There’s a moment in grief that doesn’t get talked about much.

It’s not the moment of loss.
It’s what comes after.

When the world keeps moving and you’re still standing there. You push away the feelings. Push away the thoughts. You tell yourself it’s going to get better. And you wait for the when. But the when doesn’t come.

And it’s not just the waiting. You experience moments — good moments — and even those get overshadowed. By the loss. By the change. Grief has a way of showing up everywhere.

And those layers compound. They build on each other until everything just feels heavy.

You feel alone, even when you’re surrounded by people. Like no one quite understands what this feels like — in your body, in your chest, in the quiet moments when it all catches up with you.

I know that feeling.

For a long time, I thought grief was something I had to figure out on my own. That if I could just be strong enough — process it the right way — it might ease.

But grief doesn’t work like that.

It’s not something we solve. It’s something we need space to feel. And to understand.

What began to change things for me wasn’t a book or a process. It wasn’t advice. It was connection.

Being with people who understood grief — not because they had the right words, but because they had lived it too.

What I felt in that room was a release. A softening. Support. And something I hadn’t felt in a while — safe in my own skin.

Grief didn’t leave me in that room. But something did shift.

I felt kinder — toward myself, toward my loss. Like grief wasn’t something working against me anymore. It became something closer to a friend.

Before that, I had felt so alone. So disconnected. Even from my son. The love was still there — it just got overshadowed.

But learning about grief taught me something. Grief exists because we loved so much. It’s not separate from love. It is love.

The pain disguises the love. And when you learn about grief — really learn about it — the love becomes visible again.

The learning changed something in me. So did being in a room with people who just got it. That’s where something began to shift.

And what I want others to know is this — grief is not your enemy. When you learn about it, something opens. You begin to live alongside grief instead of fighting it. It becomes less of a weight and more of a companion.

That’s what I want to show others is possible.

And even if you never come to a retreat — the learning itself can change things. Understanding grief is where it begins.

*If something in this piece stayed with you, I want you to know — there is a space being held for exactly this.*

*In August, I’m gathering a small group of people at Hartzell House in Pennsylvania for a two-night grief retreat called Opening to Feel. It’s intimate, supported, and grounded in everything I’ve shared here. *

*If you feel ready — even just a little — I’d love for you to learn more.*

Learn More About Opening to Feel Grief Retreat