I found myself weeks behind the Tiger King craze that captivated the nation in the early days of the pandemic. While many adjusted to a new way of life and debated whether we were living through a surreal nightmare, everyone seemed engrossed in Tiger King. I, however, was not. I skimmed the reviews and chuckled at the countless memes but missed engaging in a significant cultural moment.
It wasn’t for a lack of time. As a single parent juggling the demands of remote teaching and trying to carve out a career during a pandemic, I certainly had the time to watch something after my kids went to sleep. Instead, I often felt too mentally exhausted to engage in anything that required substantial thought. Each night, I would sit with the remote in hand, staring blankly at the TV, unless I could find solace in something like Dead to Me—because if I could find a reason to laugh about my experience, I was all in.
Instead, I allowed the television to serve as mere background noise in a home that had become eerily quiet and lonely. I would scroll through social media, attempt to write, or, more often than not, get lost in an endless void of mindless internet browsing. And in doing so, I missed out on those shared national conversations.
The reason? I was grappling with what many call “grief brain.” Before becoming a widow, I had never heard of this phenomenon, nor could I have comprehended how watching a simple show could become a challenge. It seems straightforward—just sit back, watch, and let the characters entertain you. Yet this requires focus and concentration, which can be surprisingly elusive when your life is upended by loss.
Dr. Lisa M. Shulman, a neurology professor at the University of Maryland and author of Before and After Loss: A Neurologist’s Perspective on Loss, Grief, and Our Brain, explains that while we often associate brain trauma with physical injuries, the emotional trauma of loss can have equally profound effects on our minds and bodies. Grief can manifest as confusion, disorientation, and forgetfulness.
Grief brain is real. It’s akin to a physical injury in its impact. I vividly recall the early days of my grief—the first time I completely forgot an appointment, something that had never happened before my loss. I remember wandering from room to room, unable to recall what had prompted me to rise in the first place. I would gaze at a beloved author’s latest book, wishing it could still captivate me like it once did, but often struggling to focus on the words for more than a fleeting moment.
It wasn’t until I read about others’ experiences with grief that I realized I wasn’t alone. I began to understand that grief extends beyond the sadness felt during funerals or on significant dates; it permeates every thought and moment, reshaping everything you once knew. Recognizing that my struggles were not unique allowed me to grant myself the grace and time I needed to rediscover my sense of self.
These days, I find it somewhat easier to navigate my daily life. I may not be significantly more scatterbrained than before my loss (or perhaps I am, but that could also be attributed to the challenges of solo parenting). I’ve improved at focusing on essential tasks and have become better at jotting down notes and setting reminders on my phone.
Yet my ability to enjoy television or dive into a good book has not fully returned. This is frustrating, especially now, during a pandemic when zoning out with a captivating series would be a welcomed distraction. In virtual gatherings, when the inevitable question about what I’m watching arises, I find myself mumbling about a show I’ve heard is worth watching without admitting that my list of potential shows remains untouched. I don’t share that I still struggle to watch TV, even two years after my husband’s passing. I don’t want to appear broken by grief—because I know I am not.
It’s simply part of the journey of grief and where I currently stand in it. I do not know if I will ever fully return to watching TV or reading books as I once did. I hope so—I missed the Tiger King buzz, but I’d love to be part of the next cultural phenomenon. But the truth is, grief has no set timeline or rules.
What I can do is extend grace to the new version of myself, one who has experienced a profound transformation in just a few years. This version of me might not be ready for Tiger King just yet, but she stands strong for her children amidst a global pandemic. She understands that healing, like recovering from a physical injury, takes time and varies from person to person. And she knows that sharing her story may one day help another woman who feels disconnected from the world, reminding her that she is not broken by grief.
For additional insights on grief and its impact, you can explore more at this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. Also, if you’re interested in understanding infant behaviors related to this topic, this site provides authoritative information. For a deeper dive into personal experiences with grief, check out this blog post.
Summary
The author reflects on how grief has affected her ability to enjoy entertainment, sharing her experience with “grief brain” and the challenges of focusing on media after the loss of her husband. She discusses the emotional trauma of grief and how it reshapes one’s perspective on life, emphasizing the importance of self-compassion and understanding in the healing process.