he didn’t come home. We never got to have our celebratory dinner. And I never got to say good-bye.
When I arrived home that Saturday evening my mother had already been worrying for some time. We, along with my 14-year-old sister, went out looking for my father by car and foot, called friends and neighbors, and eventually called the police. Neighbors and friends helped us search through the night as we called out for Dad and Jasmine, but the chilling wind and dark inhibited our efforts. We all tried to keep up hope, but a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t let me ignore the increasing gravity of the situation and the increasing sense of fear that my world as I knew it was slipping away. The night seemed endless, as did the tears. But with the morning light also came the reminder that time was moving forward and my dad had still not been found.
That Sunday morning in March our house was buzzing with people. I attempted to uphold a happy disposition for the benefit of my friends who had come to show their support, and it almost seemed possible to imagine that life was as I’d always known it. But the news reporter vans from local television stations camped in front of our house, and the over 100 officials from local, state and county police and fire departments outside searching for my father, reminded me of the terrible reality I was living. The specifics of the day are a blur in my distant memory, with the exception of the moment one of the police officers walked into the house and took my mother into the living room. I saw the exchange and instantly knew that there was bad news. I rushed in after them to find my mother in tears. My sister and I joined her.
One of the helicopters had spotted Jasmine lying next to one of the snow-covered ponds in the conservation land near our house. She had stayed at the scene of the tragic accident all day and night. Her leash and some dog biscuits were found near the break in the ice where divers from the local fire and police departments’ dive team located my father. He had fallen through the ice on the pond and drowned, but not without a fight as my dad had reportedly kicked off his boots and attempted to get out. That image would haunt me for a long time.
I’m a sophomore in college now and am in the car headed home for winter break. I think back to the day in the fall of my senior year that I received my early acceptance letter to my father’s alma mater. My dad came home from work, picked me up and spun me around the house as we laughed and cheered. But I quickly push this image out of my head as the pain of loss begins to build up inside. Put the wall back up, Jen, don’t let yourself feel. This has become almost impossible as of late. I find myself preoccupied with thoughts of the tragic accident. I feel sad most of the time and frequently break into tears. My grades have slipped and I no longer have an interest in my work as news editor of the school newspaper. I’ve been partying to excess. I feel out of control.
My adjustment to college had been relatively smooth. I made some close friends, joined the track team, earned good grades, and worked on the school newspaper. There were times when I would miss home, particularly having my mother and sister around to talk to when I missed my dad. There were times I would think of how the sudden loss of my father brought with it the loss of what had seemed a future of endless possibilities. Things once taken for granted were now uncertain. New and unfamiliar issues arose as I navigated the unchartered territory of living with loss. While my friends went on with their lives, I began to question a world that no longer made sense. It isn’t fair, why my dad? Why him? He was so young, he was such a good man, he was not ready to die. Why?! Why now? Why this way? I was angry, angry that my dad was taken from us. And then I would feel overcome with grief. But I quickly learned to cope by turning inward. In a world that seemed unpredictable, I attempted to gain a sense of control by striving for self-control. I set high standards for myself academically and in my extracurricular activities. And I became obsessed with exercise, perhaps the ultimate form of self-control. Running was not only my emotional outlet, it was my means of survival. I ran from the pain of loss. But I couldn’t run fast enough or far enough. An injury during the fall cross-country season of my sophomore year prevented me from running. And I found myself stuck, finally forced to pay attention to my feelings.
With the support and encouragement of my mother, sister, relatives and friends, I sought professional help that winter break to work through my experience of a delayed grief reaction. I allowed myself to feel what I was feeling, to express my sadness, anger, and fear, and to become more emotionally and cognitively self-aware. I also began to connect with others and share my experience of loss. By reflecting on my story I was finally able to make sense of my father’s death, and ironically to gain the sense of control for which I had been striving unsuccessfully. I had to answer for myself, what is it that really matters in life? Through self-questioning and much guidance from the memory of my father, I began to make meaning from my loss. I remembered peaceful summer afternoons sailing with my dad, I remembered Dad’s cheers of support during soccer games, I remembered reading the letters he would write when I was away at camp… When I think of my dad I don’t think of whether he was a successful businessman or of how much money he made, but rather I think of him as a beloved father and husband, a genuine and giving man, and a man who enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. And so my dad helped me discover that what matters most are relationships with others, with ourselves, and with the world around us.
This experience of self-reflection holds great meaning for me not only because it helped me understand and resolve my grief, but also because it created within me an increased sensitivity to and empathy for psychological pain. With this understanding came a sense of purpose so strong that it changed my college major. I wanted to learn how to help others who, like me, needed psychological healing in order to move forward with life. In particular, as a result of the negative impact my experience of psychological distress had on my academic studies, I wanted to learn how to help students who were experiencing problems that interfered with their educational pursuits.
I returned to college for the spring semester motivated to pursue an additional major in psychology. I would go on to pursue graduate training in clinical psychology and earn my doctorate degree.
The year is 2005 and it has been over nine years since the loss of my father. I work as a professional psychologist in a university mental health setting to help students with the personal, social, career and academic problems that interfere with their educational goals. In both my professional and personal life, I have found healing and growth through reaching out to and helping others. Every day I am motivated by the fact that what I have chosen to do is directly related to my experience of loss. And every time I help someone I feel that I am keeping my father’s legacy alive.
As you move forward through your own journey of loss, it is my hope that my story will motivate you to create meaning by writing your story of loss, reflecting on your story, and eventually creating your own story of how you grew through loss.

Growing through Emotional Intelligence

Breanna, M.A.

It is hard to believe that it is almost ten years since it happened, especially since the memories are so vivid in my mind today. What started out as a typical 17 year old summer day filled with shopping at the mall with my friend Gina turned into something that changed my life forever. Gina picked me up from my house and asked which way we should go to the mall since there were two ways that were similar in time and miles. I picked the mountain road; a long, curvy, but relaxing and beautiful drive over a mountain that lasted for about 8 miles. So, we started out on the road and were only about one mile from my house when we I looked up to see a vehicle flipping head-on towards us. Gina slammed on the breaks and stopped the car at about the same time the vehicle stopped flipping a few yards ahead of us. Gina yelled to get out and go help and that she would go call for an ambulance at my house. I complied in a way that seemed to include no thought, logic, or panic; just an automatic zombie-like response. It wasn’t until I got out of the car and my friend quickly drove away that I realized that someone had been in a terrible car accident and I was alone on this desolate mountain road and needed to figure out what to do.
So, I ran up to the car and found a classmate of mine, Brian, screaming, “Where is Steve?” I was confused because I thought he was talking about my neighbor, who was my classmate as well, however that Steve drove a truck and this vehicle was so smashed that I was sure it was a car. But, I quickly learned that it definitely was the Steve who, although we weren’t close as teenagers, had shared my bus stop and played with me in the snow as a kid. And, it was his truck that I saw everyday, it was just so badly damaged that it resembled a car.
Brian and I ran up the mountain road looking down the bank into the woods for any sign of Steve. Brian told me that he was driving behind Steve and saw him fly through the windshield when the truck first hit the guardrail, so he could be quite far from where the vehicle actually stopped. We ran up a little further and I saw him and froze. He had been stopped by a tree and was lying up against it – not moving. Brian started down the bank and at that time, I heard someone else moaning in pain, so I ran back down towards the noise. Steve’s girlfriend had been in the truck as well and was lying in the road behind the truck. She was in shock, losing a lot of blood and wasn’t aware of what had happened. I tried to calm her and keep her still while Brian started CPR on Steve.
At that time, more people arrived at the accident, but still no ambulance. When the ambulance finally did arrive, I was appalled at how slow the paramedics moved to help Steve. I remember thinking, did they not understand that he was young and had his whole life ahead of him? As they went over the bank, I remember looking down at the horrific scene and thinking that it would be ok. I thought that nobody dies that young; that the paramedics would take care of him and I would see him in the hospital, and he would return to school for our senior year. I was very wrong. The paramedics stopped working and I watched Steve’s body disappear under a white sheet. My body went numb and the rest is more of a blur. I remember seeing Steve’s English composition book (a class that we shared) ripped open on the road along with McDonald’s french fries, and his favorite CDs. I remember the police asking the same questions over and over again. And most of all, I remember the look on the face of Steve’s dad when he arrived at the accident and learned that his son died in a terrible car accident less than a mile from home. It was a look that equaled the epitome of true heartache and sadness; a look that I have seen many more times after that day in my mind and will never be forgotten.
Although I wanted to try to just put that day out of my mind and pretend it was just a bad nightmare, the days that followed reaffirmed the reality. I attended the viewing with my guidance counselors and my two friends, Gina and Brian. I walked in and saw that the casket was opened. I was surprised given that Steve’s face had been so badly damaged. As I approached the casket, I heard myself scream. Steve’s face was not right and his skin was not at all the color that any skin should be; it was a last minute decision to keep the casket opened. As I walked away, the guidance counselors suggested that we talk to Steve’s parents for a minute. The counselors explained to his parents that we were the first to the accident and we tried to help him. Steve’s mom responded by saying that all Steve ever wanted was to fit in and be liked and that all of us kids made that very hard for him. Then she turned to me and said that it was sad that Steve had a crush on me and I never gave him the time of day. I didn’t understand at the time how she could have said that to me. Her words sparked uncontrollable crying as I ran from the funeral home. I contemplated those words of hers over and over in my mind, especially in the following days and weeks. Sure, Steve and I had grown completely apart as teenagers. We were different people with different friends and interests, but that is what happens throughout life. We just weren’t friends but that doesn’t mean I ever picked on him and I certainly never even knew that he had a crush on me. At the time, I felt as though she wanted someone to blame and to feel the pain she felt, and I was the person standing directly in front of her; but even this rationalization didn’t make the guilt, pain, and sadness that overcame me lessen.
When the funeral ended, I forced myself to think that I was going to be able to put this all behind me and move on with my life. Senior year was approaching and college wasn’t too far behind. This was supposed to be one of the best years of my life, but somehow I just couldn’t shake what had happened that summer. I would lie in bed at night and think about it and finally fall to sleep only to revisit it in my nightmares. I avoided driving as much as possible because I was convinced that every car looked as though it was too close; that it could hit me head-on with just a little movement. When I did drive and would pass the place where the accident took place (which was necessary every time I drove to town), I would refuse to look in my rearview mirror because I was sure I would see Steve standing there in the road, staring angrily at me because I didn’t save him. I became afraid of the dark and silence at 17 yrs old because that is when the thoughts of guilt, sadness, anger, and hopelessness would attack me the most. I began to get dizzy or even pass out at the sight of blood or someone showing physical pain, which never happened before the accident, and meant that my consideration of going to medical school was now completely out of the question. And a couple of months afterwards, when I was feeling a little bit back to myself, a group of French students and their teacher from my neighboring town, died in a plane crash. Back into a funeral home I found myself, and mixed with the pain from this recent tragedy, all I could see was Steve and hear was his mother’s words as I attended yet another funeral of a teenager.
One of the worst parts of all of this is that I dealt with it all myself because nobody really knew what was taking place in my mind. I was very close with my family, my boyfriend, and some friends, but I worked hard to cover it all up because I thought that it was wrong for me to feel that way and that people wouldn’t understand what I was going through, especially since I didn’t understand it myself. Unfortunately it did seem to people as though I was often tired or in a bad mood because the memories and feelings would take over me and I couldn’t push them away enough to be back to my normal self. I am sure I wasn’t a pleasure to be around in those days. It just seemed as though everyone else was moving on, so why couldn’t I? I always thought, “What is wrong with me that I can’t get over this?”
Quite some time has passed since those days, and although it hasn’t been the smoothest journey, it has been one of much growth, especially in terms of understanding my emotions and feeling and those of others. What I have gained the most from this experience is the ability to have unwavering empathy for others and see the world through their perspective. After my experience, I would often look at people who appeared upset or angry and wonder what was going on in their lives since I learned from myself that so much can be happening introspectively without anyone knowing. I became very aware of people’s body language and expression of their feelings and emotions, even to the slightest degree. I gained an automatic sensitivity to people who, to some came off as mean or bad people, because I considered what their journey could have been in their life for them to act that way. This quality has also affected how I interact with others in a great way. I feel as though this perspective taking and empathy is one of the most important qualities of any relationship because it allows me to understand how someone feels and thinks even if I don’t feel the same about the topic. It also allows me to connect with all sorts of people because I have such an appreciation for people’s different life experiences that have molded them into the person they are today.
This focus on understanding others seemed to come fairly easy, however what wasn’t so natural was having this awareness of my own emotions and feelings, particularly since my emotions felt highly uncontrollable for quite some time following the accident. At first, my awareness of my own emotions and feelings came after I was feeling them. A few days after a fight with a friend I would think of how I was too dramatic in the fight and that the fight probably only occurred because I wasn’t aware of the feelings that had been building up over time to cause the big blow. I would also just try to put my feelings aside, thinking that I could get by with just ignoring them or dealing with them later, which never worked since what was bothering me would just come back in my dreams or result in a larger problem down the road. With time and effort, I became much better at understanding my emotions and feelings in the moment and dealing with them then. Although I thought I was quite aware of others before, this new self-awareness increased the quality of my relationships, which was such an important piece to the puzzle that I had failed to recognize earlier.
These skills and qualities are central to my personal and professional life today. While I can probably cite more instances of this at this point in my life than you have time to read, I would like to share how this growth has connected me with, and is very important in, my passion of working with children with autism and their families. Writing this story has helped me realize that part of why I am so intrigued by these children is because I am fascinated by how they think and feel and what their perspective is on the world. Figuring this out is very difficult, especially since some of these children do not speak much, however this has also taught me that you don’t need words to connect with someone. One of my first clients with autism was a very cute and bright little 3-yr old. One very difficult morning filled with tantrums and biting, I got down on the floor and just observed him playing. He came over to me and looked into my eyes, smiled, and held the eye contact for quite some time. It was his own little way of connecting and telling me that he trusts me. It said so much without a single word.
Managing my emotions and feelings in the moment is also key in this work because it can be highly frustrating when a child is tantruming for 30 minutes and you need to ignore the behavior in order to not reinforce it or when a child is biting or pinching you and it is very painful. At these times, I always stop and think what they must be going through inside. It allows me to never be angry with them and to be the calmest person in the room and think clearly in the midst of havoc.
My relationships with the parents with whom I work is another area where emotional intelligence make a meaningful difference. These parents generally have their lives turned upside down when their child is diagnosed with autism. I am sure that I will never fully understand what they are experiencing but my constant willingness to try helps to nurture my relationship with them and, therefore, allows me to make a more significant impact on the family as a whole.
Well, I have taken you through my journey from trauma to growth. Looking back, I wouldn’t ask for my life to have been any different. While my quest has been very challenging and painful at times, I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today had I chosen the way to the mall that avoided the mountain road that summer day. It has taken me many years to have this perspective on things, and it is still an ongoing challenge with every loss I experience. However, realizing and focusing on my growth always comforts me and allows me to see that I have come so far and plan to continue to grow myself and to Hold the Door for Others to do the same.