The Nature of Grief

ECLIPSES

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 18:00:57 GMT

Have you ever wondered what happens to your grief when life leaves no room for it?

Your loss is still there, centered and heavy in your heart, but then something else happens. A problem at work. A family crisis. An unexpected expense. Another loss. Suddenly your already-depleted reserves are being called upon to carry even more, and the grief that once filled your entire horizon becomes obscured by everything demanding your attention.

In this reflection, I explore what happens when our essential grief is eclipsed by the other sorrows, responsibilities and disruptions of being human. We’ll consider why grief still needs our attention even when life becomes impossibly crowded and how intentionally turning toward what we are grieving can create space for some of the softening and release our hearts need.

As a member of the Seasons for Healing community here on Substack, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts, and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

There was the original loss that brought you to grief healing. And then maybe you experienced any of the following as well:

The flood in the house.

The family fight.

The problems at work.

The car that broke down.

The scary diagnosis.

Like the sun eclipsed by the moon, your grief can become overshadowed by other challenges and losses. All of the earthly demands that pull your attention and energy away from your essential sorrow can be like eclipses in your grief. The chaos that clouds the loss centered in your heart can further tax your depleted energy, complicating your grief.

Just as we stop and sit in awe when witnessing an eclipse, it is important to protect time each day to witness your grief in this season of healing….

WEEDS

Fri, 31 Jul 2026 17:30:33 GMT

Do you ever feel like your grief is too much to untangle? As though every loss, every worry, every heartbreaking headline has wrapped itself around your heart until you can’t tell where one sorrow ends and another begins? When we’re overwhelmed, it’s easy to feel as though we’re failing simply because we can’t keep up with the weight of it all.

In this reflection, I turn to the invasive blackberry vines that have overtaken my garden as a metaphor for the ways grief and collective sorrow can leave us feeling tangled, exhausted, and deep in the weeds. Together, we’ll explore what it means to meet overwhelm with honesty and compassion rather than resistance. And how small, intentional practices can help us find steadier ground without asking us to deny the reality of our pain.

As a member of the Seasons for Healing community here on Substack, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

The invasive weeds in my yard captured my attention this week. In particular the invasive Himalayan Blackberry vines winding their long fingers through the fence around my backyard.

If you have never seen these blackberry vines, they are vicious. They grow Jack-in-the-beanstalk-style seemingly multiple inches overnight. And the thorns are brutal. I’ve seen individual thorns at least one inch long. Mean. Pernicious.

Anytime I have covered myself in protective clothing to battle back these invaders, I end up feeling like I am fighting a losing battle deep in the weeds. Sometimes grief can feel like this.

ROSES

Fri, 17 Jul 2026 17:02:45 GMT

Have you ever wondered if it was possible to hold both profound sorrow and profound beauty at the same time? A sunset takes your breath away. A flower catches your eye. A child laughs nearby. For a fleeting moment, beauty breaks through your sorrow, and then guilt or confusion quickly follows. How can wonder exist alongside so much pain?

In this reflection, I explore the surprising relationship between grief, beauty and wonder. Together, we’ll consider how opening ourselves to moments of awe isn’t a betrayal of the people we love or the losses we carry. Instead, wonder may be one of nature’s most gentle companions to grief— a quiet invitation to remember that even in seasons of profound sorrow, beauty continues to meet us where we are. When we intentionally place ourselves in the way of beauty, we create space for our weary hearts to rest, replenish and heal.

As a member of the Seasons for Healing community here on Substack, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers. You don’t have to journey alone.

The month before my husband died, he planted eight red rose bushes in our yard. They were his favorite flower and he had always loved their classic red beauty. Over the years, his roses have continued to bloom, filling the air with their color and fragrance.

On summer evenings, when the petals are lit by the late-day sun, my longing for my husband mixes with the beauty of the roses and somehow my heart feels full. This fullness—a stirring of awe, admiration, and longing when I’m in the presence of something beautiful—is the feeling of wonder….

BUTTERFLIES

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 17:00:53 GMT

Have you ever caught yourself wondering whether you’re really changing through your grief? Healing rarely announces itself in dramatic moments. More often, it happens so quietly that we miss it altogether. We look for evidence that we’re “doing better,” while overlooking the subtle ways our hearts are adapting, softening, healing and growing.

In this reflection, I turn to the natural world to explore the quiet miracle of transformation. From butterflies emerging after profound change to leaves, blossoms, and berries moving through their own seasons, nature reminds us that nothing remains the same forever. Together, we’ll consider how change is woven into every living thing and how your own grief journey may be transforming you in ways you cannot yet fully see.

When a monarch butterfly floated through the branches of the trees in my backyard, the glimpse of her signature colors and patterns floating effortlessly through the air felt like a little miracle. The journey of the monarch is remarkable: their annual 3,000 mile migration, their capacity for survival and adaptation. How can a creature so light and small carry within itself such adventure and stamina?

As I watched this intriguing creature dance along, I sensed a comical wink from the universe. As if she was whispering, ‘You know butterflies are about transformation and change. What does that tell you about your life right now?’

The Horizon

Wed, 08 Jul 2026 13:02:50 GMT

Hey Sweet Grievers,

I’ve been thinking about a trip I took to beautiful Vancouver Island this time last year. The gentle sea air, the cry of gulls, the low moan of ferry horns and gorgeous vistas soothed my tired nervous system in a way that has stayed with me.

I needed the wide sky and the long views of the ocean. I spent hours on the rocky shores communing with the horizon. My gaze stretched and settled on distant clouds and mountains. I was awed by the space where the sea and sky meet—seemingly so close to each other, and yet so far.

Grief brings us to these horizon points where we are so close to our loved ones and yet so far away. Where memories melt the distance between us and yet, with the next breath, the reality of separation crashes in to reorient us on this mortal plain.

I’m thinking of you, Beloved Griever, and all you’re carrying while you search the horizon and feel both close to and far away from your beloved.

I hope you feel peace while you visit the beauty of nature. I hope the horizon helps you feel less alone in the grand human experience of contradiction, of being close and yet so far from those we love. With their voice still in our head, their scent still lingering on the pillow, the sound of their laughter echoing across the night.

As always, know you are not alone. I am on the path with you.

Keep breathing, keep healing, keep loving.

Thanks for reading The Nature of Grief! This post is public so feel free to share it.

GRIEFY WRITING HOUR

Griefy Writing Hour is a gentle, guided Zoom gathering where we'll explore one page from The Nature of Grief Workbook together. Through reflection, writing and connection, you'll have space to process your grief and discover small moments of insight, comfort and hope. Come exactly as you are. There's no pressure to share, only an invitation to write and be gently companioned through your grief.

If you already have a copy of The Nature of Grief Workbook, please bring it with you. If you don't, I’ll email you a downloadable worksheet to use during the session. If you'd like to continue your journey beyond our time together, you can also purchase a copy of the workbook here.

Registration is free, but limited. I hope to see you there.

WIND

Fri, 29 May 2026 19:00:54 GMT

Have you ever been surprised by the intensity of your anger after a loss? Perhaps it arrived suddenly while in traffic, bubbled up in a conversation, or simply while you quietly folded laundry, and it left you wondering where it came from or what to do with it. Many grievers are comfortable talking about sadness, but anger can feel confusing, frightening and even shameful when it surfaces.

In this reflection, I explore grief rage through the lens of wind, an untamed force that moves through the world with power and purpose. Together, we consider how anger may be more than something to suppress or fear. What if it carries important information? What if it is not only a protest against what has happened, but also a protector pointing toward what you need? This essay offers gentle ways to understand, express and work with anger as part of the healing process.

Wind has a way of feeling angry. It bends and breaks trees and rips their roots from the earth. It hurls the ocean into giant waves of destructive power. Wind can leave us quaking in our homes when it scrapes at our protective rooftops with its invisible teeth.

I felt jealous of the wind when I was in deep grief. How nice it must be to rage against open plains and roar through canyons and rip trees and throw the ocean against the rocks…

WAVES

Fri, 22 May 2026 18:01:33 GMT

Have you ever been caught off guard by a sudden wave of grief? One of those fine-one-moment and not-fine-the-next ones that leave you feeling completely overwhelmed?

A song on the radio that transports you back to a moment in your past.

A complete stranger in the grocery store checkout line.

A familiar scented cologne or perfume drifting unexpectedly past you.

An ordinary weeknight that takes a sudden turn from your routine.

These emotional surges can feel confusing, exhausting and even frightening when we don’t understand why they arrive when they do. In this reflection, I explore grief through the metaphor of ocean waves, especially the unpredictable waves that can suddenly tumble you, take you under, take your breath away and dump you on the shore. We’ll consider what it might mean to stop fighting these emotional currents and instead meet them with greater compassion, trust and understanding. If your grief has ever felt like something threatening to carry you out to sea, this is an invitation to remember that feelings move, shift and eventually soften.

As a paid member of the Seasons for Healing community here on Substack, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts, and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

I live a 90-minute drive from the beautiful and rugged Oregon coast. The shoreline is rocky, the surf is not friendly to play in, and the water temperature hovers in the mid 50s. The surfers who brave the punishing and unpredictable waves need experience and wet suits and a sense of adventure I have never known.

After my husband’s death, I made many trips to the coast in an effort to find peace. I was soothed by the roar of giant waves thundering onto rocks and against the sand. Walking these long stretches of beach and listening to the timbre of the waves helped to drown out the buzzing of sorrow in my mind and my chest…

NESTS

Fri, 08 May 2026 18:01:52 GMT

Have you noticed how grief can change your relationship with home? The places and objects that once brought comfort can suddenly feel unfamiliar, heavy, or filled with echoes of the life that existed “before.” Sometimes we long for refuge while simultaneously feeling unsettled within the very spaces that once held us safely.

In this reflection, I explore the instinct to create shelter in grief through the image of a robin carefully weaving her nest from the materials around her. Together, we’ll gently consider how grief reshapes our understanding of home, safety, and comfort, and how healing may ask us to rebuild our nests in ways that honor both who we were and who we are becoming. This is an invitation to notice what truly brings you steadiness in this season, even if it looks different than it once did.

I am watching a mama robin diligently fuss an already well-established nest under the eave of our kitchen nook. For as long as we have lived in this house, a nest has existed here. My family’s seasons have been reflected in this nest. After my youngest son’s fourth birthday party one of the curly ribbons from a gift was woven into the nest. For years I marveled at the long strands of semi-curled ribbon that blew in the breeze, reconnecting me to that summer day when we celebrated the fourth year of Brendan’s life….

GREEN LEAVES

Fri, 01 May 2026 17:02:11 GMT

Have you noticed the return of spring feeling both refreshing and also a bit disorienting? The light lingers longer, the air softens and the world is coming alive with color again and yet something in you may not feel ready to follow along at nature’s pace.

In this reflection, I sit with the quiet tension between what is unfolding in the natural world and what may still feel frozen or tender within you. We explore how grief doesn’t always move in step with the seasons and how it’s possible to hold both sorrow and something softer, like hope, beauty and even small moments of joy at the same time. This is an invitation to let your experience be exactly what it is, without needing it to match what the world around you seems to be doing.

As a member of the Seasons for Healing community here on Substack, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts, and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

My eyes have been focusing on ‘the greening’ that is happening in the landscape around me. Every hour there seems to be a new shade of green and a new branch that has leafed in this fickle spring sunshine…

PEBBLES, PINECONES & SHELLS

Fri, 24 Apr 2026 18:29:50 GMT

Have you ever felt a quiet pressure to do something to honor the person you’ve lost and you wonder if you’re doing enough? In grief, the desire to keep our loved one close can become tangled among our expectations about how we should remember them, leaving us searching for the “right” way to honor a life that mattered so deeply.

In this reflection, I explore the tension between doing and being in our grief, and gently reframe what it means to honor someone we love. Together, we consider how mourning itself—our expressions of love, memory and presence—can become a living tribute, even in the smallest, most ordinary moments. Ones that don’t require perfection or performance.

When you join the Seasons for Healing community, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts, and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

In our grief, many of us are anxious about how to honor our loved ones after they have died. An internal pressure mounts as days and weeks and years pass, seemingly pulling us farther away from our beloved’s lifetime. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the weight of grief and the simultaneous desire to actively honor their lives in tangible, specific ways….

LIMINAL SPACES

Fri, 17 Apr 2026 18:01:56 GMT

Have you ever felt suspended in your grief where you’re no longer living the life you once knew, but not yet able to imagine what comes next? That in-between space can feel disorienting, like time has slowed or even stopped, leaving you unsure where you belong.

In this reflection, I explore the idea of liminal space… the threshold between what was and what is still unfolding. Rather than something to rush through or escape, this in-between can hold quiet forms of growth, creativity and connection, even when it feels uncertain. Together, we’ll gently consider how the natural world reflects this experience and how these spaces might offer steadiness and support for your nervous system as you move through grief.

Liminal is from the Latin word ‘limen’, which means threshold. A liminal space is a place where we experience transition, where we feel the pause of time. Liminal spaces invite us into waiting and holding the unknown future….

MOSS

Fri, 10 Apr 2026 18:01:27 GMT

Have you ever been told how “strong” you are in your grief and felt something inside you resist it? As if the word doesn’t quite fit the reality of what you’re living through? When you’re grieving, you continue to show up the best you can in life, all the while carrying a lot more than ever before. You probably feel anything but strong.

In this reflection, I gently question the language we use to describe ourselves after loss. Instead of strength, we explore a different way of understanding what it means to keep going, one that feels more honest, more embodied and more aligned with the quiet persistence required in grief. This is an invitation to see yourself not as someone who must be strong, but as someone who is still here, still breathing, still enduring in ways that may be invisible to others.

In our deep grief we are often rewarded for ‘being strong’. Well-meaning friends and family tell us they see our strength and they encourage us to continue to “be strong.”

“You are so strong! I couldn’t do what you are doing.”

“I can’t believe how well you’re doing! I would be leveled by this loss but you are so much stronger than I am.”

I have yet to meet a bereaved person who feels strong or feels buoyed by the observation of their own perceived strength….

Let’s Spring into Sadness, Ugh…

Wed, 01 Apr 2026 14:02:41 GMT

Hey Sweet Grievers,

Welcome to spring in the northern hemisphere. We passed the vernal equinox on 3/20 and are now officially in the season of birth and renewal. Hopefully, you have tulips blooming where you live or the first signs of spring flowers emerging from snow banks and soggy ground. With all of the blue sky and floral infused energy, it is easy to be surprised by the ongoing grief of it all.

Each year in the spring, I hear from folks who struggle unexpectedly with this time of year.

‘The weather is so beautiful and I feel a weird hope but I also feel so much sadness in my chest. What the heck is this about?’

For many who are grieving, the contradiction of beautiful warm days and cheerful flowers collides with the heaviness of grief. It’s complicated. I turn to nature to offer models of how we do this moment as humans.

Think of sleepy bears emerging from their cozy dens of hibernation. They don’t spring out of that dark nurturing space and immediately frolic in green grass.

They wobble.

They stumble.

They blink in the bright light.

They begin to notice hunger deep in their bellies.

They are driven by something new that pulls them out of what has been comforting and restful. It is its own work to emerge from hibernation.

You are doing this too.

Grief goes with winter. Your grief probably found its way to be expressed, nurtured and supported by the quiet, inner rest-based work of winter. Now you are being thrust into bright light by this new season, even if your soul would rather keep it dark and quiet for a few more weeks.

There is nothing wrong with you if you are struggling with this seasonal shift.

Remember, you have permission to feel any way about any given thing. If you balk at sunshine and prefer to pull the blinds and watch a movie, you are allowed. If sitting in sparkling green grass makes you cry, missing your beloved and remembering where you were with them in past springtimes, you are allowed to weep. Maybe blossoms and talk of renewal and birth pisses you off right now. That’s okay too. You are grieving. You are continuing to learn how to do this life without your beloved here beside you. Whether the sun is shining or not, your grief is still drawing you deeper into knowing yourself, your soul and how to keep moving forward with sorrow on board. You can trust grief to be your guide to show you what you love, who you miss and where your emotions are revealing more of yourself.

Please be gentle with you.

Last week I wrote about continuing to feel deep grief through the hyper-happiness of early spring. Some of you may not be feeling deep grief at the moment but instead are worried and wondering, ‘Oh no, I have been so giddy and happy and full of hope the last few days. This beautiful spring has my heart soaring. What if I am done grieving too soon? What if I am too happy, too soon?’

I have some good news and some bad news. The good news: It is okay to enjoy this high. Take the sun-infused happiness you are feeling and draw it deeply into your cells. Drink that vitamin D hit from the actual sun instead of from a vitamin bottle. Let your heart soar with the goodness of these sensations. Talk to the flowers, fill all the vases you have with spring blooms. Let this joy bounce around inside you.

It does not mean you are done grieving. That’s the bad news.

You are not done grieving when you suddenly have a few good days or feel a week-long streak of joy. Grief never comes to us all at once. And it never leaves us all at once. The loss of our beloved is something we live into. We are constantly being changed by grief and our emotions, like the clouds in the sky that are always changing. There isn’t some grand graduation from grief. It will be with us all of our days. Some days the presence of your grief will crowd out everything else and other days, you may barely notice the wisp of grief hanging around the shadows of whatever room you are in.

Either way, your emotions do not need to mean anything about the love you continue to have for your beloved. A happy day does not mean you have forgotten them or that you did not grieve long or hard enough. A day of happiness fuels you to keep growing, feeling, integrating and finding your alive-ness. You have permission to fully embrace the joy and goodness you are feeling at this moment. Lean into that goodness and store it up for a rainy day.

It might be helpful to journal about what you were taught about grief ending. Were you taught that grief has a finish line or an expiration date? Where did you learn this idea? Who taught you this? Write about how good it feels to have a good day after grieving deeply. Rewrite whatever rules you were taught about grief needing to end.

Thanks for reading The Nature of Grief! This post is public so feel free to share it.

WATER

Fri, 27 Mar 2026 18:02:33 GMT

Lately, you might find that what once felt easy… doesn’t anymore.

Conversations that used to feel effortless (small talk, catching up, even responding to texts) now feel heavy or hard to enter.

Time with certain people, even those you care about, can leave you feeling drained instead of supported.

Places that once felt familiar may now feel overwhelming or out of sync with where you are.

Grief doesn’t just live in your heart. It reshapes your capacity. It changes what you have energy for, what feels safe and what your nervous system can hold.

And yet, in the midst of all that intensity, your body is still searching for moments of calm.

One of the gentlest ways to reconnect with that sense of ease is through stillness, especially in the presence of water. Whether it’s a lake, a fountain, or even a glass of water catching the sunlight, small, still moments around water can help regulate your nervous system and offer your grieving heart a place to rest. It’s here that you may begin to notice what calm feels like in your body again and that awareness can become a guide.

In this week’s reflection, I explore the quiet healing nature of water and how moments of stillness can help you reconnect with your breath, your body and your inner sense of peace.

✨ Inside Seasons for Healing, you’ll find the full reflection along with guided writing and sensory prompts to help you deepen this practice, build awareness around your changing needs and move through your grief with greater clarity and self-trust, all while being supported by a community that understands.

The stillness we find in nature offers a respite from the intensity of grief. Think about the times you’ve been sitting next to a lake or creek, a river or the ocean: the presence of water is medicine for our tired and weary souls. These quiet moments invite us to focus on the rhythm of our heartbeats and the flow of breath moving in and out of our bodies….

RIVERBANKS

Fri, 20 Mar 2026 18:01:23 GMT

Have you found yourself second-guessing your needs in grief and wondering if you’re doing too little, too much, or even getting it all wrong? Saying yes when your body wants to say no, or feeling guilty for choosing rest, distance, or quiet? Grief has a way of confusing our inner compass, making it difficult to trust what we need and discern where our limits lie.

In this reflection, I turn toward the wisdom of rivers and their banks as a way of understanding boundaries after loss. We explore how grief reshapes what feels supportive, how your body can become a trustworthy guide in decision-making and why setting boundaries is not selfish, but essential. This piece offers a gentle framework for creating space in your life for the people, rhythms and choices that truly sustain you as you move through your grief journey.

I was raised going whitewater rafting with my family on the Deschutes River in Oregon. This was long before rafting was cool. Our ‘rafting shoes’ were old sneakers with the canvas over the toes cut out. My dad McGyver-ed tools from camping and snorkeling gear to make our trips safe(r) and fun. He built a frame for our boat out of old bookcases. The ‘seat’ of the frame was a sleeping pad from his backpacking days in the 60’s strapped down with a bungee cord…

MUD

Fri, 13 Mar 2026 18:00:47 GMT

Have you ever noticed how grief can grow heavier not just from the loss itself, but from the stories we tell ourselves afterward? The what ifs, the should haves, the quiet voice wondering if you could have done something differently. Many grievers discover that alongside the pain of losing someone they love, there is another layer of suffering that quietly accumulates.

In this reflection, I explore the difference between clean pain—the honest sorrow of losing someone, and dirty pain—the additional suffering we place upon ourselves through guilt, self-judgment, or the impossible expectation that we should have been able to change what happened. Through a muddy spring hike and an old Buddhist teaching about the “second arrow,” we gently examine these added layers of pain and how compassion for ourselves can help.

In my corner of the world we are in mud season. The comments on my trail app warn hikers away from certain trails because the mud is too deep, but the truth is that I welcome a muddy slog now and then. When I am dressed appropriately and when I’m ready for it, a shoe-sucking muddy hike is both humorous and joyful. Trying to keep my hiking boots clean (or trying to keep from sinking into the squelching earth) is ridiculous….

Hallmark doesn't have a card for this kind of loss.

Melinda Laus — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:02:09 GMT

Disenfranchised grief is grief from a loss that is not openly acknowledged, socially validated, or publicly mourned. Common examples are:

Loss of pets
Perinatal/invisible losses like miscarriage, abortion, or infertility
Stigmatized losses like death from suicide, overdose, or AIDS
Unrecognized relationships like the death of an ex-spouse, lover in an affair, or a close coworker
Non-death losses like divorce, job loss, or losing a home
Dementia/chronic illness where we grieve the loss of a loved one’s personality while they are still alive

If you think about it, the term disenfranchised grief is redundant since we already live in a society that barely acknowledges ANY grief (let alone the forms listed above)! But as long as we’re talking about overlooked losses, we definitely need to add to this list. For example:

Menopause
Downsizing from a family home or loss of a home you did not want to leave
Empty nesting
Loss of friendships due to conflict, growing apart or moving away
Dating and loss of relationships due to incompatibility

I could go on but the point is that we experience a multitude of losses that require grief support and, at the very least, collective acknowledgement. There has been progress around losing a pet—we are at least finally recognizing that these losses are worthy of attention and support—but there is still a lot of room for growth. Think about how many losses don’t have a specific category in the card store…

What about a card section for menopause?

“Hey Lady, I know you are full of hot flashes and rage but you are still amazing and I love watching you become more of your badass self with age!”

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Or what about empty nesting?

“Hey Sweetie, you did GREAT! Your kids are a testament to your amazing parenting and watching them fly from your beautiful nest is an honor. I am celebrating your motherhood! Let’s go out for a movie on a school night because you don’t have to get anybody to a practice or a game at 7:00pm on a Tuesday.”

As a grief activist and therapist, it’s frustrating that these disenfranchised losses barely make the list of ‘reasons we grieve’. We can do better as a society and for ourselves.

Global politics are another place we experience grief. The news and social media feeds are full of headlines we hardly know how to process: the ongoing presence and impact of systemic racism and white supremacy, a dangerous misogyny that has created an international syndicate of child sex trafficking, oh, and in the last few days the US has started a war with Iran.

Just knowing our world includes this much violence and danger brings a grief that’s hard to articulate and I think most of us are feeling it. If I could, I would send each of you this card today.

“Hey Love, it is so much isn’t it? Too much, really. Too much to feel, metabolize and process. I hope you are taking those walks you love and getting in your soaker tub when you can this week. You are not alone in feeling overwhelmed and scared. Please remember that I love you and am here when you want to cry about it or watch dumb cat reels on the socials. We are in this together.”

We are in this together. Reach out to join our comforting corner here on the internet. Please share what is heavy and unacknowledged in your grief. We’ve got you.

DAPHNE

Fri, 06 Mar 2026 17:54:29 GMT

Have you ever noticed how grief can convince us that the heaviness will never lift? That the gray days will simply continue without an end in sight? When you’re deep in loss, it can feel as though sorrow is just your new normal.

In this reflection, I explore the quiet way grace sometimes appears in the midst of grief. Not as a grand miracle or sudden healing, but as small reprieves—unexpected breaths of relief, moments of beauty, or brief pauses when sorrow loosens its grip. These “grace spaces” remind us that even while grief continues its work, pockets of tenderness, steadiness, and hope can still find their way to us.

The daphne plant at the end of my front step exploded into bloom this week. Her blossoms and perfume brought a welcome surprise in an otherwise gray and gloomy mid-winter week. I had forgotten to look for daphne’s sweet presence as an early reminder that winter will not last forever. All week daphne’s colors and perfume greeted me with each coming and going from my front door. On one occasion while I stood with my house key in hand and paused to breathe deeply the wafts of daphne scented air, I heard the word “Grace”…

STARS

Fri, 27 Feb 2026 20:26:26 GMT

Have you ever walked away from a conversation feeling worse, even though the other person was trying to help? If you’ve felt your stomach drop at phrases like “everything happens for a reason” or “you’re so strong,” you’re not being dramatic or ungrateful. Your nervous system is reacting to toxic positivity. It’s painful, invalidating and far more common in grief than most people realize.

In this reflection, I explore why toxic positivity shows up after loss, how it harms us, and what we can do to protect our hearts without isolating ourselves. I also share the two practices that helped me out of that dynamic and how choosing the right people (and limiting access to the wrong ones) can create a life where you don’t have to shrink, pretend or apologize for your sorrow.

In the weeks after David died, I experienced toxic positivity all around me. At the time (in 2003) we didn’t even have the phrase toxic positivity but I knew it when I heard it because my heart sank and my stomach felt like it had been punched…

STORMS

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 14:01:27 GMT

Grief doesn’t stay contained inside of us. It moves through our lives, showing up in conversations, gatherings, friendships and in the quiet in-between spaces. If your relationships have felt different since your loss, strained, distant, awkward or even strangely tender, you’re not imagining it. Grief is a storm that changes the landscape, and it can be startling to see what holds and what sometimes falls away in its wake.

In this reflection, I explore how grief reshapes our relationships and why some friendships deepen, but some disappear without explanation. Together, we’ll look at how to understand these shifts without self-criticism and how to honor your own needs during a time when you may feel anything but steadiness in the storm.

When you join the Seasons of Healing community, you’ll receive this full essay and many more that serve as an invitation to move through this season of not-knowing one small, merciful step at a time. Each essay is companioned by writing prompts, photography prompts, and a warm, supportive community of like-minded grievers.

Grief changes our relationships. It is present in every gathering and it’s embedded in every social interaction. It’s woven into our phone calls, emails, and text messages. In a lot of ways, grief is like a storm that reveals which structures are weak and which ones are strong…