72 Hour Hold

Before the book, "72 Hour Hold", by the late Bebe Moore Campbell, came out, a girlfriend of mine had introduced me to her coping mechanism for whenever something emotionally devastating happened in her life. My friend is a nurse, and she'd worked for some time in the Psych Ward. My own work in mental health also made me very familiar with the term "72 hour hold." In short, the 72 hour hold (also known as the 5150, involuntary detention, suicide hold) is an involuntary emergency hospitalization for evaluation in a treatment center, typically a short intervention for a fixed period of time.

And though I found Campbell's book compelling, well written (and I recommend it), this post isn't about the clinical definitions or the original purposes or application of this term. It's about what I have found to be a healthy way to deal with emotional trauma, of the relationship variety.

When going through a painful divorce, and left with two children, my friend, the nurse, said she felt her world had come to an end. But she still had to get up in the morning, attend to her children, get them to school and go to work. It is true that divorce feels like someone has died (but the kicker is, they're still walking around above ground, having a life without you!). A breakup is painful whether married or dating. So she decided to give herself 72 hours to "get it all out". 72 hours to scream, 'sling snot', moan, get in the fetal position on her bed and just rock and cry herself to sleep. She'd planned it; for a weekend she didn't work. Took her children to their grandparents for that weekend (grandparents are a blessing).  And when she got back home, she locked herself in, turned off the TV, internet and land line - and sat in her robe and fuzzy slippers with her quart of double chocolate ice cream, and wept. And she slept. And she vented, had one-sided conversations with herself, and said all the things she'd wanted to say to him. Then she wrote her feelings down, read them, and tore the paper into tiny pieces.

She told me, "It was such a release! I began to feel so much lighter, so much better. My reality was still my reality. I was still a divorcee; my husband had still left me - it was all still so true. But the pain was way less. I knew I could deal with it." Then, she said that on the last day, she opened the windows, reconnected the phone, turned on the internet, threw on her favorite gospel CD, took a shower, put on a new outfit she hadn't worn with some cute shoes, did her make-up, combed her hair and walked outside into a new day, her new life.

I believe the 72 hour hold is necessary. In this context, it's voluntary. When we lose someone, it hurts. And especially in cases where the person has not actually passed away, I believe it's possible and reasonable to utilize this 72 hour time period to get into some serious mourning - get it all out, scream and shout. (I would not suggest that one could or should employ this when a loved one has died) Then emerge from that emotional release with a renewed sense of direction, a new plan, or at least the skeleton of a plan. As a believer, I would also highly recommend praying through. We need supernatural power to gain the victory over emotional wounds, and to avoid falling into depression.

Acknowledging the pain, and yielding to it - not denying it - is good, and healthy for us mentally and emotionally. The bad thing did happen. It is devastating. Our hearts are broken, and we are in pain and the tears won't stop. Even after the 72 hours, pain is likely to linger. But not to a paralyzing degree; we've given ourselves permission to let loose. And we've made a promise to ourselves to move forward.

The important thing is to take the time to mourn. It can be however long you decide. I like 72 hours. It could be less - but not too much longer than 72. We have to count our blessings, remember we are still alive. And God is with us always.

When the time is up, we must get up from that place of despair, wash our faces, go outside in the sunshine, and take on the life God has given us. One day at a time.