Where it all began
"Krist... Dad's dead."
The last thing in the world I expected to hear.
I came to this work the same way my clients usually come to me - through heartbreak and devastation.
Over twenty years ago, I was living in Melbourne, Australia, and my family were back home in New Zealand. I was flying home that day to spend time with my beloved nana, who was dying of cancer.
As I stood outside my office with my suitcase, waiting for my taxi to the airport, looking forward to spending time with Nana, I returned my mum's odd phone message.
That was when Mum told me that my dad, aged 57, had just dropped dead of what they believed to be a heart attack.
He had no history of heart disease or serious problems. He had been chatting to the plasterer, trying to get work done in the house before my arrival, when he suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed.
And my world changed forever right there.
And that was only the beginning for my family.
My nana almost died the day after Dad's funeral. She lived another few months, but in that time four more family members died, so that when she died, she was the sixth death for us in four months.
The thought of her dying had been breaking my heart before any of this began. But by the time she died, I'd been through so much that I was completely numb. I barely felt anything at all.
If you're feeling sympathy for me about now, put that on hold and read on. This story doesn't go how you might think it does.
Looking for help
I had already been struggling with depression for many years. Now things went from bad to worse.
For the first couple of years after the deaths, I went through one version of hell or another.
People around me thought I was "handling" it well. I've never been one for falling apart in public, but I was in pieces behind the scenes.
My life felt like it had stopped. And there were plenty of times I wanted my life to really, truly end.
At first, I didn't cry at all. I couldn't.
I felt numb, I couldn't sleep, I had no energy, and I lost weight I couldn't afford to lose. I felt like stone, with a constant dull ache inside me.
I was back at work, smiling like the Cheshire cat. I had responsibilities, and I wanted to be "strong". But keeping my face on at work used up every bit of energy I had.
As soon as work finished, I crashed hard. I would often come home and go straight to bed.
Roughly once every two weeks for the rest of that year, I'd ring work and say I just couldn't come in. Luckily, I worked in mental health, so I could be honest and say I didn't have it in me that day.
I barely socialised anymore. People felt incredibly exhausting, and even everyday things became heavy.
At one point I ended up in the emergency department, unable to stand with intense pain in my abdomen. The doctors found nothing physically wrong. Even then, I understood it was the stress and pain I was carrying.
Most people thought I was okay. I was a terribly long way from being okay.
Straight after Dad died, I'd started looking for help. You name it, I probably tried some version of it: multiple psychologists, a life coach, spiritual healers and teachers, yoga and meditation, a range of physical therapies.
Some wanted me to talk about my pain, hour after hour. It felt comforting and validating, but it didn't actually change anything. I'm not sure it was ever really meant to.
Others gave me tips, tricks and methods to manage my grief. But none of that was truly helpful.
And the world offered a thousand ways to avoid my pain. I tried plenty of them, but that was never going to be a solution.
In all that time, no one ever mentioned the idea of truly healing. I don't think I met a single person who believed it was possible, so I didn't know it was either. I don't think I'd ever heard of the concept.
But something in me kept me looking.
I wasn't specifically searching for healing. I don't know if I even knew what I was searching for. I think I was just searching for more.
Somehow, I just knew this couldn't be all there was.
What changed
A couple of months after Nana died, I set off for twelve months of travel. I'd been planning it for years, but by then I just wanted to escape.
But as I learned the hard way (and maybe you have too), wherever you go, there you are. My grief came with me, packed more tightly than my passport or my bags. It was the one thing I couldn't lose, and no one could take.
It was a horrendous year. Even the wonderful parts - falling in love, meeting incredible people, seeing amazing places - couldn't touch the agony I was in. I was deeply depressed the entire time, and there were many days I wanted my life to end.
Then I arrived in London.
Within a few months, I'd stumbled into a whole new world of personal development. I went on courses, read a lot, and threw myself into learning.
I wasn't actively working on my grief with anyone. But I found myself constantly thinking about it, turning over every stone, and applying everything I was learning to my dad's death, and to the other deaths too.
I began to see that some of what I automatically believed about grief was actually a brick wall between me and a totally different experience. And I started learning different ways to look at my dad's life and death, and at how they had shown up in my life and my family's. That opened up a whole new, empowering world.
That went on for months. Then one day, I realised something.
I could think about every part of my dad's death - the day he died, seeing his body, the funeral, what it was like for my mum and my brother, what the future held and what it no longer held - and I couldn't find any pain. Not anywhere.
There was no thought of my dad that hurt me anymore.
I had healed. And it was a complete shock. I hadn't even known that kind of healing was possible.
In all the years since, the pain has never come back, and nothing new has ever surfaced.
The deaths in my family had been the worst thing that had ever happened to me. At the time. Now they're among the most profound and meaningful events of my life.
There is no memory of my dad that hurts me. Nothing I need to hide from. No regret I carry. Nothing I would change.
Healing didn't take my dad away from me. It just meant the pain no longer stood between us.
My dad's life isn't a tragic story to me. It's a beautiful and perfect story, with no chapter I would rewrite. And it has unfolded into the most beautiful legacy I can imagine, one that just keeps growing.
Why I do this work
When I realised I had healed, it occurred to me very quickly: people need to know about this. They don't know this is possible for them. I certainly hadn't.
At the time, I was training as a coach, working across all sorts of areas. But once I realised the way I'd healed was a process of my own, I knew grief was the only area I wanted to work in. It was the work I loved.
That's where the G.R.I.E.F. Process was born. It has kept evolving ever since, and it will keep evolving for as long as I do this work (which I plan on being for the rest of my life).
That was nearly two decades ago.
My clients are my classroom. I haven't learned about grief from books written by people who haven't healed themselves. I've learned from every single person I've worked with.
Each one has taken my understanding deeper than I could have imagined when I began.
And it's still, to me, the most fascinating, powerful and beautiful area I could work in.
A bit more about me
When I'm not working (well, I guess when I am too), I'm mama to my daughter and our two cats. I've lived in different parts of the world, and though I've been back in New Zealand for a few years now, I still tell myself it's only temporary. My feet are eternally, incurably itchy.
I know it's a cliché, but give me the ocean, a long walk on the beach, a good coffee and a novel, and I'm happy. Even happier with some 80s music playing.
"I have gone from wanting to end my life, to living a most incredible life." — Debbie
Let's talk
Something in me knew there had to be more than learning to carry grief for the rest of my life. Maybe something in you knows it too.
If you'd like to find out whether this work is right for you, we start with a free discovery call.
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