CLEARing Grief
How to use CLEAR when the weight of loss feels like it could crush you
The Scene
Marcus didn’t cry at the funeral.
Not even during the eulogy he helped write.
He stood there, jaw clenched, hands folded, nodding as people came up to say how strong he was. He thanked them. Hugged his aunt. Carried boxes. Cleaned out the garage the next morning.
But three days later, in the checkout line at the grocery store, it hit him...hard. A stranger asked how his day was going, and something inside cracked. He nodded, swallowed, walked fast to the parking lot.
Then he sat in the driver’s seat for twenty minutes. Not moving. Just staring out at nothing.
It wasn’t just sadness. It was disorientation. Exhaustion. Like the world had tilted and no one else noticed.
Let’s walk through CLEAR.
The Claim
There’s often no clear thought at first...just pain.
But eventually, something rises from the ache:
“If I really let myself feel this, I’ll lose control. I’ll never come back from it.”
That’s the thought that holds the door shut.
That’s the thought keeping the pain locked inside.
But is it true?
The Lie
Marcus is telling himself:
“I have to be strong. I can’t fall apart.”
It doesn’t sound like grief. It sounds like duty.
Unfortunately, that claim is shaped by distortion.
Emotional Reasoning
Marcus feels like breaking down would destroy him, so he believes it must be true. But feelings aren’t facts.
Just because the grief feels unbearable doesn’t mean it is.
All-or-Nothing Thinking
He sees only two options: collapse completely, or stay strong and cold.
But that’s a false choice.
There is a middle path: one that allows feeling without being ruled by it.
Personalization
He believes it’s his job to carry everything.
His mother’s sorrow.
His siblings’ confusion.
The legacy of the man they lost.
But that burden isn’t his alone.
Grief isn’t weakness.
And strength doesn’t mean silence.
The Evidence
Marcus has cried before, quietly, in private.
And each time, he came back.
Tired, but clearer.
He remembers something his uncle once told him: “Crying doesn’t make you less of a man. It just means you loved.”
The people around him don’t need him to be unbreakable.
They need him to be real.
And the truth is, no one comes back from loss unchanged.
But change isn’t the same as being ruined.
The Alternative
Instead of:
“If I let this out, I’ll fall apart.”
A better way to see it might be:
“I can let this move through me without being consumed.”
Or:
“This pain is love with nowhere to go. I don’t have to hide it.”
Grief doesn’t shrink when ignored. It deepens. But it can soften over time if it's faced with honesty and care.
The Role of Reason
Reason doesn’t fix grief.
It doesn’t rush it.
But it reminds a man what he still has power over:
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Whether he isolates himself... or accepts support.
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Whether he hardens... or lets the sorrow deepen him.
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Whether he honors the loss by living less... or by living more fully, more bravely, more truly.
Marcus still aches.
He still misses his dad.
But he makes a small decision: to call his brother, not to give advice or solve anything, just to talk.
And maybe tomorrow, he’ll take the long walk they used to take together.
Not because it makes it all better.
But because he’s still here.
And that matters.
Another Face of Grief
Grief shows up in many forms for men. Not all grief is from death. Some of it comes from dreams that didn’t happen. So let’s walk through one more scenario, and apply the CLEAR method to find our way through it.
The Scene
James used to picture a house with a yard.
A wife. Two kids. Dinner together.
A life where things made sense.
But now he’s in his late thirties.
Divorced. No kids.
Renting a small apartment and heating up leftovers at 9:30 p.m.
He tells himself it’s fine. He’s grateful. He has a job. Health. Friends.
But some nights, like this one, it creeps in:
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
That thought stings worse than usual.
He flips off the kitchen light and sits in the dark.
The Claim
“I wasted my life. I blew it.”
It’s not just regret. It’s grief for a life he didn’t get to live.
And it hurts just as sharply as the grief that follows death.
The Lie
James’ thought is laced with distortion.
Over-Generalizing
He takes one version of “success” and decides he’s failed because he didn’t reach it.
Should Statements
He’s punishing himself for not living up to a mental script he was never guaranteed.
Labeling
He calls himself a failure...even though his life is full of things that don’t fit that label at all.
The grief is real. But the shame piled on top doesn’t belong there.
The Evidence
James has made hard choices.
He’s left toxic relationships.
He’s helped others.
He’s still becoming.
There is no expiration date on meaning.
No single path that defines worth.
He’s not “behind.” He’s on the path...his own.
And there’s more road ahead.
The Alternative
Instead of:
“I wasted my life.”
A more honest and empowering view might be:
“My life didn’t go the way I imagined, but it’s not over. I can still choose what kind of man I become.”
Or:
“Grief over lost dreams is real. But so is the chance to build new ones.”
The Role of Reason
Reason gives James a new lens.
He still feels the ache...but he doesn’t curse the past.
Instead, he lights a candle, turns the light back on, and writes one small thing he can do this week to move toward something that matters.
Grief doesn’t always disappear.
But it doesn’t have to dictate who he becomes.
Final Reflection
Grief means something mattered.
It’s not a flaw. Not a weakness.
Not a sign that you’ve lost the path.
It’s proof that you had something worth loving.
And the path through it is slow, but real.
Let it shape you...but not shrink you.
Let it move you...but not define you.
Let it remind you that you are still here.
And there is still time.