There is a quiet frustration that often arrives with grief.
You sit down to read something
and realise you have read the same sentence five times.
You open your laptop
and forget what you came to do.
You walk into a room
and your thoughts dissolve halfway through.
It can feel disorienting.
At times, even concerning.
What you are experiencing is a brain under load.
The brain relies on the prefrontal cortex to do much of what we associate with “functioning well.” Focusing. Planning. Organising. Holding information in mind.
In grief, this system becomes less available. Not because it is failing, but because it is busy elsewhere. Grief is not only emotional. It is cognitive work.
When someone we love dies, the brain is faced with something it cannot immediately reconcile. A person who was woven into the fabric of daily life is suddenly absent. And yet, internally, they are still expected.
The brain must begin updating its internal model of reality. This process takes time, and it requires energy. At the same time, it is processing emotional pain, navigating attachment disruption, and regulating stress responses in the body.
All of this happens beneath the surface, often without conscious awareness.
Cognitive resources are finite. Attention, memory, decision-making, emotional regulation
they all draw from the same limited pool. In grief, a large portion of that pool is already in use. Which means there is less available for everything else. This is why concentration falters, simple tasks feel heavier than they should and decision-making becomes slower, sometimes overwhelming. It is really not a question of discipline or willingness but a question of capacity.
The nervous system also plays its part. Grief often shifts the body into states of hyperarousal or depletion. At times, there is restlessness, a sense of being on edge, thoughts moving too quickly to settle. At other times, there is heaviness, a slowing down, a difficulty accessing energy (think window of tolerance). Both states influence how clearly we can think.
The mind does not operate independently from the body. It reflects it. Understanding this changes the relationship you have with these moments where we feel like we’re losing our mind. Instead of interpreting them as signs of decline or inefficiency, they can be seen for what they are: An adaptive response to loss.
Your brain is doing something complex and necessary by learning how to live in a reality it did not choose.
There is a quieter way to meet this. To work with the capacity that is available, rather than demanding what is not.
To reduce what is not essential.
To move more slowly than usual.
To allow space and time for things to take longer.
And, at times, to anchor attention in something simple and physical.
The feeling of your feet on the ground.
The rhythm of your breath.
Small points of stability in a system that is recalibrating.
Grief asks the brain to hold two truths at once.
What was.
And what is.
It is not surprising that concentration falters in the process. It would be surprising if it didn’t.
This is something I explore more deeply in my work, where I help people understand what is happening in their brain and body in grief, and how to move through it with more clarity and steadiness.Top of Form You can explore my digital resources or book a 1:1