What are the grief Olympics? Where did I hear about them?
I wish I could claim credit for this amazing little phrase, but unfortunately, I can’t!
I first heard “Grief Olympics” a few years ago, used by Alua Arthur, a renowned death doula. I don’t know if she came up with this term, but she described a tense scenario between arguing siblings, sighing, “The Grief Olympics have commenced.” She went on to describe the accusations the siblings hurled at each other:
“Well, at least you got more time with Dad while he was healthy.”
“No, at least you didn’t need to deal with him while he was sick and crabby.”
And on it goes.
The Grief Olympics in action… “My grief isn’t as bad as..”
The Grief Olympics, essentially, are when people grieving a loss compete against society, other grievers, and even themselves.
This can be obvious, like in the interaction described by Alua, where the siblings are trying to invalidate each other’s pain by claiming various reasons why their own grief is worse.
Or this can be much more subtle. This is something I’ve absolutely observed in my work with my clients. Rather than attempting to invalidate and compare someone else’s grief, they try to invalidate and compare their own sorrow.
Someone might say, “Oh, this was only my mother who died after I’m a fully grown adult. This isn’t as bad as a father losing a child to a car crash.”
But then the father might say, “Well, I didn’t lose my son to suicide, like that bereaved mother in my grief group.”
And once again: on it goes.
Not comparing, but honoring
We can hold space and honor all grief in its many forms. While grief is most often recognized when it’s attached to death, if something feels particularly heavy, it’s probably grief.
And you’re allowed that.
You CAN have intense, heartbreaking grief for the death of your soul cat. You CAN have intense, heartbreaking grief for your dead mother, even though “this is just the way of the world, that parents die and we bury them.”
We don’t need to compare cat death vs. mom death.
Grief is grief, and this is your own. It is worthy of care.
Invalidated grief is ripe for the Grief Olympics
One of the many unpleasant results of living in a grief-avoidant society is we feel we must engage in the Grief Olympics to gain validation for our grief, especially if it’s non-death grief.
This is where you might hear grief group horror stories, like someone declaring, “My beloved dog died, and this grief is so intense, it’s worse than the pain of losing your estranged sister to an overdose. You didn’t even talk to her!”
Please know that I’m not advocating for “owning” your grief so much that you say hurtful things.
Know that I AM advocating for a full-stop of grief comparison. Period.
Grief in all its forms (not just death) deserves to be honored, not minimized or compared
We feel grief for many things. Death is just one (common) way grief manifests.
Here are a few others. For fun, I will cite examples I have had experience with that are NOT death my own experience with death-related grief, which I have also experienced.
- Grief for partner loss, including breakups and divorce
(I felt like I was dying when an ex-partner initiated an unexpected break and my world collapsed on top of me) - Grief for the loss of bodily functions
(I grieve my lower back troubles, preventing me from training the way I usually do and affecting my mental health) - Grief for identity shifts and ego deaths…even those we want
(I once sobbed for hours as I packed up my very first apartment for a move I wanted, planned for, and eagerly anticipated) - Pet grief
(Yes, this absolutely deserves a place on the list, and yes, I was once rendered shattered by the death of a pet, careening around my apartment during the darkest days of COVID lockdown, clutching a tiny bag of my dead cat’s fur) - Grief for friendship breakups
(I have mourned many friendships that have ended for various reasons)
These are quickly-elaborated reasons, but there are many more forms of grief, possibly too many to list.
The point is to illustrate one thing: that each of those griefs is not related to dying, and yet, each grief is worthy of tending. I have done my best to tend to my grief over the years, and it’s still an evolving death. This is true for death-grief as well, and I have spent time dialoguing with this, honoring my dead loved ones as best as I can.
It’s hard to stop comparing your grief to someone else’s. Or worse, to invalidate your grief because “it’s not as bad as theirs.” I get it.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. Because all grief is heavy. And it all deserves space to be held.
Do you feel like your grief isn't "that bad?" Let's work through that together.
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We certainly don’t engage in the Grief Olympics, and after listening to your unique stories and situation, I can gently point out where you may be playing the Olympics with yourself.
