I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has told me I’m “mature for my age.” At the time, I thought I was supposed to take that as a compliment and embrace it. Looking back, I realize that I had no idea just how young I really was.
Fifteen-year-olds should be soaking up the rest of their childhood, learning about themselves, and making necessary mistakes. They should feel comfortable taking up space, making noise, and feeling their feelings. When I was 15, none of those things mattered to me anymore. All that mattered was how deeply I missed my dad and getting through it one day at a time. I “grew up” at 15 because I didn’t have a choice given the circumstances I was in.
Not only have I been grieving my father since the day he died, but I have also recently started grieving the loss of my childhood. I’ve realized that the maturity people spent so long complimenting wasn’t really maturity at all; it was emotional suppression and isolation. I quickly learned that hiding my grief earned me the most compliments from adults, so I continued to hide. I made myself smaller and smaller until I didn’t recognize myself anymore—all while people praised how “well” I was handling my grief.
I didn’t feel safe expressing my grief to anyone except my mom. She was, and continues to be, my stake in the ground and my compass as I navigated grief. Even then, I found myself trying to protect her because I knew she was grieving too. I would suppress everything until I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and then I would cry in her arms until I couldn’t anymore. Sometimes, that lasted hours.
I wouldn’t dare cry in front of anyone else. That wouldn’t be mature of me. I couldn’t show weakness. I couldn’t disappoint anyone.
Disappoint anyone? By publicly grieving the death of my father? I hate that I ever had to feel that way, and I can only hope that all grieving children will find themselves in environments where they truly feel safe to openly express their feelings.
I was always a happy kid. I always had a big smile plastered on my face. I was extremely curious about the world around me and loved learning new things, whether in the classroom or by picking up a new hobby.
Then my dad got sick, and the light in the world started to dim. When he died, the world around me went dark. I completely forgot how to be a child. All I knew was grief.
I didn’t realize how much time I had lost until I got to college. I was a Kansas girl who had just moved to Boston, feeling completely lost and alone. I struggled to make friends because everyone seemed so full of light that I just couldn’t see. I felt like a fish out of water and finally realized I had missed out on some of the most formative years of my life because of my unsupported grief.
While everyone swapped stories about the fun things they did in high school, I listened with a fake smile plastered on my face, desperately hoping they wouldn’t ask me about my own experience—because I had nothing to share. To be honest, I spent the end of high school in class, doing my extracurriculars, and sleeping.
I felt like I had no personality. I had no idea who I was anymore. I found myself missing not only my dad but also my younger self. I began to grieve the loss of my childhood.
Grief is so much more complex than simply grieving the death of the person who died. You may also grieve the situational change that comes with it. You may grieve the loss of normalcy in your life. You may grieve the loss of your youth. None of that is wrong.
I’ve spent a lot of time working on healing my inner child—allowing myself to take up space, make mistakes, and learn more about myself every day. I’ve laughed louder and cried harder. I’ve made unforgettable memories with my friends. I’ve celebrated my accomplishments and learned how to pick myself up and recover from anything that gets in my way. I have good days and bad days, and I still have a long way to go, but I’m happy to say I’m rediscovering more about my younger self every single day.
If you take away anything from this post, let it be this: the lack of emotional expression does not mean maturity. Allow grieving people to grieve out loud. Not just children—everyone. Grieving children will grow into grieving adults. I will always make space for people, of any age, to grieve loudly and shamelessly, because I know how desperately I needed that as a child. And I know that sometimes, I still need to grieve loudly myself. I’m still working on stopping myself from apologizing if I begin to cry in front of my friends.
I do not need to apologize for feeling sad, and neither do you.
— Cate Murphy