What grief has taught me

Friend, you might have noticed that I didn’t show up in your inbox on the 15th like I usually do. That’s because February 15th was our stillborn son, Hayes’s, fifth birthday in the stars.

It is so hard to believe that five whole years have passed since we left the hospital with empty arms. (Somehow, it feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. Time is weird like that, isn’t it?)

As his birthday approached, I felt the heaviness set in. You know, that feeling like you’re walking through sludge, limbs and heart weighing a million pounds. The kind that makes you want to stay in bed aaaall day.

And then there was the breakdown in the car after buying birthday cupcakes that I realized Hayes would never get to eat, and inflating balloons that we would let float away into the sky without ever touching his sweet fingers. It all felt too much.

Thankfully, I recognized these experiences for what they were: signs from my body that grief was asking for my attention over my productivity.

So I said “no” to the things I didn’t have capacity for (like writing my bimonthly email), and “yes” to sitting with my grief, listening to what it needed to say, and moving that energy through.

That is big and important work. Because here is what I’ve learned about grief:

Grief comes in waves. Sometimes you see them coming, like with anniversaries or birthdays. Other times, they knock you flat without warning. The waves are a constant companion; you just learn to ride them.

Grief triggers grief. One loss can awaken every unprocessed sorrow sitting in wait in the body. That’s why reactions can feel so big. It’s rarely just about the moment; it’s about every other unprocessed grief that the moment touches.

Grief does not disappear. We don’t suddenly just “get over it.” We grow around it over time. Our lives expand. We become fuller, deeper, more spacious, and able to carry what once felt completely impossible.

Grief is not weakness. It is simply energy moving through. That current can feel powerful, even overwhelming at times, but it is the body and spirit’s natural way of metabolizing an unwanted ending.

And perhaps most importantly: grief must coexist with living. We cannot live inside it entirely. For every ritual, every memory, every soul-wrenching wail, there must also be nourishment and rest. This could look like taking a long nap, digging your fingers in the dirt, or simply allowing a lighthearted moment in without guilt. Moving through grief requires energy.

Friend, if you are riding a grief wave right now (whether due to a death, a divorce, a shift in identity, aging, or something you can’t even fully name), I invite you to remember that grief cannot move through without the time and space to be felt.

And if your grief feels like more than you can comfortably hold on your own, just a gentle reminder that I am here.

In Love, Light, and healing,