Apathy and loss of motivation following a bereavement

There are people who, following a bereavement or a significant loss, expect to feel bad in the ‘traditional’ way: crying a lot, feeling constant pain, having their heart visibly broken.

But then something else happens: they can no longer muster the energy to get up. Things that used to make sense suddenly seem distant; replying to a message takes effort; going shopping, working, going out, even choosing what to eat… everything feels like a struggle.

And then a question arises that is often frightening: “What is happening to me?”

Perhaps it’s happened to you too.

Perhaps you don’t even feel ‘sad’ in the way you imagined grief would be. You feel numb. Empty. Disconnected. As if something inside you has slowed down.

When grief doesn’t match the idea you had of grief

Many people think that grief means constantly feeling intense emotions, but it doesn’t always work that way.

There are moments when the pain doesn’t come as an intense wave; it comes like a fog. You wake up and feel a lack of energy, a lack of direction, a lack of desire.

The things that used to engage you no longer do so in the same way. Not because you don’t care or because you’ve become ‘cold’, but because a part of you is trying to cope with something much bigger than what can be seen from the outside.

Sometimes apathy is the way the mind-body system tries to protect itself from an overload that is too intense.

This is an important distinction. Many people in mourning start treating themselves as though they have simply lost discipline or willpower, but after a significant loss, the brain and body are doing a tremendous job; they are trying to adapt to a reality that is no longer what it used to be.

The person you loved is no longer here, or the relationship has ended, or your body has changed, or your life has lost the shape it had for years.

And whilst on the outside you may continue to function ‘reasonably well’, on the inside something is trying to figure out: ‘How do I live now?’

This process consumes energy, far more energy than others imagine.

“I don’t feel enthusiastic about anything anymore”

This is one of the phrases I hear most often, and it is a phrase that is very frightening because a lack of enthusiasm is easily interpreted as failure, depression or a definitive loss of self.

But after a significant loss, your system may temporarily stop investing energy in the future because the future you had imagined simply no longer exists. And this has a huge impact, even when you don’t fully realise it.

Sometimes you’re not just losing a person, but also:

• a version of yourself
• an identity
• a plan
• a sense of continuity
• a sense of home
• a sense of security

And it’s hard to feel motivated whilst all this is being reorganised.

The problem is that others often don’t see it

Because from the outside, apathy is easily misunderstood.

Those close to you might only see that:

• you go out less
• you talk less
• you seem distant
• you take less initiative
• you don’t feel like it

And then come the phrases you’ve probably heard before:

• “You need to pull yourself together”
• “You can’t carry on like this”
• “Take your mind off things”
• “Go out a bit”
• “You need to go back to how you were before”

But the point is that after certain losses, you don’t simply go back to being “the person you used to be”. And part of the suffering stems precisely from that – from feeling pressured to function normally when, inside, nothing seems normal anymore.

Sometimes you’re not depressed. You’re grieving.

Of course, there are situations where grief can turn into clinical depression, but not every dip in mood is depression.

When grieving, it’s common to:

• feel sluggish
• have little energy
• withdraw a little
• temporarily losing interest
• feel empty

This doesn’t automatically mean there’s anything ‘wrong’ with you; it means you’re going through something that deeply affects:

• the body
• the nervous system
• your identity
• your relationships
• the meaning of everyday life

The problem is that we live in a culture that has little patience for periods of grief, especially when the grief is not dramatic, but quiet.

What if a part of you had simply stopped?

Sometimes apathy is not the absence of grief, but frozen grief. It is the system that dampens everything because being fully in touch with the loss would be too overwhelming at that moment. This happens a lot:

• in traumatic bereavements
• in sudden losses
• in prolonged caregiving
• in anticipatory grief
• after months or years of emotional stress

The body and mind aren’t machines; when they’re under pressure for too long, they sometimes slow down drastically.

When apathy lasts for weeks or months, it’s easy to start believing that this numb version of yourself is now your new identity.

But in grief, people fluctuate a great deal; there are days when you feel something reigniting and others when everything feels heavy again. This fluctuation is normal!

The problem arises when you start fighting yourself constantly:

• demanding of yourself what you cannot give today
• interpreting every struggle as a failure
• feeling ashamed of your slowness

Shame often makes the blockage worse.

You don’t always need to ‘react’. Sometimes you need to start again with small steps.

Many people wait to find the motivation to start living again, but in grief the opposite often happens: first you make small movements, and then slowly something inside starts to move again—not grand revolutions.

Small things:

• taking a shower
• going out for ten minutes
• replying to someone
• eating something nutritious
• gradually returning to your body
• break the total isolation for a moment

Not because these things ‘heal’ the pain, but because they help the system from shutting down completely.

And no, regaining a bit of life does not mean forgetting

This is another important point. Many people unconsciously feel that wanting something again means:

• betrayal
• leaving behind those they have lost
• downplaying the pain
• moving on ‘too quickly’

But grief does not ask us to erase the bond; it asks us to slowly learn to live with it within a new reality.

And this takes time, much more time than others often allow.

After certain losses, desperately trying to return to exactly how things were before can become a constant battle against reality.

This does not mean giving up. It means acknowledging that something has truly changed.

And that the task, little by little, is not to pretend that nothing has happened… but to understand how to carry on living within this change.

Even if it seems impossible today.

Even if today you feel stuck.

Even if today there is more emptiness than motivation within you.