David Kessler, who worked with Elizabeth (5 states of dying) Kubler-Ross on several books, including one that applied the 5-stages model to the experience of grief, recently added a sixth stage to the grieving process: finding meaning. According to Kessler, finding meaning in loss “empowers us to find a path forward.”

It might not at first seem obvious that tinnitus is a grief-inducing condition, for what is apparent in the case of tinnitus Is not what is lost but what is gained. For most of us, this bonus consists in “a chronic, high-pitched sound, noise, or ringing typically in the frequency of 6-8 khz.” In my own case, it is a noise that sometimes waxes and sometimes wanes, a noise I briefly and blissfully lose track of only to have it reemerge suddenly like some thought-to-be-vanquished villain in a B-horror movie, a noise I know will follow me to the grave, like a bad reputation. So although it is the noise of tinnitus that gets all the press, the loss of silence is as profound a shock to the system, the hidden yin to the noise’s yang, and in some way a greater threat because it is unnoticed and untreated. It is a loss that is not often discussed and rarely if ever mourned. I speak from experience as a therapist who has been attending tinnitus support groups for sometime (and I speak of course only of those like myself suffering from chronic tinnitus).

But isn’t it enough merely to mourn the loss? Do I have to try to find meaning in it as well? Do or do not. There is try, as Yoda says. According to Kessler, finding meaning will facilitate the move from merely enduring the condition to creating something “rich and fulfilling” in its wake. Importantly, to find meaning in one’s loss is not to imply that the loss was a good thing or that one is grateful it occurred. Although founding Mothers Against Drunk Driving had to be profoundly meaningful for Candace Lightner, no one could thing it in any way balanced out the loss of her son. Instead, to find meaning in one’s tinnitus is to strike something of the defiant optimism of Nietzsche’s “What does not kill me, makes me stronger.”

How to go about doing this will be as individual as your tinnitus. In my case, my occupation as a therapist provided me the platform from which to carry out this task.  Medical professionals are required by their code of ethics to stop at the scene of an accident if no assistance is on site.  Given the scope of tinnitus - -the CDC estimates it impacts 15% percent of the population--and the few therapists work with tinnitus, I felt something of the same obligation.  Hence, I made in my mission to become proficient in therapeutic methods that would reduce the suffering of those with tinnitus.  I focused on two modalities in particular that had been shown to improve the quality of life of tinnitus patients: mindfulness and cognitive behavior therapy, and made a point to become especially proficient in these areas,  vowing to use my skills to assist as many people as possible.

Obviously, few if any of those afflicted with tinnitus will be in a position to have an impact on such a large scale.  Fortunately, this is not necessary in order to find meaning in one’s tinnitus.  It may simply be a matter of taking the condition as the motivation to more fully appreciate the fleeting nature of life by devoting oneself to some long-abandoned project or more fully appreciating those around us.  Just like we hope to leave the world a better place, the goal of finding meaning in Tinnitus is to improve ourselves in some way, and by so doing to demonstrate that although Tinnitus may have temporarily set us back, it has not knocked us off course, and that we have emerger from our struggle with the condition more knowledgeable about ourselves, more compassionate or as others, and more grateful to be alive.