The Grief That Doesn’t Get Named

Loss without language. Sorrow without ceremony.

Jun 07, 2025

💜 This is the second installment of Still Here: A Grief Series, a journey into the sacred terrain of loss, love, and what remains. Every Saturday, I’ll share reflections, rituals, and gentle invitations to feel your way through grief, whether it’s fresh or decades old. You’re not alone. You’re not too much. And you’re still here. Check out last't week's post, The Wild, Messy Truth of Grief here.💜

Some grief wears black and gathers casseroles.
Yet, some grief goes unseen.

It’s quiet.
Unwitnessed.
Unspoken.

There’s grief that comes with death, and then there’s the kind of grief that doesn’t get flowers or funerals. The kind that quietly buries itself deep in your chest. The kind you sometimes hesitate to even name.

Disenfranchised Grief

Psychologists call it disenfranchised grief: sorrow that society doesn’t recognize as legitimate.

Maybe you’re grieving:

The parent who was never safe enough to love
The child you hoped for but never conceived
A friend who disappeared without explanation
The loss of a body you once trusted
A life path you were never able to take
The version of you that existed before the diagnosis, the trauma, the shattering
The pet who was more family than most people
Someone who is still here, but no longer herself

This is grief without a script. Grief without ritual. Grief without condolence cards.

And it hurts. Sometimes, it hurts more than the "visible" losses, because when your pain isn't named, it doesn’t get comforted. It gets buried.

Why This Grief Hurts So Much

Grief that goes unseen often turns into grief that you start to question.

You might find yourself asking:

Do I even have the right to feel this sad?
Why am I still crying about this?
Why does this hurt more than the “big” losses?

Here’s why:

Unacknowledged grief still demands to be felt. Yet because it isn’t reflected or supported, it often gets internalized.

It can turn into:

Shame
Exhaustion
An unnamable anxiety
A hypersensitivity to things others easily shrug off
Physical symptoms with no clear source

This is not weakness.

This is your body and spirit carrying something heavy without help.

The Griefs That Stay Hidden

You don’t get days off work to grieve a breakup, a falling out, or a lost dream.

You don’t get a memorial service for the miscarriage no one knew about.

There’s no official mourning period for when your sibling cuts you off.

Or when your childhood home is sold.

Or when your pet’s bowl is still in the corner, untouched, and everyone says, “Just get another.”

But you remember.

You remember. And it matters.

Grief for the Living

One of the hardest griefs to carry is when someone is still alive, but no longer themselves.

Dementia. Estrangement. Addiction. Abuse.

A parent who never knew how to love you.
A child who cut off all contact.
A partner you lost not through death, but through disconnection.

There’s no socially sanctioned ritual for this grief.

But the ache is no less real.

You’re allowed to mourn the relationship you wanted but never had.
You’re allowed to grieve a goodbye that never came.
You’re allowed to hold the paradox of love and pain at the same time.

Let’s Talk About Pet Loss

And let’s not gloss over this. When you lose an animal you’ve loved, it can feel like the world has cracked open.

People may not understand. They might say, “It was just a dog,” or “You can get another cat.”

But your pet wasn’t “just” anything.

Your pet was your anchor.

Your routine.

The one you shared quiet mornings and deep love with.

The one who was always there.

Grief doesn’t care what species they were.

Love is love.

Loss is loss.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

A Naming Ritual

You don’t need a priest, a poem, or a casket.

You just need a moment.

Your breath.

Your honesty.

Light a candle if you want. Or simply close your eyes.

Then write:

“I am grieving…” and finish the sentence as many times as you need.

No one else needs to see it. This isn’t for performance. It’s for you.

To speak what hasn’t been spoken.

To let the unnamed know it matters.

Because it does.

You Don’t Need Permission to Grieve

You don’t need proof to justify your sorrow.
You don’t need a death certificate to cry.
You don’t need witnesses to validate your ache.

You are allowed to name what hurts.
You are allowed to grieve the invisible.
You are allowed to remember what the world forgot.

Grief isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s the softest thing in the room, the weight on your chest, the flutter in your stomach, the silence that says, “This mattered.”

And I want you to know: I see it. I see you. And it matters to me, too.

Love today,

Heather 🌸

Journal Prompt for Week 2:

What losses have you carried quietly because the world didn’t know how to hold them?
Name them. Write them a letter. Let them know they existed. Let them know they still matter.