A Series: Lessons I Learned Teaching in My 20s

The 3-Day Mourning Rule

I learned so many things during my teaching journey, but I didn’t expect I would learn how to mourn. I know grief is a unique experience for each person—it depends on so many things: context, character, and everything in between. But I thought sharing my findings might be helpful for someone, anyone.

As a teacher, there were so many days my entire world was shattering, yet I stood there enthusiastically explaining something so relatively insignificant like the product life cycle. Visibly, I would be smiling, making jokes, being hyper-aware of the surroundings, and calling out the names of students who weren’t paying attention. Internally, when I stopped talking, I could hear my insides screaming unmercifully. The gut-wrenching agony scraping its hands, desperately trying to crawl out of my throat—if I let it out, there’s no going back. I can’t now. I have to finish the lecture. We’re already behind and exams are approaching. I swallow hard, shoving it deep, feeling the fallback in my bones, and continue explaining why the maturity phase of a product’s life cycle is critical.

Once the class is over and everyone leaves, I sit there with my shoulders stooping involuntarily. I try to sit straight again, but the grief is too heavy. I tell myself how unfair it is—when other people feel sick, they can take sick days. But for me, taking a sick day requires more effort than coming in. Asking for help is unfathomable in this state, so I just push through and once again swallow the grief—so bitter it burns—and I keep going, despite the full-blown war inside me. A war with no small nor big victories, just losses and bloodshed.

But then I realized I can’t keep doing life like this. The one thing I love most, the thing that brings me so much joy, has unjustly become tainted. So how do I protect the safe spaces—my ikigai, my loved ones—from my grief? That’s life. We lose sometimes. But how do we control the damage? Whether it’s the promotion you really wanted, a loved one, a relationship you thought would work out, a rejection, a heartbreak—how do you not let that one loss seep into everything else? How do you protect yourself from losing everything?

For me, it’s the 3-day mourning rule. Whatever it is, or whoever it is, that broke my heart will be allocated 3 days (maximum).

The rationale? Funerals in our religion last three days. So whether I’m burying a body, or a trust that no longer exists, or a dream that can no longer be, or a rejection—it will have three days of mourning. Even if I’ve known them for a month, or worked for it for years, or dreamt of it every day since childhood—nothing deserves more than 3 days.

Day 1: Be in your feels.

Are you sad? Surrender to the sadness. Are you ashamed? Don’t ignore the pain—give in to it. Feel sorry for yourself. Don’t get out of bed. Scroll tiktok all day if you want. Don’t brush your hair if you don’t want to. Cry—once, twice, nonstop—whatever you need. Don’t show up for anyone today. Be in your feels.

What if you had a commitment you needed to be there for? Be there physically only.
Let the negative thoughts take space. Don’t swat them away. Feel it all. Let it hurt.

Feel sorry for yourself. Yes, it sucks. Yes, you failed. Yes, it’s unfair.
Don’t deny any thought or emotion that flickers—no matter how much it kills you, let it. Ruminate. Bathe in the grief, the sorrow... wallow in the chaos.

Day 2: Today, get out of bed—but slowly.

Start rationalizing—not just feeling, but listening. What does your sadness tell you? What does the anger teach you? Look for the sources, the underlying meaning behind it all.

Most of the time, our hurt has nothing to do with what we lost—but more with what we thought it would say about us to have it.
Most of our emotions are a reflection of who we are, not what we go through. This means it is in our control to recover—we just need to understand the how and why.

Be critical of your emotions. Don’t let the negative thoughts pass by like a free man... hold them hostage, interrogate them, understand them. Be critical.
Why? What does that say? How did I reach that conclusion? So what?

Spend the whole day thinking about it productively, coming to sincere conclusions that make sense.

Day 3: Today, you’ll end it.

Not the grief—there are sorrows that accompany us for the rest of our lives; we just learn to coexist with them.
But you’ll end the war inside of you.

You will accept your losses, which in turn will allow you to recognize your wins. Look for them—the little victories in this process.
Yes, you lost something so meaningful to you, but what did you gain?

If you look hard enough, you will see the positive in it all.
Did you gain respect for yourself? Maybe you now know to trust your gut.
Maybe you recognized a friend in someone you didn’t expect?
Maybe you finally discovered the truth—regardless of how ugly it was, it’s not a lie.
Maybe you gained the rest of your life back.

If you can’t find the positive, just know it exists.
You need to believe that God has a plan for you. It might not make sense now—but it will.
That closed door unlocked so many greater doors for you. You will walk into them soon. Just wait.

Now that the noise is over, the war has ended—reflect. Walk through the battlefield and account for everything: the death toll, the casualties, the ammunition, the resources.
What’s left? What needs to be restored ASAP?
Set your recovery plan.

After today, you will not allow yourself to waste another moment idle because of something out of your control.
You gave it three days—three days of your undivided attention, three days of it taking up your entire life.
That’s more than enough.

You will not jeopardize your entire life for one loss, no matter how big, your life is bigger.

After three days you get up.
Even if you’re injured. Even if you have to limp—limp back to your life.

Now you take control, and you go back to building the life you want and deserve.

For me, setting a timeline lets me first, be fair to my pain.
I usually avoid confronting my pain, but this forces me to tackle it head-on so it doesn’t creep back into my life in masked ways.

Secondly, it makes me feel in control.
Nothing hurts more than feeling defenseless.

Also, it makes me properly value things.
Often, we give people and positions way more than their value. If you do your due diligence, you’ll see things for what they really are.

Does it always work?

Does it mean after day 3 I will not be sad again?
No.
But it means the sadness will not be all-consuming.
It helps me realize I’m sad about one specific loss—and it doesn’t jeopardize everything else in my life.

In addition to all the above, here are things that help me:

1. Talk it out.
   Whether it’s that friend who tells you “Call me anytime you need—I don’t care if we talk about it a million times,” or a professional like a therapist or counselor—or even pen and paper.

2. Be brutally honest—with yourself at least.
   No matter how hard it is, dig for the truth.

3. Know it’s temporary.
   Nothing lasts forever—not even pain, it won’t always be this intense.

4. Find the humor in it.
   EVERYTHING can be funny. Especially the darkest bits.

5. Know it will make you a better person.
   Remember: the most positive people are often the ones who have been through the unfathomable. That says something, doesn’t it?

Most importantly:

Have faith in God.
Surrender to God’s will with a heart full of positivity and hope.
Your future is in God’s hands. Is there anywhere safer than that?

God meets us at our expectations—expect the most beautiful outcomes always.
Practice gratitude.
Start with: It could have been worse. Be so grateful it wasn’t.

And practice gratitude for what’s to come—because it will be soooo much more amazing than what you ever planned for yourself.