When the Body Keeps the Score: The Curriculum of Grief

It took me five years to recognize that I was grieving.

They say when you leave an abusive relationship, you follow a trajectory similar to that of the Kubler-Ross model of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and hopefully, acceptance. From the moment my counsellor shared this with me, I became completely fixated on the outcome. All I needed was a plan with a beginning, a middle, and an end. I thought that if I could just check of the boxes, I could get to the “end” of it.

Looking back, I know I was incredibly naive to think this way. Yet, this false sense of control helped me get through the darker moments of my recovery.

Denial

Denial consumed majority of my initial therapy sessions at the Sexual Assault Centre of Ottawa. Even though I had registered myself for their 20-week individual support program, I wasn’t ready to accept that my relationship for what it was: domestic abuse. Growing up, my exposure to violence against women had often been depicted as one-off traumatic events. I never learned that abuse could find a home in a long-term relationship, nor that sexual assault could be committed by a partner. I was learning a new language for my own life.

The majority of my time at the centre was spent learning about healthy relationships and boundaries, which allowed me to see my past relationship in a whole new way.

Anger

As the denial began to thaw, I anticipated the anger that would come next. I wanted to kick and scream. I felt that if I yelled loud enough, someone might finally notice the depth of the pain I was in.

Instead, hatred and betrayal filled my bones. I felt a searing hatred for the man who had caused my pain, and a profound sense of betrayal by the systems that were “supposed” to protect me.

We tell a woman to come forward, yet when she does, she is met with limited resources and endless roadblocks.

• In university, I confided in a therapist regarding ongoing stalking and harassment. I told him that I feared for my safety; he directed me “to keep an eye on it.” That very day, after my appointment, I took the elevator down to the main floor, and my abuser was waiting right there for me.

• A few years later, when I asked for information about a potential restraining order, I was told it would be difficult for my case to move forward because I lived on the border of two provinces. Since both jurisdictions would need to be involved, they recommended I simply “try to move on.”

At the time, the notion of acceptance felt like a lifetime away. Because the systems around me wouldn’t hold the perpetrator accountable, I started to blame myself and the anger turned inwards. I felt I had failed myself. I convinced myself that there were signs I should have seen, and that somehow, I was responsible for my own undoing.

It saddens me to say that as I moved into the next stage, I spent a lot of time hating the person I saw in the mirror. My mind ran through a relentless loop of “what-ifs”:

• What if I had seen the red flags?

• What if I had put my own feelings first?

• What if I hadn’t had poor boundaries in the first place?

Nowadays, when I see sexual assault trials in the news, my heart breaks for the victims. I know exactly how they reach that place of self-blame, because the world teaches a woman to believe that the harm done to her is a reflection of her own choices.

Bargaining

Feelings of guilt, shame and disgust quickly flooded my mind. As I sat with these feelings, I started to question everything about my experience.

“If only I had…” or “How could I have done things differently?” These were never-ending scenarios, that yet again provided me with the tiniest sense of control.

No matter how much I bargained with myself, I started to understand that I would never be able to change the outcome. Regardless of how many scenarios I played in my head, I wouldn’t be able to reason my way out of what happened to me.

I started to let go of my grip and accept that I couldn’t control what was happening to me. Coming to terms with this realization brought on some of my darkest days.

Depression

Even though acceptance was supposedly on the other side, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. I wasn’t even sure how to climb out of the darkness; it completely engulfed me.

Sleep no longer felt safe as night terrors took over. I tried to cope by avoiding any potential triggers, which caused me to withdraw and isolate myself from everyone who loved me.

“I couldn’t face myself, let alone those closest to me. Numbing the pain through sleeping pills and alcohol felt like the only way out.”

The length of time spent in this depression made it harder than everything that came before. Minutes felt like hours. Days dragged on for months. As years passed, I started to believe that I would never be able to pull myself out.

"I realized my body was protecting me in ways my conscious mind wasn’t yet strong enough to carry.”

Acceptance

There was no “aha” moment, but somehow time had allowed the deep sense of humiliation to lift. The more I leaned on loved ones, the more I realized I didn’t have to go through this alone.

Little by little, I opened up—a conversation here or there, never fully sharing everything out loud. Even to this day, those closest to me don’t know the depth of the abuse, nor do they need to.

Acceptance didn’t come all at once; instead, I spent years unveiling my true past. Over time, as I began to feel safe, I started to truly confide in others. What happened next came as quite a surprise.

In my mind, I believed I had conquered this experience by working through each of these stages so meticulously. Yet, what I had failed to recognize was how my body stepped in to protect me at a time when my mind couldn’t.

While I may have come to terms with the emotional turmoil, the trauma still lives on in my body. Memories have started to resurface as physical sensations, often triggering a fight-or-flight response.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of my plan.

It has been frightening to navigate, yet it’s taught me that grief doesn’t follow a trajectory. There is no “end date” when it comes to healing.

It serves as a beautiful reminder: I have finally gotten to a place where my mind can let go, giving my body the space it needs to heal.