This Too Shall Pass

I wish more people understood that grief isn’t just about being sad and crying.

We hear the word “grief” and automatically associate it with tears, funerals, and a heart that aches. But let me tell you, grief is so much more than that. It’s anger. It’s rage so loud and hot that it could shatter glass. It’s numbness that silences the world. It’s confusion, denial, hopelessness, and desperation…all rolled into one never-ending storm. Grief is every emotion at full volume and no volume at all. It’s everything and nothing at the same time.

Grief doesn’t follow a path. It doesn’t arrive with a rule book or an expiration date. It’s different for every single person who experiences it. And when you’ve lost someone who was your world, your center, your reason…it doesn’t just break your heart. It changes who you are.

For me, grief showed up uninvited, crashing through the doors of my life the day Mya left this world. One moment I was a mother planning for her future, and in the next, I was standing in the ruins of a reality I never imagined. And from that day forward, I have been walking through grief like someone trying to find light in a house with no windows.

Grief doesn’t just sit quietly in your soul. It seeps into every part of your being…your thoughts, your breath, your heartbeat. It clings to your skin and weighs down your bones. It disrupts your sleep and creeps into your dreams. It impacts your physical health in ways people don’t talk about…fatigue, body aches, headaches, a racing heart. Your body grieves just as hard as your spirit.

And then there’s the mental toll…grief will convince you you’re losing your mind. You forget things. You feel detached. You stare off into nothing and realize an hour has passed. You cry in the grocery store because your loved one’s favorite snack is on the shelf. You burst into laughter at the most inappropriate time because the pain becomes so overwhelming, your brain doesn’t know what to do with it anymore.

There are days when the smallest tasks feel like mountains. Getting out of bed. Brushing your teeth. Eating. Showering. These things become accomplishments, victories in a war that no one else can see you fighting. And on some days, you lose that battle and stay in the dark. And that’s okay too.

Grief is isolating. Sometimes you push everyone away because talking feels like bleeding. Other times you surround yourself with people and noise just to drown out the silence that reminds you of what’s gone. It’s a constant dance…needing space, needing connection, then needing space again.

Grief is also cruel in the way it lingers. Long after the flowers have wilted and the casseroles have stopped showing up. Long after the cards are tucked away and people have moved on. The world keeps spinning, and you’re left wondering how it hasn’t stopped. How people can laugh and plan and live as if your whole world didn’t just collapse. It feels like you’re screaming into a void that doesn’t echo back.

But the thing that always gets me is this…grief is LOVE with nowhere to go. All the affection, all the laughter, all the inside jokes and future plans, all the birthdays and hugs and everyday moments…it all stays with you. With no one to receive it. So, it just builds up inside, a bittersweet ache that never really lets go.

And yet, in the middle of all this, people will still ask, “Aren’t you over it yet?” As if grief is something you check off a to-do list. As if it has an endpoint. They mean well, but their words can cut deep. So, I remind myself…and I hope others can remember this too…grief doesn’t go away. It changes shape. It may soften in time, but it doesn’t disappear. You learn to carry it. You learn to coexist with it. Sometimes, you even grow with it.

Because grief teaches you just how deeply you loved. It teaches you to be more present, more tender. It teaches you who your real people are. It humbles you. It breaks you open, and it lets the light in….eventually.

There’s a saying I cling to when the waves get too high: This too shall pass. I whisper it to myself on the days when I can’t breathe, when the tears come out of nowhere, when I miss her so much I feel like I might shatter. Sometimes the phrase feels like a lie, but other times, it gives me just enough strength to make it through the next minute. And then the next.

If you’ve never experienced grief in this way, consider yourself lucky. Lucky that you haven’t felt this kind of soul-crushing loss. Lucky that you don’t understand the depth of someone else’s pain. And if you do understand…if you’ve been through it, are going through it…I see you. I stand with you. You’re not alone.

So, let’s give each other more grace. More compassion. Let’s stop expecting people to “bounce back” after loss. Let’s stop measuring healing by time. Instead, let’s acknowledge that grief is a lifelong journey, and each step forward is an act of bravery.

To anyone walking that path right now…whether you’re crawling or sprinting or lying on the floor…I honor your pain. Your grief is valid. Your love is eternal. And even in your brokenness, you are still standing. Still breathing. Still trying. And that’s enough.