What I’m Learning About Grief: It's supposed to be this hard.
Last week, I shared that I’m starting my own self-teaching journey. For a while now, I’ve been interested in pursuing my master’s or a certification in grief or art therapy. Time, and (honestly) finances, have kept that from happening. It was actually my husband who encouraged me and said, “We can’t do this right now, but why wait?” And with that, I went down a rabbit hole, figuring out how I could learn more… on my own.
I turned to ChatGPT, ordered a few supplies, picked up some books from the library, and even discovered a group grief class. Before I knew it, I was here—learning, listening, and reflecting. So far, this journey has been such a gift. I’m learning so much, connecting with others, and uncovering parts of my own story I didn’t even realize were still there.
The first book I’m reading is It’s OK That You’re Not OK by Megan Devine. Megan writes about grief from a very intense and traumatic perspective, and I’ll be honest, some of her opinions have challenged me and required me to slow down and think more deeply. But many of her core ideas have also felt freeing.
One of the biggest things I’m learning is that grief isn’t just an emotional experience. It doesn’t just stay neatly boxed within our feelings. It quietly seeps into everything—our bodies, our relationships, our sense of safety, even our identity. Things that once felt easy can suddenly feel exhausting. Conversations take more effort. I remember moments in my own journey of feeling okay in public, and then suddenly feeling the weight of everything and wanting to go home. Work feels heavier. Questions start looping in our minds: Who am I now? When will this feel better? Why can’t I just move on? Life feels blurry. Grief feels blurry. And the truth is—this is normal. Our society just doesn’t normalize it.
Another thing that’s becoming clear is that grief is made harder by external pressure. We live in a culture that values speed, productivity, and solutions. Grief doesn’t fit neatly into any of that. This became alarmingly true for me this week, when I realized that even though years have passed, grief still shows up in quiet ways—like needing more space, processing more slowly, or having days that feel unexpectedly heavy. It isn’t predictable, convenient, or something we can “fix.” (Even the well-known stages of grief aren’t a tidy roadmap.) Grief asks us to look at every part of ourselves, our emotions, yes, but also our bodies, our relationships, and the way we move through the world. That kind of vulnerability can feel unsettling in a culture that prefers moving on.
Learning this has helped me give myself a little more grace, especially on days when I can’t quite name what feels off.
I’m sharing this not because I’m an expert, but because I want to help create space for honest conversations. Conversations that bring language and light to something that often feels overwhelming and misunderstood. We need reminders that nothing is wrong with us for feeling the way we do and guidance on how to show up for others with more compassion.
So let me say this clearly: nothing is wrong with you for feeling the way you do.
As I continue learning, I’ll keep sharing reflections that feel grounding, honest, or clarifying. If you’re grieving, take only what feels helpful. If you’re supporting someone who is, maybe this is a reminder that presence matters more than answers.
Simple moments of reflection have been the most helpful in my own grief journey so I thought I’d end with this question: Where do I notice grief showing up in my life - not just emotionally, but in my body or relationships?
Sometimes noticing and naming what we’re carrying is one of the kindest things we can do for ourselves.
