Grief is strange. It doesn’t move in a straight line, and it certainly doesn’t follow a schedule. It’s been nearly three years since my mother passed, but some days, it feels like just yesterday. The waves of loss come unexpectedly—sometimes subtle and quiet, other times crashing down with a force I can’t ignore.
I’ve done my best to be strong. To push through. To keep going. Because that’s what we’re told to do, right? Keep moving. Keep living. But I’m realizing that trying to be strong all the time is exhausting. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into my bones, making it hard to breathe some days.
I journal. I take long walks. I listen to soft music, hoping the melodies will soothe the ache in my chest, and walk barefoot on sunny days, letting the warmth of the earth remind me that I am still here, still grounded. But no matter how much I try to manage the grief, it always finds me when I’m alone. When the house is quiet. When I reach for the phone out of habit, wanting to call my mother, only to remember—she’s gone. And when I am alone, no one sees the ugly cry, the kind where there’s no sound, no movement—just stillness, lying between the pillows of my favorite chair, lost in a grief so deep it swallows me whole.
And the hardest part? Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child—like a lost little girl—even though I’m a 60-year-old grown woman. Life hurts in a way I never imagined it could. Losing her has left a hole that nothing can fill, no matter how much time passes.
But lately, I’ve been wondering… is my grief deeper than just losing my mother? My grandmother passed two years before my mom, and their losses feel so intertwined. Sometimes, I wonder if the weight I carry isn’t just for them, but for something greater—the loss of my ancestors, the generations that came before me. Could my sorrow be connected to the pain and displacement they endured? Maybe grief isn’t just personal; maybe it’s ancestral. A silent ache passed down through bloodlines, reminding me of all that was lost yet still lives within me.
I know I’m not alone in this. So many of us carry grief like an invisible weight, trying to function in a world that keeps moving while a part of us remains frozen in the past. I remind myself that healing isn’t about forgetting, nor is it about always being strong. Sometimes, healing is in the breaking—allowing myself to feel every bit of the loss and acknowledging that it still hurts.
So today, I give myself permission to not be strong. To sit with the grief instead of running from it. To let the tears come if they need to. And if you’re grieving too, I hope you give yourself that same grace. Because grief doesn’t have an expiration date, and neither does love.
If you’re ready to start your healing journey—no matter how long or hard it may be—I invite you to take the first step. Writing has been a powerful tool for me in navigating grief, and it can be for you too. Click the link below to begin your healing journal and give yourself the space to process, reflect, and find peace in your own time.
Peace, Love and Healing ❤️