The Wild, Messy Truth of Grief
What they never told you about how this really feels
💜 This is the first 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. 💜
Grief doesn’t look like the movies.
It doesn’t come in tidy stages.
It doesn’t follow a linear timeline.
And it doesn’t wait until you’re “ready” to fall apart.
Grief shows up as a shapeshifter.
It’s forgetting what day it is.
It’s crying in the pasta aisle for no reason.
It’s feeling nothing at all and wondering if that makes you heartless.
It’s rage at people who ghosted you, and guilt because you understand why they did.
It’s being fine, fine, fine... until suddenly you’re not.
You might be here because someone died.
Or because something ended, and no one else seems to care.
Or because the world broke open and you’re left gathering the pieces.
Whatever brought you to this point, your grief is valid.
You don’t need to justify it.
You don’t need to explain it.
You just get to feel it.
What No One Tells You
People will talk about “coping.”
They might admire your strength.
But what they don’t say is that grief can look like:
Brain fog that won’t lift
Feeling like your skin is too tight for your body
Random outbursts of anger or laughter
A body that aches with exhaustion, even after sleeping
Forgetting how to do the simplest things (like feeding yourself)
Your nervous system is trying to keep you upright while holding the weight of absence. It’s a miracle you’re still breathing. Let’s start there.
Grief Lives in the Body
You might think you’re going crazy. You’re not.
The body remembers what the mind can’t always express.
It clenches. It stiffens. It shakes.
Your shoulders curl in. Your jaw locks. Your stomach churns at the sound of a certain song.
Grief doesn’t just live in the heart, it lodges in the muscles, the gut, the breath.
And the body doesn’t care what the calendar says.
It won’t move on just because other people have.
Try This: A 3-Step Ritual for the Overwhelmed
If today feels impossible, try this little ritual:
Light something. A candle, a match, a lamp. Let it be a symbol of your still-beating heart.
Name something. Say or write what hurts, even if all you can say is, “I miss them.” Or, “I’m tired.” Or, “I don’t know.”
Place something. A flower, a stone, a piece of jewelry. Something you can touch when the ache rises.
Tiny actions are sacred gestures. They give grief somewhere to go.
You’re Not Doing This Wrong
There’s no prize for grieving “gracefully.”
There’s no timeline for feeling “normal” again.
And if no one else has said this to you lately:
You’re allowed to be angry.
You’re allowed to be numb.
You’re allowed to laugh at something ridiculous and cry at something mundane.
You’re allowed to still be grieving, no matter how much time has passed.
You are not too much.
You are not broken.
You are still here.
Love today,
Heather 🌸
Journal Prompt:
What does your grief actually feel like, not what others expect it to look like?
Describe it like the weather. Like a room. Like a color. Like a sound. Let it speak in your own language.
Thank you for being here.
This post is part of Still Here: A Grief Series—an ongoing collection of reflections, rituals, and reminders for those learning to live with loss.
Next week, we’ll continue the conversation. Until then, be gentle with yourself.
You are still here. And so is your love.