Injunctions or stoppers according to Berne (1972 p.139) are “the most important part of the script apparatus, and varies in intensity”, and defines it as “A prohibition or negative command from a parent”. Maybe I would have entered the office in an arrogant manner. Others could have perceived me as arrogant. Too right. Megan Devine shows us that rather than treat grief as an illness to recover from, we can approach it with warmth and understanding. This is an invaluable book.”—Rene Denfeld, bestselling author of The Enchanted and The Child Finder

In this special encore episode, Sandy Hook parent survivor Nelba Márquez-Greene and I discuss what cries of “release the photos!” means to survivors who have already had their private lives invaded, and their peoples’ images co-opted for others’ use.The process is not about what’s right or wrong. It’s also not about testing your faith or emotional stability. It’s a simple experiment to help you reduce suffering. The ‘I’m OK, You’re not OK’ person has been decided on within the second or third year of life. They tend to be angry, showing hostility, viewing others as incompetent and not to be trusted from a superior position, belittling them with competitiveness. Without much conscience, they view faults within situations are due to others, and not themselves. 'I’m not OK, You’re OK' Challenging conventional wisdom on grief, a pioneering therapist offers a new resource for those experiencing loss Starting this week we’re releasing some of our favorite episodes from all three seasons of the show - some you may have missed, and some you need to listen to again and again just to absorb even more of their goodness.

It’s easier to see when we take it out of the intensely personal: stubbing your toe hurts. It totally hurts. For a moment, the pain can be all-consuming. You might even hobble for a while. Having your foot ripped off by a passing Death tends to bring out the worst in people. Many often don’t know how best to behave in the wake of death because they feel helpless. Since there’s no right way to grieve, people do what they can to cope. Quiet, distant in-laws may suddenly want to take over the funeral or bring up inheritance issues. Longtime friends may stop calling you to avoid uncomfortable silence. Acquaintances who do have something to say may express tone-deaf mantras of encouragement at the wrong time. Even spiritual communities may try to tell you that grief is a test of faith that you must face to gain points in the afterlife. Here’s the thing: every loss is valid. And every loss is not the same. You can’t flatten the landscape of grief and say that INTRODUCTION The way we deal with grief in our culture is broken. I thought I knew quite a bit about grief. After all, I’d been a psychotherapist in private practice for nearly a decade. I worked with hundreds of people—from those wrestling with substance addiction and patterns of homelessness to private practice clients facing decades-old abuse, trauma, and grief. I’d worked in sexual violence education and advocacy, helping people navigate some of the most horrific experiences of their lives. I studied the cutting edge of emotional literacy and resilience. I cared deeply and felt that I was doing important, valuable work. And then, on a beautiful, ordinary summer day in 2009, I watched my partner drown. Matt was strong, fit, and healthy. He was just three months away from his fortieth birthday. With his abilities and experience, there was no reason he should have drowned. It was random, unexpected, and it tore my world apart. After Matt died, I wanted to call every one of my clients and apologize for my ignorance. Though I’d been skilled in deep emotional work, Matt’s death revealed an entirely different world. None of what I knew applied to loss of that magnitude. With all my experience and training, if anyone could be prepared to deal with that kind of loss, it should’ve been me. But nothing could have prepared me for that. None of what I’d learned mattered. And I wasn’t alone. In the first years after Matt’s death, I slowly discovered a community of grieving people. Writers, activists, professors, social workers, and scientists in our professional worlds, our small band of young widows and parents grieving the loss of young children came together in our shared experience of pain. But it wasn’t just loss that we shared. Every one of us had felt judged, shamed, and corrected in our grief. We shared stories of being encouraged to “get over it,” put the pastIf you’ve ever experienced permanent loss firsthand, you know that platitudes and advice don’t work. It doesn’t matter if good intentions are behind them. They can come across as incredibly dismissive and impersonal. Rebecca Woolf has worked as a writer since her teens - it’s the way she understands both herself and the world. Her essays have appeared on Refinery29, HuffPost, Parenting, and more. She currently authors the bi-weekly column Sex & the Single Mom on romper.com. Her latest book is All of This: a Memoir of Death and Desire. Why well-meaning advice, therapy, and spiritual wisdom so often end up making it harder for people in grief

The Demon is an internal unpredictable impulsive voice in which Berne compares to the concept of Freud’s (1989 [1940]) ‘id’, although the reasoning why is unclear as he never went into detail to explain. As though loss and hardship were the only ways to grow as a human being. As though pain were the only doorway to a better, deeper life, the only way to be truly compassionate and kind.”Why everyone has an opinion about how soon is too soon to date, have sex, or otherwise live your life after someone dies of great pain, and to love one another when the pain of this life grows too large for one person to hold. This book offers the skills needed to make that kind of love a reality. Thank you for being here. For being willing to read, to listen, to learn. Together, we can make things better, even when we can’t make them right.