Mark: Most people believe that after a devastating loss, the majority of us will suffer from chronic grief or PTSD. But what if the data shows the opposite? Research reveals over half of trauma survivors report at least one positive life change. Today, we explore how. Michelle: Wait, positive change? That feels so counterintuitive, almost offensive to say. Where does that idea even come from? Mark: It comes from a really unique collaboration in the book Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant. And the story behind this book is as powerful as its ideas. Sandberg, the COO of Facebook at the time, wrote it after the sudden, tragic death of her husband, Dave Goldberg. It’s her raw, personal journey combined with Grant's expertise as a top organizational psychologist. Michelle: I remember when that happened. It was public and so shocking. So this isn't just an academic book, it’s forged in real fire. Mark: Exactly. It’s not just a memoir; it’s a manual for resilience. And it starts in the darkest possible place.

Mark: The book opens with Sandberg recounting the day her husband died. They were on vacation in Mexico. She fell asleep by the pool, and when she woke up, he was gone. She and her friends found him on the floor of the resort's gym. Michelle: That is just gut-wrenching. I can’t even imagine that level of shock and panic. How does anyone even begin to process that? Mark: That's the central question. She describes the feeling as "the void"—a vast, empty space where her future used to be. And the book’s first major insight is about the psychological architecture of that void. It’s what Grant and Sandberg, drawing on the work of psychologist Martin Seligman, call the "Three P's." These are the cognitive traps that turn grief into a prison. Michelle: The Three P's. Okay, that sounds a bit like jargon. What does that actually feel like for someone who's grieving? Mark: Let's break it down with her story. The first 'P' is Personalization: the belief that it's your fault. After Dave died, the initial report suggested he fell off an elliptical and hit his head. Sandberg was consumed by self-blame. She replayed their last moments, her last words to him: "I'm falling asleep." She tortured herself thinking, "If only I hadn't fallen asleep, I could have saved him." Michelle: Oh, that’s brutal. The "what ifs." It’s a natural human reaction, but it’s so destructive. Mark: Utterly. It was only later that an autopsy revealed he died from a cardiac arrhythmia. The fall didn't kill him; his heart gave out. But even then, the personalization trap just shifted. She started blaming herself for not noticing he had undiagnosed coronary artery disease. It's this relentless, irrational self-blame. Michelle: And the second 'P'? Mark: The second is Pervasiveness: the belief that this one event will affect all areas of your life. Grief becomes this toxic dye that seeps into everything. Work, friendships, parenting, even small moments of joy feel tainted. Sandberg talks about how, for months, she couldn't feel happy about anything without an immediate, crushing wave of guilt. Michelle: Right, because how can you enjoy a sunset when the most important person in your life is gone? It feels like a betrayal. Is that the feeling that this one horrible event has now poisoned everything? Mark: Precisely. And the way to fight it, as Adam Grant advised her, is to find small pockets of normalcy. He encouraged her to go back to work, not to forget, but to have a few hours a day where she could feel competent and focused on something else. It contains the grief, proving it isn't all-pervasive. Even a small win, like solving a problem at work, can be a powerful antidote. Michelle: That makes sense. It’s about creating a space where the grief isn't the only thing that exists. What's the final 'P'? Mark: The third, and perhaps the most insidious, is Permanence: the belief that this feeling will last forever. That the void will never shrink. And this is where the book gets really interesting, because even well-intentioned people can reinforce this trap. Michelle: How so? Mark: Two weeks after Dave died, an acquaintance sent Sandberg a letter. This woman had also lost her husband years before. She wrote that the pain never gets better, that she still felt the same level of grief. She essentially told Sandberg, "Welcome to hell. You'll be here forever." Michelle: Oh, no. That’s the worst possible thing you could hear. It just slams the door on any hope. Mark: It destroyed her. She said it felt like the void was closing in. That letter is a perfect example of reinforcing permanence. Adam Grant had to fly across the country to convince her that the data shows otherwise. He showed her studies that most people are past acute grief within six months. He gave her hope by giving her facts, proving that this feeling was not permanent. Michelle: So recognizing these three traps—blaming yourself, thinking it ruins everything, and believing it will last forever—is the first step to disarming them. Mark: Exactly. It’s about understanding that the stories we tell ourselves about our suffering can be more painful than the suffering itself. And that leads directly to the next challenge: how the people around us either help or hinder that process.

Michelle: It's incredible how that letter, meant to be kind, was so destructive. It makes you realize how badly we handle these situations. We're so afraid of saying the wrong thing that we either say something terrible or, more often, we say nothing at all. Mark: And that silence is the "elephant in the room," which is the focus of the next part of the book. People avoided Sandberg at work. They’d see her coming and duck into a conference room. They were trying to "protect" her feelings, but what it actually did was make her feel completely isolated and invisible. Michelle: I can see that. You’re already feeling alone, and then the people you know start treating you like you’re radioactive. Mark: It's a phenomenon psychologists call the "mum effect"—our deep-seated reluctance to deliver bad news or discuss uncomfortable topics. The book shares a story about Diane Sawyer returning to work after her husband died. A colleague on an opposing escalator just shouted, "Sorry for your loss!" as they passed. It was so awkward and impersonal, it was almost comical. Michelle: That's awful. It’s like checking a box instead of actually connecting. So what's the right way to do it? Mark: The book proposes two powerful ideas. The first is to ditch the Golden Rule. Michelle: Ditch the Golden Rule? "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? That's a sacred cow. Mark: In times of crisis, it is. The Golden Rule assumes the other person wants what you would want. But grief is intensely personal. The book champions the Platinum Rule: "Treat others as they want to be treated." This requires listening, asking questions, and taking cues from the person who is suffering, not projecting your own needs onto them. Michelle: Okay, that’s a huge shift in perspective. It’s about their experience, not my idea of what their experience should be. Mark: Exactly. And the second tool is something called the "Ring Theory," developed by psychologist Susan Silk. Imagine a series of concentric circles. In the center is the person who experienced the trauma—in this case, Sandberg. In the next ring are her children. In the next, her immediate family, and so on, out to friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Michelle: I think I see where this is going. Mark: The rule is simple: Comfort In, Dump Out. You can only offer comfort to the people in the rings smaller than yours. You can complain, vent, or seek support only from people in the rings larger than yours. Michelle: The Ring Theory is brilliant. It's like a social GPS for grief. It gives you permission to not have to absorb everyone else's feelings when you're at the center of the crisis. Your friend whose wedding you missed because you were at a funeral doesn't get to complain to you about it. They have to dump out to their own support circle. Mark: Precisely. It prevents the person at the center from having to comfort everyone else. And for those on the outside, it gives a clear action: your job is to send comfort inward. No questions, no advice unless asked, just support. A friend of Sandberg's, Dan Levy, texted her when his son was in the hospital. The text didn't say, "Let me know if you need anything." It said, "What do you NOT want on a burger?" Michelle: I love that. It's specific, it's actionable, and it gives the person a tiny bit of control in a situation where they have none. It’s a perfect example of the Platinum Rule in action. Mark: It is. It’s about showing up. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is just be there, to help carry the burden without trying to fix it. Because, as the book says, some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.

Mark: And once you have that support system, once you've navigated those initial traps, the book argues something radical can happen. You don't just bounce back. Michelle: Because you can't, right? You're fundamentally changed by an experience like that. "Bouncing back" implies you return to the same shape you were before, which seems impossible. Mark: Impossible. And that’s why the final, and most hopeful, part of the book is about bouncing forward. This is the concept of Post-Traumatic Growth. It’s the idea that in the wake of tragedy, people can find greater strength, deeper meaning, and new possibilities. The book quotes an old adage: "Let me fall if I must fall. The one I become will catch me." Michelle: That’s a beautiful line. But what does post-traumatic growth actually look like in real life? Mark: The book tells the story of Joe Kasper, a physician whose teenage son, Ryan, was diagnosed with a fatal form of epilepsy. Joe, a doctor, was helpless. He couldn't save his own son. After Ryan died, Joe was shattered. But instead of succumbing to despair, he enrolled in a positive psychology program to study trauma. He ended up creating a therapeutic process to help other bereaved parents. Michelle: Wow. He turned his personal hell into a source of healing for others. Mark: He found a new purpose. He said his destiny was now to live a life that would make his son proud, "adding goodness to his son's life by doing good in his name." That’s post-traumatic growth. It’s not about forgetting the pain; it’s about finding a way to integrate it into a new, meaningful life. Michelle: I love this idea, but I have to ask... does this risk making tragedy sound like a good thing? Like a necessary step for growth? I mean, nobody wants to go through this to find 'deeper meaning.' Mark: That's the key distinction Grant and Sandberg make, and it's a crucial one. Growth is not a goal of suffering; it's a potential byproduct. No one would choose the trauma. Sandberg is crystal clear: she would give anything to have her husband back. Option A is always better. But when Option A is not available, knowing that growth is possible becomes a lifeline. Michelle: So it’s not about seeking out pain, but about finding meaning when pain is unavoidable. Mark: Exactly. The book also tells the story of the 1972 Andes plane crash survivors. They were stranded for 72 days. They faced starvation, avalanches, and the loss of their friends. But they formed a tight-knit community. They shared hope, they worked together, and they created a new, shared identity. One survivor said, "If there’s hope, there’s life." They didn't just survive; they built a new society on that mountain, and that collective resilience is what allowed them to bounce forward.

Mark: When you put it all together, the book offers a kind of roadmap. It’s a three-step dance: first, you recognize the internal stories—the Three P's—that trap you in despair. Second, you learn the social art of giving and receiving real support, using tools like the Platinum Rule and the Ring Theory. Michelle: And third, you open yourself to the possibility that this ending can also be a new beginning. That you can bounce forward, not back. Mark: It’s a profound shift from seeing resilience as a passive trait—something you either have or you don't—to seeing it as an active, lifelong project. It's a set of skills you can learn. Michelle: It really makes you think... what 'elephant' are you avoiding in your own life, or in a friend's? And what's one small way you could acknowledge it this week? It doesn't have to be a grand gesture. Maybe it's just a text that says, "Thinking of you," without expecting anything in return. Mark: That's a powerful question. And it’s at the heart of what this book is about: building stronger connections, both with ourselves and with each other. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Join the conversation with the Aibrary community on our social channels. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.