When I was in the thick of grief, people said it would get easier.
Easier never came in the way I imagined. Grief reshaped me slowly, quietly until one day I noticed I could breathe again, even with the ache still there.
Looking back, there are things I wish I had known. Not to avoid the pain—grief demands to be felt—but to understand what was happening inside me, to suffer less from confusion and fear.
- Grief lives in the body
I once thought grief was only emotional. Science shows it reaches through every cell. When we lose someone we love, the brain sounds an alarm. The body shifts into a state of vigilance: sleep fades, digestion falters, muscles stay tense. It’s biology trying to protect us. If I had known that I would have been gentler, fed myself slowly, rested without guilt, and moved in ways that remind my nervous system that safety could return.
- The mind loops to find meaning
In the early months, my thoughts replayed every moment, the last conversation, the what-ifs, the small details that refused to rest. It felt endless. Neuroscientist Mary-Frances O’Connor explains that the brain is learning that someone real in memory is no longer here in the physical world. Those loops are part of how the mind rewires itself. Understanding this helped me meet the repetition with more compassion. Each loop was my brain trying to make sense of the impossible.
- The relationship continues to grow
What surprised me most was discovering that the love and the relationship didn’t stop. They remained alive, organic, unfolding, changing as I did. My loved ones may no longer be here, yet they live with me in ways I never expected. As I learn more about myself, I uncover new parts of them too. It’s like rediscovering them in new lights over the years. Sometimes I have quiet, imagined conversations that mirror what’s happening in my life now. Over time, I see them with more clarity and tenderness, what remains feels wiser, truer. Their presence still guides me, not through signs or mysticism, but through the steady pulse of love and memory that continues to evolve inside me.
- Guilt is woven into grief
For a long time, I believed the guilt was mine alone, the what-ifs, the should-have-said, the could-have-done. I carried guilt like a heavy weight. Only recently through my therapist, did I learn that guilt is an inherent part of grief. It’s the mind’s attempt to regain control after something uncontrollable has happened. Realizing this changed everything. Understanding that these thoughts were a natural response, shared by almost everyone who grieves, made them less powerful. The guilt still visits, but it no longer owns the room.
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- Healing follows its own rhythm
Grief moves like the tide, advancing, receding, returning without warning. Some days the sea is calm, and then a new wave arrives, carrying memories and a pain you thought had settled. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that while the waves may keep their intensity, their frequency changes. It has been thirty years since my brother died, and when a wave of grief comes, it still hits with the same sharpness as before. The difference is that those waves come less often now.
Healing, I’ve come to see, isn’t measured by how mild the feelings become, but by how much space there is between their arrivals. I’ve learned to gauge my healing not through intensity, but through frequency. Each return is part of adaptation. The waves are how the mind and body learn to live with what has changed.
- Letting others show up matters
During my hardest months, people asked what they could do. I rarely knew how to answer. It felt exposing to voice what might help, a meal, company, silence.
I could see how much people wanted to care, and how lost they felt without direction. Letting them in would have given comfort to us both. Allowing help is an act of belonging and generosity towards those who care.
A closing reflection
If you’re in the deep water of grief right now, let yourself float. Your brain, heart, and body are doing their best to keep you here. Trust the slow intelligence of healing.
And when someone reaches toward you, let them.
Grief is love searching for new ways to move through the world.