Grief touches all of us, and yet none of us in quite the same way. My grief is different to yours, to his, to hers, and to theirs. This can make it feel isolating at times. At Oxford, the relentless pace of academic output, the churning mill of essays and tutorial work, allows little time for indulging in sadness. Not feeling up to it is no excuse, we are told. For me, grief is inseparable from the geography of the city itself. It’s in the cobbled streets that I’ve cried along on the way to class, it’s in the reflection of the river, the stillness of the meadow, the library. After multiple bereavements during my time here, memories of my own distress overlay one another in an unsettling repetition.
Grief has fundamentally altered my university experience. It has led me to miss important emails, struggle to concentrate for extended periods, lose a sense of purposeful organisation. My academic life has become a constant test of self-forgiveness and self-compassion. It’s difficult to watch others completing in just a few hours an assignment that took me several days. At the same time, bereavement has taught me crucial perspective – sometimes there are more important things in life than Prelims.
The stifling effects of grief haven’t inhibited my productivity alone, but also my ability to socialise. My increased anxiety levels leave me feeling overwhelmed by the smallest of tasks, and I often zone out of social situations. My friends and I laugh about how long I spend staring into space, but the blank look is less a sign of disinterest than a reflection of my lack of presence. The rapid swings of my emotions have become uncontrollable and unpredictable. It happens at the most inconvenient moments – a ball, a formal, a musical performance – but I’m lucky to have friends at hand to offer a tissue.
Beyond my fluctuating moods, I have come to realise the extent to which seasons can affect the intensity of grief. I found summer time particularly difficult, characterised by listless days and sleepless nights. Everyone seemed to be enjoying their Trinity, punting and picnicking in the sun. Yet for me the sunshine felt much heavier and melancholic. Instead, I spent a lot of time inside, burying myself in my work. Certain dates brought painful anniversaries. It can be difficult to know how to spend the time, whether to memorialise the day with others or simply get through it. I found myself collating commemorative Instagram posts, but while meaningful, this never feels enough.
The title of this article is ironic because, in my experience, there is nothing more frustrating than advice on how to deal with grief. How can I regulate something so omnipresent, so bound up with my existence? The assumption that it is resolvable is absurd; the attempt, though well-intentioned, is audacious. But perhaps there is something to be gained from sharing our experiences. Hope? Or maybe a sense of unity and empathy. After all, the prerequisite for grief is, in fact, love. Could it be that the desired result isn’t resolution, but simply understanding?
First and foremost, my advice would be to accept support from your loved ones. It may help to communicate how they can be there for you. This can mean a phone call, a sweet treat, or simply leaving you to your own devices for a while. For some, professional support can be extremely beneficial. Counselling, although awkward at first, as I struggled to open up fully, became fundamental to my healing process, and I still contact my counsellor from time to time. Likewise, I would suggest reaching out to your College Welfare services. I used to book a weekly appointment and would always leave feeling much lighter thanks to their support and encouragement.
Believe it or not, your support network also includes your tutors. It may help to let them know you’re feeling overwhelmed, and at the very least, it gives them context for potential underperformance. Giving yourself grace academically is important: unsurprisingly, I began my second year feeling completely unprepared. Try to absolve your mind of self-judgement. It may take time, but there is nothing you cannot bounce back from.
It helps to observe the little things, a drink or a sweet treat, that brighten your day, and indulge in them (my blueberry matcha latte obsession grew exponentially). This can also include hobbies and activities. I reconnected with my life-long love of tap dance, and this became the only time of the week I could completely switch off. At Oxford, I’ve also found escape in the cinema. Even if Moana 2 didn’t quite live up to my expectations, it did distract me from the stresses of university life. As time passes, you might also find relief in creativity, be it writing, poetry, singing, or art.
Finally, know that grief comes in waves. The intensity can wax and wane over time, even if it always stays with you. My dog passed away while I was editing this article and I’ve strangely found myself consulting my own words, grounding myself once again. Throughout university I have often felt that things will never get better. Yet, despite my pessimistic disposition, I find myself surprised by how, in time, life changes in ways I never anticipated. When the time comes, and it will, lean into moments of lightness and laughter. Oxford is far from easy, even without the echo of grief. I hope you find solace in the knowledge that you are not alone and take pride in your strength in persisting, in spite of it all.
Sending warmth and my condolences this Michaelmas.
