The Ring Theory and Cats

When Jim was still alive and I was still going to work almost every day, I managed tough days with a little help from a little pill - Xanax. I am an elementary school teacher. I was worried about him when I was at school and worried about my students when I was away. Xanax helped just take the edge off my anxiety. When I mentioned this to a colleague, she said, "Oh don't worry about it. When my cat died I had to take Xanax to get through it."

Now, before I start on that, let me just say, when my pets died, I cried. When my current pet seems to be slowing down and I even think about her dying, I cry. So I am not heartless to the impact we feel when a furry member of our family dies. But did she really just compare my husband's terminal illness with her cat dying? Her cat?

Enter, the Ring Theory of Grief. Early in Jim's treatment my dear friend +Mary Thompson shared with me the Ring Theory of Grief and I have called upon it so many times, I decided I should write about it. Susan Silk, a clinical psychologist, developed this theory after dealing with people during her own battle with breast cancer.

The basic idea is that there are a series of concentric rings. When Jim was alive, he was in the center, smallest circle. The next circle out was me, our son, Bobby and,Jim's siblings. In the next larger ring were our closest friends, my parents and my siblings. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Less intimate friends in the larger rings. When you are done, you have what Silk calls the Kvetching order, I am a bit more crass and call it the bitching order.

Now that Jim is dead, I am at the center of my circle, just as Jim's siblings are at the center of theirs and Bobby is at the center of his. What was not helpful to me was when people in my circles would come to me overwhelmed by grief and telling me how they can't handle Jim being gone. I know this sounds ungrateful, perhaps I should enjoy sharing my grief and hearing how much he was loved. And as time has passed, I have mellowed on this, the rings lines have become more permeable. 

But in the beginning, it really was all about me. I had no space to consider the emotions of others. I remember the clarity I felt about a month after I died when I brought some of Jim/James' ashes home to Iowa where his family all live. It hit me that they were grieving the loss of a brother, and Bobby his father. I have not experienced those losses yet and my heart was suddenly filled with a deep compassion for them at that moment. I am a little embarrassed to admit that it took me a full month to get there. 

But when I learn more about the ring theory, this all makes sense. From Silk and Goldman:

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the center ring.
Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.
When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it. Don't, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry" or "This must really be hard for you" or "Can I bring you a pot roast?" Don't say, "You should hear what happened to me" or "Here's what I would do if I were you." And don't say, "This is really bringing me down."

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.
Comfort IN, dump OUT.

from LA Times How not to say the wrong thing: It's the 'Ring Theory' of kvetching. The first rule is comfort in, dump out April 07, 2013|Susan Silk and Barry Goldman

The authors point out that the theory applies in times of crisis, and as the crisis subsides, it has been my experience that I am more willing to "hold the space" for other people's feelings around Jim's death. But I still get impatient when people try to make sense of my loss by comparing it to theirs. There is no sense to be made.

In her powerful recent memoir The Great Below, Maddy Paxman writes about mourning the death, at age 50, of her husband, the poet Michael Donaghy, and of others' stumbling efforts to help. One well-wisher tried to find common ground by mentioning the death of a cat. What the ex-cat owner didn't grasp is that it's not your job, in such contexts, to try to make things less awful. To use the language of therapy, it's to help "hold the space" in which feeling awful is OK. And if you genuinely feel awful about your cat, and want to talk about it‚ sure. Just perhaps not right this minute. 

from The Guardian