I never imagined that Ariana Grande and I would have much in common. She’s a mega-famous, pint-sized musical genius who can hit notes which shatter glasses and rock a high ponytail.
I’m a British writer who looks like Miss Trunchbull in any kind of up-do. But every time Ariana drops new music, I realise that we’ve got something in common. We both work through our pain by, well, working.
Ariana has had some pretty horrific experiences recently, from the Manchester terror attacks taking place during her concert, to the death of her ex partner Mac Miller.
When something bad happens to you, the conventional wisdom is that you should take time and space to heal. Indulge yourself in lots of downtime. Talk about it a lot. Cry. Lie on the sofa or in bed, or wherever you want.
But for me, and clearly for Ariana, the doing nothing route isn’t where healing lies. And while I wouldn't put my personal traumas on the same level as Ari's (of course), I work the same way.
Six weeks ago, I was lying in a hospital bed, a catheter in my hand, legs encased in sexy white anti-DVT stockings, talking to a TV producer. ‘Sorry if I sound a bit drunk’ I said, ‘I’m just coming around from a general aesthetic. So, what’s the story?’
While I was in surgery, having a tiny hoover remove the last of retained pregnancy tissue from my uterus following a miscarriage, I’d missed several calls from a TV producer who was casting a debate. The moment I came around, I wanted to call her back. That afternoon, after I was allowed to slowly make my way home, I spent an hour or two working on my next book.
The night I found out I’d lose the pregnancy, I went on the radio to talk about it. The day after, I wrote an article about it.
My husband seemed concerned by this behaviour.
‘You need to take it easy’ he told me. So, I tried to. I lay on the sofa wearing my sweatpants, eating ice cream and watching old movies, because that was what Charlotte did in the episode of Sex and the City, and that was the only miscarriage other than my own that I had any experience of.
The sofa made me feel worse. Not just a bit worse. Far, far worse. It made me feel like I was drowning, like I had no idea who I was anymore. Every character annoyed me to the point that I wanted to scream. Every noise was too loud. It became clear very quickly that ‘taking it easy’ wasn’t going to work for me. The only thing that helped, even at all, was working.
The assumption, as I wrote articles and worked on my book and went on TV to have arguments with hammy men, was that I was hiding from my pain. That I was burying it. But I wasn’t. I was exorcising it. I was learning to be myself again.
Admittedly as a (then) freelance journalist, I needed the money, and booking weeks off work wasn’t ideal. But I had savings. I allowed people to think that I had to work to keep the lights on because it seemed a more legitimate reason, but the truth was, If I’d needed to go into hibernation, I could have done. I just didn’t want to.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this?’ asked the people I was working for. ‘It’s okay if you need a break.’ I appreciated their kindness, really, I did. But I didn’t want it. I wanted the incomparable balm of losing myself in a task. I wanted the buzz of a successful meeting or studio lights on my skin. I wanted to do anything other than marinade in the sadness that had invaded my soul.
There have been those who ask why Ariana has put out two albums since the Manchester bombings and the death of her ex-partner Mac Miller. Fans often comment online that they’re worried about her, that they think she needs to ‘take time to heal’. But those fans are missing the point. For some of us, the only way to heal is to keep moving and to work through it.
I’m lucky enough to have a job where I can write about my experience of pregnancy loss. Ariana is fortunate that her job is to write about her feelings. Both of us have used our work to heal ourselves in a way that perhaps we wouldn’t have been able to if we worked in a different industry.
That said, whatever you do for a living, there is nothing wrong with needing the absorption of a task and the small, low-level wins that come from having a really great meeting, winning a new pitch of making a great sale. Healing through work is about how you process grief, not what you do for a living.
Some people process trauma in a more traditional way, and there is nothing wrong with that because there is no wrong way to grieve. Work, don’t work. Cry, don’t cry. Do what you need to do to get through the day.
Going straight back to work after my miscarriage didn’t mean that I was in denial. It doesn’t mean that I refused to grieve. I’m not hiding from my feelings and I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. But for me, and I suspect for Ariana Grande, work is where I can work out my sadness, and begin to feel like myself again.