Grief
Some Monsters Don't Have Bodies
Fighting a supervillain might be easier than fighting grief.
Posted September 1, 2026 Reviewed by Gary Drevitch
Key points
- Grief, loneliness, and trauma require adaptation rather than a solution.
- Small actions can restore a sense of agency when situations cannot be changed.
- Moving forward means learning to integrate painful experiences.
In preparation for the release of Avengers: Doomsday this December, I've been doing my homework. Or, more accurately, I've given myself an excellent excuse to rewatch key movies and television shows from the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
This past July, while watching Spider-Man: Brand New Day, I found myself thinking about something other than Doctor Doom. I started thinking about how much easier it must be to fight a supervillain. Not easy, physically, but psychologically there is something appealing about having an enemy you can see.
Peter Parker can fight villains, but what does he do with the loneliness of living in a world where the people he loves no longer remember him? Wanda Maximoff can move objects with her mind, alter reality, and nearly defeat Thanos single-handedly, but none of those powers allow her to undo the losses of her parents, her brother, or her partner, Vision. There is no Infinity Stone for grief.
Perhaps that is one reason these stories resonate so deeply: Eventually, nearly all of us encounter something we desperately want to fight but cannot defeat in the conventional sense.
When There Is Nothing to Punch
Psychologists distinguish between different forms of coping. Problem-focused coping involves trying to change the thing causing our distress. If I'm overwhelmed because I have too much work, I can reorganize my schedule, delegate something, or finish the task. There is a problem, and I can take action against it. That feels good.
Human beings generally like agency. We like believing that our actions can influence what happens next, but many of life's hardest experiences don't cooperate. These experiences often require more emotion-focused coping—not eliminating the source of the pain, but learning how to experience, regulate, understand, and eventually integrate the emotions surrounding it. That's an entirely different kind of fight. In fact, "fight" may be the wrong word choice entirely.
The Seduction of the Villain
A clearly defined enemy provides something psychologically valuable: a target for action. If the problem is Ultron, Thanos, or Doctor Doom, the question becomes: What are we going to do about him?
Grief, however, asks a much more unsettling question: How am I going to live now that this happened? Loneliness asks: How do I build connection when I can't force another person to connect with me? Trauma may ask: How do I feel safe again when my experience has taught me that the world isn't always safe?
Those questions are harder partly because they contain uncertainty and limited control. When we cannot control the thing causing our pain, we sometimes search for something we can control. We work more, avoid reminders, stay constantly busy, replay conversations, and try to solve emotions intellectually. We may also become angry, withdraw, or tell ourselves we should be "over it" by now. Sometimes we even find another problem to fight because fighting something feels better than sitting beside something we cannot fix.
Maybe the Goal Isn't Winning
This may be where superhero stories occasionally teach us something unexpected. Some experiences aren't conquered but integrated. Grief research, for example, does not support the popular notion that everyone neatly progresses through five stages and emerges finished. Grieving is highly individual, and there isn't a prescribed timetable for completing it as our relationship to the loss changes.
Trauma recovery can work similarly. Healing doesn't necessarily mean erasing what happened. It can mean gradually rebuilding safety, connection, routine, and a sense of agency. Finally, loneliness isn't necessarily solved by simply putting more people around us. What we are often seeking is meaningful connection and belonging.
So what do we do when the monster doesn't have a body?
1. Identify what is actually controllable. When something enormous feels uncontrollable, shrink it. You may not be able to answer, "How will I live without this person?” but you may be able to answer, "What do I need today?" You cannot guarantee that you'll never feel lonely again, but you can text one person. You cannot erase a traumatic experience, but you can choose one thing that helps your nervous system feel safer right now.
2. Stop requiring yourself to defeat the feeling. We often make painful emotions worse by deciding their continued presence means we're doing something wrong. Emotions are information and experiences, not opponents. Instead of trying to get rid of a feeling, consider the question of What is this telling me that I need?
3. Resist isolation. Pain often tells us to withdraw at exactly the moment connection matters most, but social support is one of the most consistent resources associated with coping after loss and traumatic experiences. That doesn't mean you have to tell everyone everything. It may mean identifying one or two people with whom you don't have to pretend. Sitting beside someone, going for a walk, watching a movie together, or exchanging ridiculous memes qualifies as connection even if there's no profound conversation involved.
4. Give the experience somewhere to go. Talk about it. Write about it. Make something. Move your body. Create a ritual. Tell stories about the person you lost. The goal is to allow an experience to become part of your story rather than something you must continually outrun.
5. Know when you need another Avenger. Superheroes almost never save the world entirely alone. Neither do humans. If grief, loneliness, or the effects of trauma are significantly interfering with your relationships, work, sleep, or ability to function, professional support can help. It can actually be the most agentic move available.
The Battles Without Final Scenes
Maybe that's what I've been noticing as I work my way through Marvel again. The battles depicted feature impossible odds and heroes getting back up after being knocked down. But the more memorable battles may be the more recognizable ones. Peter Parker standing alone, Wanda trying to construct a life around unbearable absence, and Thor carrying losses that even a god cannot easily manage. Heroes, like us, discover that power doesn't protect anyone from being human.
In December, the Avengers will face Doctor Doom. There will be an enemy and a threat: something to fight. That may be comforting because outside the theater, some of the hardest things we face won't announce themselves with dramatic music.
