Loss and Mourning: Why Work Through Them with a Psychoanalyst

In psychoanalytic and psychotherapeutic clinical practice, many accounts of subjective suffering are connected to the loss of an important or loved “object.” By object we mean many posible things: a person, a place, a part of the body, a job, a standard of living, access to a meaningful and pleasurable activity, a sense of national belonging, a general idea of who one used to be, an ideal that once made life feel workable, or a role one occupied in the world. In this sense, it is not only people who “die” or cease to exist.

It can be useful to pause and reflect on the object of our loss, which is sometimes diffuse and difficult to name. The “existence” of something or someone important in our lives is tied to the functioning of our everyday life within our immediate material environment. At times, the people or things that matter to us do not actually cease to exist. Sometimes they simply cease to exist in our lives. And this does not make the intensity of the loss any less profound than the literal, physical death of a loved one. Sometimes a relationship has already become distant enough not to occupy our daily concerns, but then death suddenly marks a finality we had never truly reflected upon.

When something or someone ceases to be present in our everyday lives—whether through death or otherwise—it is easy to imagine that our activities, routines, landscapes, objects, relationships, and problems also change. When change is radical, we may no longer have access to the way we used to live our lives. Suddenly we may no longer have someone with whom to solve our problems, and new challenges or limitations arise. We may find ourselves without financial support, without love, or even without shelter. Every case is unique, but there is always a very concrete and material dimension to major life changes.

At the same time, we also stop being the person who once had a particular way of living and dealing with life as it was. Sometimes it takes time to realize that the continuity of our identity is shaken when we lose something or someone. We may no longer be a spouse, a daughter or son, a person with stable employment who can support a household, a successful athlete, or a young and healthy person with a functional body. In these moments, we do not only lose an object or a relationship. We may also lose our sense of who we are and how to live.

Mourning as effort and work of readjustment

It may seem strange to think of mourning as something that involves activity. Many people imagine that the effects of losing someone or something important are simply passive consequences of life. But what happens when someone whose life has changed drastically—because of a loss, for example—tries to remain in the same places, with the same people, doing the same things and maintaining the same routines? Is continuity really possible under new circumstances?

Mourning involves the effort of change. This is precisely why overcoming a loss can be so difficult. It becomes even more difficult when new circumstances are costly or require skills and resources that are not available to us. Mourning is painful and demanding for reasons that go beyond the sadness and longing of the loss itself. These feelings are normal, expected, and even "positive" in the sense that they signal the beginning of a process of transformation that unfolds in its own time. They are part of the movement that allows us to remain among the living and the present. At the same time, acting can feel difficult when we are sad. Yet “action” in mourning does not necessarily mean solving something immediately or forcing ourselves to stay busy for the sake of normative activity.

Saying that sadness and longing may even be "positive" does not mean they are not painful. It is essential to acknowledge distress and to have our feelings recognized by others—first as real, and also as relevant aspects of life. However, sadness and longing are only the beginning of a process that may eventually allow for a healthier readjustment and the possibility of new forms of enjoyment in life. Mourning is work. It is a process that takes time and often unfolds in recognizable phases. It cannot simply be rushed.

The phases of mourning

After years of research with terminally ill patients and their families,  Elisabeth Kübler-Ross—an internationally recognized figure in the study of death and mourning—published in 1969 a detailed description of the psychological processes that can occur near the end of life, both for those who are dying and for those who remain. She proposed that mourning often unfolds through phases that may occur separately or sometimes simultaneously. The first phase is denial, a refusal or inability to accept the new reality. This can involve withdrawal, disbelief, or emotional distancing. When the loss is especially overwhelming, denial may include difficulties remembering or accepting certain facts about what has happened. In clinical settings, these experiences relate to dissociative states.

The second phase is anger or revolt. By this point, the person has begun to grasp that something deeply painful has happened in their own life and not to other people. Feelings of injustice may emerge, along with frustration directed toward oneself, others, or life circumstances. The third phase is bargaining. This stage often involves attempts—sometimes symbolic or ritual-like—to restore something that has been lost: the moment, the relationship, the identity, or the person. Vivid memories may return, along with hopes for some kind of reversal, reconciliation, or even miracles.

The fourth phase is depression, characterized by exhaustion and emotional heaviness. Feelings of loneliness, longing, and anxiety often become more pronounced. During this phase, people may need more attentive listening and support so they can understand and validate what they are experiencing, which is often complex and difficult to accept. Feelings of guilt and regret may also emerge and require careful and compassionate attention. Finally, there is acceptance. At this point, a certain sense of peace with the loss or change may begin to appear. The emotional pull of the past gradually weakens, and life can start to be reorganized in concrete ways according to what is now possible.

What changes when something ends?

Sometimes this question can only be explored through psychotherapeutic work or psychoanalysis. There are moments when we experience a sense of emptiness even though no one has died. We may not have lost the use of our body, the love in our relationship may still exist, our career may continue, and our life may remain materially stable. Yet suddenly we find that we no longer enjoy life in the same way. Our energy fades, and we may even begin to feel physically unwell. At times we wonder whether something is wrong with us. After all, we may believe that we have everything we are supposed to need in order to be happy. Paradoxically, even when someone has died, we may feel troubled because we do not feel the sadness we expected to feel.

Every experience of loss unfolds within particular circumstances. Additional forms of suffering—such as experiences of social exclusion, violence, or involvement with the justice system—can make the work of mourning more complex. When what we were, what we could do, or what we loved has been violently taken from us, the conditions shaping loss are very different.

Not every loss simply belongs to the ordinary processes of aging, distancing, or to our life choices.

In therapeutic work, it can be helpful to explore what has truly changed. This often involves reconstructing life's history: who you have been, how you have lived, and what kind of life you have known. Sometimes adulthood arrives and we do not fully understand what it demands of us. Sometimes we discover that we no longer need to navigate the same conflicts or sufferings that once shaped our lives—and this, too, can create a crisis. At times, when a relationship ends or a situation changes, some painful experiences also come to an end. It may then become necessary to recognize and process the relief that accompanies that ending. But you don't need to face theses experiences alone.

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