Beyond the Misconceptions: Reframing Parental Grief and the Danger of Telling the Bereaved to ‘Stop Wallowing’
Misconceptions surrounding the nature of grief remain pervasive, particularly when it comes to the devastating loss of a child. For bereaved parents, these societal misunderstandings do far more than perpetuate unhelpful narratives—they can actively complicate and hinder the deeply personal healing process. When language is used carelessly by friends, acquaintances, and even mental health professionals, it can isolate those who are already navigating unimaginable pain.
For Melissa Caffrey and her husband, Jeff, both Licensed Professional Counselors, the harsh reality of these misconceptions became glaringly apparent just four weeks after the accidental death of their son, Colten. Ready to seek outside professional support, they understood firsthand the critical importance of finding someone who could simply hold space for them—a clinician who could guide them gently through the raw, uncharted and terrifying territory of profound loss. Instead, what they encountered was a series of profound failures from a well-meaning mental health professional who fundamentally misunderstood the nature of their trauma.
Among the most painful encounters during that early therapeutic intervention was the alarming bluntness with which they were told that, at some point, they would need to "stop wallowing."
For Caffrey, hearing that word felt like a physical slap in the face. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She and Jeff were not wallowing; they were grieving the most profound loss imaginable, and they had made deliberate, conscious choices to focus entirely on their survival and eventual healing.
Understanding that their profession as counselors demanded a level of emotional presence and clinical care they simply could not muster in the immediate aftermath, both parents had taken intentional time off from work. They recognized that they needed uninterrupted space to process their trauma and begin navigating a shattered reality. Consequently, they chose to spend the first two months exclusively in their home, surrounded by their adult children.
This decision was not made out of a desire to shut themselves away from reality or hide from the world. Rather, it was a deliberate choice to establish a safe space where they could grieve, remember, and adjust on their own terms before allowing external expectations to be imposed upon them by society.
During those agonizing initial weeks, they surrounded themselves with tangible reminders of Colten. His personal belongings transformed into precious artifacts of his brief life—powerful symbols of the memories they were desperate to preserve. Naturally, the experience was profoundly bittersweet. There were moments of uncontrollable sadness, waves of grief so physically intense that they nearly brought Caffrey to her knees.
The physical toll of this emotional devastation was measurable. Caffrey wore a fitness tracker during those early weeks and noticed a striking physiological response: her resting heart rate remained elevated by an average of 10 beats per minute, even during periods of complete rest. This data underscored a truth she now frequently shares with others—grief is never merely an emotional state; it is an all-consuming physical force that impacts the entire body, nervous system, and mind.
Yet, amid the overwhelming devastation, fleeting moments of light managed to break through. There were times of muted joy and laughter, resembling echoes of a familiar past life, which served as small, vital glimmers of hope. These moments acted as reminders that survival might eventually give way to something more. The family shared stories about Colten, smiled at cherished memories, and found deep comfort simply by being together. They discussed ways to honor his memory and carry him forward into their altered lives in a manner that felt both meaningful and intentional.
Reflecting on that period, Caffrey emphasizes that those months were the antithesis of wallowing. They represented a necessary crucible for carving out a new normal—a time to mourn deeply while quietly envisioning a future where Colten could still be carried in their hearts. Grief, as she points out through both personal and professional experience, is not something an individual simply "gets over." Instead, it is an enduring reality that one learns to carry. Taking that protected time together as a family proved to be one of the most effective steps they could have taken toward healing.
The overarching reality of deep grief is its sheer exhaustion. It remains physical, emotional, and relentless. Individuals who have not experienced such profound loss firsthand frequently fail to grasp the immense energy required simply to exist in its wake. Yet, enduring this process is not wallowing; it is survival. It is an expression of enduring love and the necessary work of finding a forward path while tethered to the memory of the child who was lost.
Drawing from her professional background as a Licensed Professional Counselor, Caffrey now recognizes how common it is for well-meaning individuals—including trained professionals—to mislabel the intensive work of mourning as wallowing. Because grief impacts thoughts, the nervous system, interpersonal relationships, and the fundamental sense of self, it demands compassion, patience, and gentleness rather than premature judgment or clinical dismissal.
This painful journey taught Caffrey a profound lesson: grief is an intensely personal expedition, and no outside observer has the right to dictate or judge how another person walks it. Taking the necessary time to grieve, to feel deeply, and to remember is not merely important—it is essential. For her family, granting themselves that grace was the foundational first step toward healing, regardless of how exhausting or agonizing the process proved to be.
For anyone who has ever been told that their grief resembles wallowing, Caffrey offers a clear and reassuring message: your grief is entirely valid, and your love is beyond question. The time required to process that loss is not a sign of weakness, but an act of courage. Giving oneself that space remains one of the most loving choices an individual can make for themselves, their family, and for the child they will carry in their heart for the rest of their lives.
