This article is written by Rell DeShaw, manager at the Government of Canada, and occasional blogger

I was reading about the events in Washington DC on 6th January when a side story caught my eye.

A man called Jamie Raskin had had a hell of a week. Having buried his son, who died after committing suicide, Raskin was summoned to speak before Congress during the Electoral College fight, and would later that same week draft articles of impeachment for what would become the second impeachment trial of Donald Trump.

Multiple congressional colleagues asked Raskin how he was able to be present, let alone serve as a floor leader, during the Electoral College fight. Raskin told them: “I’ve only done the work that I have to do. The work just happens to be impeaching a runaway president.”

I appreciated that Congressman Raskin was so clear-eyed about his mission, even in the face of unspeakable tragedy. It echoes the sentiments of former Canadian public servant Kevin Page, who took on a challenging role as the parliamentary budget officer (an office to produce cost estimates for proposed programmes at the request of members of parliament) after his son died tragically.

As the Toronto Star reported on 1st November 2018:

“Priorities like a ‘nice, secure job path’ to retirement were suddenly meaningless. After several months in a haze of sorrow that he says never dissipates, Page decided to gamble everything and apply to become PBO. He had lost a son. Nothing could be worse than that.”

I lived through the sudden though not unexpected death of my younger brother Louie, and later the sudden and very unexpected death of my father as he was playing golf one beautiful July day. Congressman Raskin's grief led me to reflect on the ways in which grieving at work took my career to better places.

If I were to distil them, I would say enduring grief while being at work has taught me four important lessons:

1. I’m done working for jerks

With respect to the great Bob Sutton, who has written extensively about surviving in workplaces with assholes, I am no longer willing to put myself into the direct path of a toxic boss.

The workplace can be a difficult place to be a grieving person, even if it ultimately sharpens our desire for what we want out of our careers and makes us more compassionate as managers

The single best career decision I ever made was to leave a difficult workplace in the months after my father died. I called on many people for advice and support about whether to leave a job, less than a year in, when an unexpected offer came across my path with a smart, calm and lovely boss. I spent many white nights worrying about leaving my hardworking team, the harm to my reputation it might do, and wondered how it would affect my performance rating that year. I remember my boss shaking with rage when I said I was leaving (I was less than a year into the role) and I remember my coach supporting me to “swim to a lily pad and not to the shore”. I needed to quickly depart a situation that wasn’t working in a terrible year.

2. Deep feelings of grief have made me more willing to be brave and to dig deeply for things I care about

When Louie died suddenly in 2010, I had just started a demanding job and the position of champion of the middle managers in my government department was vacant. This was effectively a part-time job on top of my full-time job.  I was passionate about working to advance the interests of middle managers but, to quote ‘A Single Man’ (the 2009 movie adaption of a book by Christopher Isherwood about a man grieving the death of his partner), it hurt to get up in the morning for six months after Louie died.

What I’d hope for every person processing grief while working, is that they hold space to reflect on what changes they might make to bring more meaning to their careers (and lives) with the clarity this difficult space may afford them

I secretly hoped that someone more extroverted and charismatic would take the role, but it didn’t happen. I managed finally to put my name forward and the two years I spent advancing the interests of middle managers will be remembered as some of the best of my career.

3. My own grief temporarily hindered my ability to be a good worker, though none of the desire to do good work

The physical pain and exhaustion that grief brings on was a shock, as was the fact that my brain stopped working well for a while. My memory faltered and my normal ability to pick up new concepts froze. Complex material simply slid off my brain.

I can only liken those weeks and months to something like temporary brain damage. I was destabilised and debilitated. I worried that I would be unable to get back to my normal running speed and was acutely aware that I wasn’t performing well in my new job. I finally learned a few tools to compensate for this and ultimately forgave myself for being in a haze.

4. I am a better manager when I find ways to make more space for people who are grieving

Though the generally approved check-boxes for supporting a grieving colleague are fine (a donation, some flowers, a card), I find I strive for more meaningful gestures now. These might include buying a gift card to a local meal delivery service, checking in on the anniversary of the death and offering the day off, bringing the colleague a coffee for no reason, asking about their loved one and perhaps most importantly, being at ease if someone is crying in the office.

We all will have to process some form of grief at some stage in our working lives. The workplace can be a difficult place to be a grieving person, even if it ultimately sharpens our desire for what we want out of our careers and makes us more compassionate as managers.

What I’d hope for every person processing grief while working is that they hold space to reflect on what changes they might make to bring more meaning to their careers (and lives) with the clarity this difficult space may afford them. – Rell DeShaw

We want to hear what you think about this article. Pitch an article to us or send your comments to [hello@apolitical.co](mailto:hello@apolitical.co)

(Picture credit: Unsplash)