You remember things that break you: scent, voice, unspoken things. You catch yourself smiling only to feel guilty. Friends ask, “You okay?” and you say yes though your insides are hollow. There are anniversaries, songs, spaces that feel sacred and unbearable. Sometimes grief shows up out of nowhere.

Because grief shapes you. It changes your priorities, your values, your sense of what matters. Unattended grief fractures your presence—you might go through life, but parts of you stay stuck in waiting. A culture that rushes through grief or expects strength can silence essential healing. Holding grief is how you keep what was—and allow new things to grow in spite of loss.

Give yourself permission to feel—without timeline. Let the tears come, or silence, whatever wants space. Ritualize something small: light a candle, write letters, keep a voice message. Let memory be your medicine. Find a community or person who sits with your grief instead of rushing it—someone who doesn’t try to fix, just listens.

It gives you space others rarely offer. To say what hasn’t been said, to feel what hasn’t been allowed. To move with your own rhythm through the “firsts”—first birthday, first festival without them, etc. You learn to hold paradox: loving what’s gone, while allowing what’s coming. You don’t force closure; you find ways to carry what’s lost in a way that doesn’t devour what’s left.