If Only This Did Not Happen: Finding Meaning When Our World Breaks

There is a distinct "Before" and "After" in the timeline of a human life. This demarcation line is usually drawn by tragedy. In the "Before," the world felt predictable, perhaps even safe. In the "After," the map you used to navigate reality lies shredded.

Clients often come to therapy with a singular, heartbreaking wish: "I just want to get back to normal. I want to be who I was before this happened."

It is the most human desire imaginable. Yet healing cannot happen without acknowledging the truth: We cannot go back. The event has happened. The loss is real. Life has changed. Whether it's the quietly suffocating devastation of losing a loved one, the abrupt end of a career that defined us, or the painful severing of a relationship that anchored our world, loss leaves an indelible mark. It creates a distinct "here-and-after"—a dividing line between who we were and who we must now become.

Loss isn't a monolith; its texture varies. Some losses feel like an act of fate, a cruel reminder of the general fragility of things, yet still making us feel inexplicably targeted. Other losses, like betrayal, are intentional, cementing the belief that people are inherently untrustworthy or that we are perpetually and unjustly targeted. Each type of loss carves its own unique canyon within us.

Trapped in the If-Only:

When Rumination Pretends to Be Adaptation

It's natural to fixate on the moment everything changed. This fixation often takes the form of "if only" thinking – a mental loop that replays the past, searching for alternative paths or missed warnings. While grieving, you might sorely miss the person who is no longer there, but does that mean you should isolate yourself from those who remain?

This "if only" loop can feel like a necessary homage to the importance of what was lost. It might even feel like "doing the work" of processing emotions. But is it?

Rumination is a pervasive and unhelpful pattern of repetitive, passive thinking about one's distress, its causes, and consequences (Nolen-Hoeksema et al., 2008). It's not problem-solving; it's getting stuck in a mental loop. It is a key process that maintains suffering (Hofmann & Hayes, 2018). It locks our attention onto negative past events and hypothetical alternatives ("if only"), preventing us from shifting focus to present possibilities or future actions. It reinforces distorted thinking, convincing us that happiness is impossible because of what happened.

Compounding this is the phenomenon of affective realism, or what's often termed emotional reasoning in cognitive behavioral therapy (Leahy, 2013). When steeped in the profound sadness of loss, our emotions can literally color our perception of reality, making it incredibly difficult to see anything of interest or value in what remains. The intense feeling of emptiness can feel like an objective truth – "I feel hopeless, therefore things truly are hopeless." This isn't rational evaluation; it's our current emotional state hijacking our perception, making rumination even more compelling and harder to escape. Rumination simply feels right.

"If only" thinking often provides a compelling, yet ultimately limiting, explanation for our inability to reengage in the world around us. It posits that two events are inextricably linked, or that one absolutely depends on the other. For instance, a victim of an assault might believe they would be significantly happier if they were never assaulted (true) and that, consequently, having been assaulted precludes their chances at happiness (false). A piano prodigy might believe music defines them (true) and that it's impossible to find meaning in life other than through being a concert pianist (false), thus making it impossible for them to recover emotionally from an accident that damaged their hands.

The Costs and Illusions of "If Only":

• False Homage: It feels like we're honoring the magnitude of the event, when in reality, we might be getting stuck.

• Illusory Processing: We feel like we're "processing" emotions, but rumination is not adaptation. True processing involves engagement and action, not just mental replay.

• Justification for Inaction: "If that thing hadn't happened to me, I'd be doing all those other things." This allows us to avoid the discomfort of building a new path.

• Imprisoned Imagination: It traps us, making it impossible to even imagine a world where meaning or happiness can exist without that one lost ingredient.

• A Story of Perpetual Emptiness: It reinforces the idea that when something so valuable was taken, fullness is no longer possible.

  
  

An Introspective Exercise:

Consider an "if only" statement that often plays in your mind: "If only X hadn't happened, I would be happy." Now, imagine you were happy. What would you be doing? List at least ten specific things. Now, look at that list. Are there any of these things you can still do, despite the awful event you've experienced? This isn't about diminishing your pain, but about uncovering hidden avenues for engagement and vitality. (If you wish, click here to download a package of worksheets to assist you with this exercise).

Building a Life Anew: Engagement as Meaning

When circumstances are undeniably bad, forcing yourself to "feel good" is an inauthentic act that disconnects you from your true self. I am not asking you to deny your pain, but to recognize that you can act in a way that allows you to feel good about your own actions, even when the underlying pain of loss remains. This is the essence of finding meaning through engagement.

The Lego Blocks Metaphor:

Imagine you grab a fistful of LEGOs, a plan forming in your mind – a house, a robot. You begin to build. Then, I interrupt. I snatch some of your blocks, replacing them with entirely new ones that don't fit your original plan. You must recreate, rebuild. This happens a few times. You might still end up with a house, or perhaps a starship, but the only way anything gets built is if you keep on building. Life, meaning, purpose—they are about engagement. They are about building, even when the blocks change unexpectedly. This is the "right action" we can take (Harris, 2014).

The Playdough Metaphor:

Picture two balls of playdough, one blue, one red. You mix them, just enough for marbling, not fully blending. You feel their weight and shape in your hands. Then, you're asked to remove the red. It's impossible—as you try, some blue comes away, and some red remains mixed in. You're left with half as much dough. Life feels empty. Loss has left its indelible mark. The ball isn't just blue; it's a slightly purplish hue. Then, I give you a white ball of playdough and ask you to mix the remaining purplish dough with the white. The weight feels full in your hand again. But it’s different in color. We can have a full life after loss—the "size" of the ball—but it will be qualitatively different, tinted by our experience.

Embracing Useful Pain

We often experience two types of pain. First the primary pain of loss itself, and then, a secondary layer of pain—our emotions about the pain. This secondary suffering isn't necessary. We might distract ourselves or pretend nothing happened (avoidance, offering temporary relief leading to an extremely painful startle whenever we are forced to reengage with our lived reality). Or, we might get upset at our pain, thinking, "Not only have I lost something valuable, but now I'm losing control over my emotions!" This is often the realm of "useless pain" (Linehan, 1993).

Our emotions should match our circumstances, and we are capable of feeling many different emotions simultaneously (Leahy, 2013). Consider the profound experience of loss: the sharp pain of grief, the warmth of a hug from a friend who tries to offer support, the frustration with nagging tasks and obligations that won't go away to accommodate our anguish, the quiet relief that your loved one is no longer suffering, the daunting fear of facing life without their support. All these can coexist. Our emotions depend on what we pay attention to. There's an ancient tale of several blind men describing an elephant. One insists it's a snake (the trunk), another a saber (the tusk), while a third describes a column (the leg). Each perceives only a part. To live with our eyes open, we need to see the whole elephant, acknowledging every part of our experience - comfortable and uncomfortable, good and bad. Useless pain is just suffering without growth. It includes distraction, avoidance, overthinking, rumination, or getting angry at our own emotions. It prevents us from engaging with life, leading to progressive sense of hopelessness. Useful pain is the discomfort of re-engagement that leads to growth. It's the pain we experience when we face our triggers, gather proof that life goes on, take actions that make sense. You cannot adapt to something that you refuse to acknowledge. We experience the "reality slap" (Harris, 2014) head-on. This way we do not have to hide, lie to ourselves or even worse: lose more than life has already taken away.

For example, you might choose to visit a cottage full of memories of your loved one. You'll miss them acutely, but you also appreciate the beauty of nature and the bittersweet calmness around you. You might drive downtown, past your old workplace, and discover you can still meet friends and shop, even though you’re no longer wanted at the place where you spent 15 years. You meet an ex-partner, and though it's uncomfortable, you prove to yourself that you can manage such encounters and you don't have to reorganize your habits to avoid them. This is how emotions are truly processed—by engaging with life, not by avoiding its difficult corners. We gather evidence that things are still possible even though flavor of our life has been irreversibly altered.

Please do not do mental gymnastics to feel good about the loss by searching for hidden plans or silver lining. We can live a full, good life despite the loss and without such emotional acrobatics. CBT is often accused of forcing people into positive thinking. That is an unfortunate misunderstanding of a therapy that values authenticity and clear understanding of one's lived experience. The truth is that while you will still be tinted by the loss (the playdough), you can nevertheless experience fullness of life and learn to build despite unpredictability (the LEGOs).

References:

• Harris, R. (2014). The Reality Slap: Finding Peace and Fulfillment When Life Hurts. Exisle Publishing.

• Hofmann, S. G., & Hayes, S. C. (2018). Process-Based CBT: The Science and Core Clinical Strategies of a New Unified Protocol. New Harbinger Publications.

• Leahy, R. L. (2013). Emotional Schema Therapy: A Practitioner's Guide. Guilford Press.

• Linehan, M. M. (1993). Cognitive-Behavioral Treatment of Borderline Personality Disorder. Guilford Press. (Foundational text for Dialectical Behavior Therapy concepts, including primary/secondary emotions and useful/useless suffering).

• Nolen-Hoeksema, S., Wisco, B. E., & Lyubomirsky, S. (2008). Rethinking Rumination. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 3(5), 400–424.