Grief, creativity, and the quiet adjustments of aging
The video image shook slightly when the telehealth session began. At first glance it looked like a weak internet connection, the kind that occasionally causes the screen to wobble. But after a moment it became clear that the motion was coming from the other side of the call. Mr. Rahman adjusted his iPad Pro in his hands, trying to steady it as the camera trembled in small rhythmic movements. Even through the screen, I could see the effort it took for him to hold the device still.
“Sorry about the shaking,” he said with a half smile. “My hands are not as cooperative these days.”
As he repositioned the tablet on his lap, the frame settled briefly before trembling again. The movement of the camera mirrored the subtle tremor in his hands. After a pause he continued.
“This morning I tried to balance my bank statement. I wrote maybe two entries… and then I gave up.”
The frustration in his voice was not really about balancing a bank statement. It was about something deeper. Mr. Rahman had spent his professional life as an architect. For decades, his hands had drawn the lines that eventually became buildings. Precision had not merely been a skill; it had been part of his identity. As he described the tremor interfering with even simple writing, he reflected on how different things used to be.
“People used to compliment my handwriting,” he said. “They said it looked almost like calligraphy.”
He paused for a moment before adding quietly, “I miss that.”
There are moments in therapy when the emotional center of a conversation becomes unmistakably clear. This was one of those moments. When most people hear the word grief, they immediately think of death. But grief is not limited to losing people. It can also arise when we lose abilities, roles, or aspects of our identity that once felt inseparable from who we were.
I said gently, “Grief is really about loss. And loss doesn’t always mean the death of a person. Sometimes it’s the loss of an ability.”
Mr. Rahman nodded slowly, as if recognizing something he had not fully articulated before. “That actually makes sense,” he said. “Because I do feel something like that.”
He began describing how he had tried to return to drawing recently. Colored pencils, sketchbooks, and art supplies—tools that once brought him joy—now sit mostly unused. “My hands tremble too much,” he explained. “I try to draw something and it just doesn’t come out right.”
The grief he described was subtle, almost invisible to others. Nothing dramatic had happened; there was no single event marking the change. Instead, the losses had emerged gradually, quietly altering the landscape of his daily life. Psychologists sometimes refer to these experiences as non-death losses—changes that disrupt identity, autonomy, or competence without the presence of bereavement (Neimeyer, 2012). For many older adults, these losses accumulate slowly over time: the loss of dexterity, the loss of mobility, the loss of professional roles, or the loss of independence in everyday activities. These shifts rarely attract attention, yet they carry profound emotional weight because they reshape how individuals experience themselves in the world.
Earlier in the session, Mr. Rahman had described another example of this quiet transition. “I used to love grocery shopping,” he told me. After long workdays, he often stopped by the market to pick up fresh ingredients for dinner. Cooking had always been something he enjoyed. But now things were different. “I can’t do that anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “My wife does the shopping now.”
On the surface, it sounded like a small adjustment in household responsibilities. Yet in therapy, seemingly ordinary statements often carry deeper psychological significance. Research in gerontology consistently shows that the loss of functional independence can challenge a person’s sense of identity and dignity (Baltes & Baltes, 1990). Activities that once seemed routine—writing, driving, shopping, cooking—often represent far more than the tasks themselves. They symbolize competence, agency, and autonomy. When these abilities change, individuals may experience what psychologists describe as identity disruption, the unsettling realization that the person they once were is no longer fully accessible.
Yet something interesting happened as our conversation continued. Despite the losses he described, Mr. Rahman began speaking about several new projects he had been exploring. His voice became slightly more animated as he explained that he had started experimenting with artificial intelligence tools. Using photo-editing software, he had begun restoring and enhancing family photographs, adjusting lighting or cleaning up imperfections in old images. “It’s actually quite interesting,” he said, leaning slightly closer to the camera.
He then mentioned another project that had occupied his attention recently. Over the years he had collected numerous recipes—copied from cookbooks, shared by friends, or passed along through conversation—and written them in several small notebooks. “I have six or seven of them,” he explained. “Now I’m trying to put them into a digital format so my daughter can have them someday.”
What he described reflected a psychological process that researchers have long observed in successful aging. In the psychology of lifespan development, Paul and Margret Baltes proposed a framework known as Selective Optimization with Compensation (Baltes & Baltes, 1990). According to this model, as individuals encounter limitations or losses, they often adapt by redirecting their energy toward activities that remain meaningful and achievable. Rather than abandoning engagement altogether, they optimize what is still possible and compensate for what is no longer easily done.
In other words, creativity does not necessarily disappear with age. Sometimes it simply changes form.
Later in the conversation, Mr. Rahman reflected on relationships. “At my age,” he said with a quiet chuckle, “I don’t get into petty arguments with people anymore. It’s just not worth it.” There was a calmness in his voice, an emotional economy that seemed to come from long experience. Developmental psychologist Erik Erikson described later adulthood as a period of life review, when individuals gradually evaluate their experiences and move toward acceptance and wisdom (Erikson, Erikson, & Kivnick, 1986). Sometimes this wisdom emerges not through grand revelations but through small shifts in perspective: letting go of unnecessary conflicts, maintaining long friendships despite differences, or focusing energy on what continues to hold meaning.
Near the end of the session, I asked Mr. Rahman directly, “Do you miss the things you used to be able to do?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “Very much.”
Nothing about the situation had been solved. His hands would still tremble, and the slight shaking of the iPad camera remained visible as he adjusted his grip again. But therapy does not always aim to eliminate the problem. Often its purpose is quieter and more fundamental: helping individuals name their experiences and understand them within the larger narrative of their lives. Research on meaning-making suggests that articulating and contextualizing difficult life changes can significantly improve psychological adjustment (Park, 2010).
By the end of the session, Mr. Rahman’s losses had not disappeared. Yet they had been acknowledged, explored, and understood within the broader experience of aging, identity, and adaptation. In many ways, that is what resolution in therapy often looks like—not the removal of suffering, but the ability to recognize it, speak about it, and integrate it into a life that still contains purpose and meaning. Even as certain abilities fade, the human impulse to create, connect, and make sense of one’s experiences often remains remarkably resilient.
References:
Baltes, P. B., & Baltes, M. M. (1990). Psychological perspectives on successful aging: The model of selective optimization with compensation. In P. B. Baltes & M. M. Baltes (Eds.), Successful aging: Perspectives from the behavioral sciences (pp. 1–34). Cambridge University Press.
Erikson, E. H., Erikson, J. M., & Kivnick, H. Q. (1986). Vital involvement in old age. W. W. Norton.
Neimeyer, R. A. (2012). Techniques of grief therapy: Creative practices for counseling the bereaved. Routledge.
Park, C. L. (2010). Making sense of the meaning literature: An integrative review of meaning making and its effects on adjustment to stressful life events. Psychological Bulletin, 136(2), 257–301.
