Day 31: Something to Hold On To The reality of deep grief is that it often leaves us in a surreal fog, in which the world is unrecognizable and at times, we are unrecognizable to ourselves. Acute grief can be so intense that it can wipe out the capacity to hold onto hope, let alone being able to access a vision for the future. While people live in the intensity of this initial phase of grief, I often ask—“what do you have to hold on to?” The question is vague on purpose.

Day 30: In grief, the unknown evolves Living during a pandemic has highlighted for me how much we humans don’t know, and how we have been stretched to sit in the unknown—and how what we don’t know seems to evolve. The unknown is already one of the most challenging parts of a grief process, coming up often in circular thought patterns such as, “what will the future be like without my person, if this could happen, then what other terrible things might shift in my life, an

Day 29: Grief Bursts What distinguishes grief from depression and anxiety (and truly any other experience) is the oscillating ups and downs of feeling ok, and then not ok at all. I have also come to observe grief as the confusing experience of feeling oddly functional amidst living in deep pain—which offers a surreal sheen to one’s life. One of the experiences within this surreal sheen that I see often is what I call “grief bursts.” Simply put, these are those moments w

Day 28: Grief and Trust In the book, About Grief, Ron Marasco and Brian Shuff, call out grief as “largely a crisis of trust.” This has always stuck with me as such truth. In the initial phase of grief, we are relearning our world, and a big part of this includes relearning what “trust” means to us. On a daily basis, most of us have some sense of trust in something—whether that is waking up, having our people nearby, a sense of something larger than ourselves, our own ab

Day 27: Grief Terminology When we have a have a name for something, it can help provide a sense of control, especially in a time of massive uncertainty and strife. Grief is derived from the Middle English word, Gref, which means weight. I came to learn about in one of my all time favorite grief books, About Grief by Ron Marasco and Brian Shuff. What I have learned from the people I sit with everyday is that grief is not one thing. At its core, it is a reaction to loss a

Day 26: We Don’t Get Over Grief While this may sound terrifying and pessimistic, the adage that we don’t get over grief is a truth I have learned and observed in my work. We don’t just get over what we have loved, and we are not supposed to. We don’t just get over what we have envisioned for ourselves, and we are not supposed to. We DO learn how to live with our grief. Our grief is not separate from us. It is part of our biological attachment bonds—to people, to our hopes,

Grief naturally places us in the rawness of life, begging us to reorient, reprioritize, and discern what fits and what does not. I encourage people to take advantage of the raw clarity that often comes with the depths of pain in grief. This clarity typically brings to light an opportunity for what I call “pruning.” What relationships no longer serve you? What habits have weighed you down? What modes of thinking are making your grief worse? What can you allow yourself to not

Fatigue in grief is like no other tiredness. It sits deep in the bones. I believe it is not the same as depression’s downward pull towards the ground. Instead, I have observed it more as an internal weightiness that emanates out into all directions of our bodies, our minds, and our hearts. The weightiness seems to be the ever-present buzz of living with what has always been unbelievable. And it is more draining than anyone might imagine who has never felt it. I also believe t

It’s a thing in grief. In fact, most people, no matter if they are atheist or deeply religious, ache to remain connected with the person they loved and lost. Finding a way to honor a continuing connection with someone who dies is one of the most healing phases of a grief journey. Doing so honors what I have come to believe—just because someone has died, doesn’t mean we stop loving them. In fact, our love lives on, and in my opinion, the relationship does as well. What the rel

Since grief does not show up as an outward, physical wound, grieving isn’t allowed the same grace or time that other physical ailments tend to receive. When we grieve deeply, we are trying to learn a new world that can feel unbelievable for a long time, re-working what we think of ourselves, rexamining what we believe in, and how (if at all) we can connect to a sense of hope. This exploration process is a full body, mental, emotional, and at times (and for those who this fits

In grief, words fail us. Often. They can fail us when you are the one grieving, as the intensity of grief is both so unique AND like nothing else you may have experienced. And, so many struggle to know “what to say” when we are showing up for someone going through it (more on this topic in future posts). If we could all just start from the baseline that sometimes there just aren’t proper words—words to describe what we are going through and words to offer when we see so much

Grief is hard to define and describe because it is directly shaped by our relationship to what or who we are grieving. And our relationships are complex and rich and complicated and confusing. No one can be inside of our bodies and hearts to know exactly what that relationship feels like, which can contribute to the deep sense of loneliness that grief often brings. And while grief can be as variable as us humans and our relationships are, we tend to be more similar than diff

Day 19: Grief is not a Disorder Grief is many things AND it is not a disorder. Grief is our innate biology working to navigate life transitions and change. This doesn’t mean that grief doesn’t feel brutal and unbearable at times. For some people, a grief experience can feel worse than anything else they have been diagnosed with in the past. What makes grief feel like a mental health disorder is when the grief itself hasn’t moved or shifted. When grief stagnates in us, this s

Young children teach us adults so much about grief. As long as children are provided the space to feel their emotions (and yes, that can be difficult), they allow their grief to happen, to move, and to oscillate from moments of releasing their pain (yes, this might be a tantrum, wailing, screaming) to the downturn of that release (looking like they are just fine/able to play/as if they have forgotten all about what just happened). Young children have not yet absorbed the perv

Grief comes in waves is an age-old adage and from what I’ve come to observe is this is still truth. In its natural, uninterrupted state, grief is meant to oscillate from moments of engagement with that overwhelming pain, to moments of reprieve. The oscillation is what I believe to be our biology at work—our innate ability to grieve is already in us. The wave-movement of these different states is actually what allows for healing, and for our grief to evolve into something more

We grieve for what we hoped could be, for what we hoped was possible. Grief arises with force when our hope for what was possible is no longer. I have many folks come to me, confused by why their grief is so intense. Perhaps they grieve a relationship that was estranged, or a family member who was abusive towards them, or something they know wasn’t ultimately good for them, yet they are deeply affected. This is a form of disenfranchised grief, in which we (or others) diminish

Our grief is deeply shaped by the nature of our relationship to the person or situation we are grieving. In fact, as hard as it might be to hear, I have observed that one of the most reliable predictors of what our grief journey may look and feel like tends to be reflective of what the relationship looked and felt like. When we love deeply, we grieve deeply. AND love and being in relationship can be complicated, complex, messy, and at times, confusing and brutal (which is som

Along with a proper grief name tag to wear, I’ve always wanted to have a grief-appropriate prescription pad. In acute grief, which is the initial phase after the loss when one’s world might be inhabitable and upside down, people often feel there are no things or acts that bring much comfort. And often, the burden is placed on the person grieving to not only figure out what those are, but also educate those around them. In short, the acute grief phase is not a time for emotio

Grief is the ultimate swim upstream. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I learned from an early age about the wonders of salmon. What stood out to me has always been their journey back to their home streams from the ocean. As they return to the exact stream of their birth, they swim against the current, which often involves flinging their underbellies towards the waves of waterfalls in order to take a hit so immense that they fly up into the air, landing a little bit closer

C.S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed after his own experience of losing his partner. This small book has always stuck with me. His observation that grief feels like fear is something I hear from folks every day. When we lose someone significant to us, our sense of trust in ourselves, others, and the world can feel obliterated. This shattering of that trust often shows up as increased fearfulness, anxiety, hyper-vigilance, and the urge to cocoon or run. Increased fearfulness i