Can we be honest for a minute?
Grief just sucks sometimes.
Not every grief moment is soft or meaningful. Sometimes it’s just exhausting.
Not in the poetic, “grief is love with nowhere to go” kind of way.
Not in the gentle reflection, growth, and healing kind of way.
I mean the tired-of-it, over-it, don’t-want-to-talk-about-it-anymore kind of way.
Because some days, you don’t want to explain how you feel — especially when you don’t even know how you feel.
You’re exhausted from checking in with yourself.
Exhausted from trying to find the “right words.”
Exhausted from answering, “How are you doing?” when the real answer would make people uncomfortable.
And let’s talk about that part too…
You get tired of trying to make other people comfortable with your grief.
Tired of the advice you didn’t ask for.
Tired of the comparisons.
Tired of the “at least…” statements.
Tired of the awkward silences that make you feel like you need to fix the moment.
Sometimes you’re not just sad.
Sometimes you’re irritated.
Numb.
Short-tempered.
Detached.
Over it.
And then comes the guilt — because you think grief is supposed to look tender and tearful all the time.
It’s not.
Grief has moods.
Grief has edge.
Grief has days where it throws the blanket off and says, “I don’t want to do this today.”
I know sometimes people think we should only tell the calm, tender, soft side of grief. But the reality is — it simply sucks sometimes, and it’s okay to say that. It’s okay to feel this way.
If this is you right now, the best thing you can do is be honest and ask for patience from others. Ask for the help you need. Ask for understanding. Let people know what you’re struggling with and allow them to meet you where you are.
Sometimes just acknowledging that this sucks is what helps you get to the next breath… the next moment where you can breathe.
So pause right now if you need to.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Listen to your breathing as it slows and steadies.
Make it over this hill. Then keep going. You’ll prepare for the next one when you get there.
That doesn’t make you cold.
That doesn’t make you unloving.
That doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the person you lost.
It means you are human and grief is heavy to carry every single day.
This is why I tell people:
Feel what you feel. When you feel it. How you feel it.
No one else gets to define your grief timeline.
No one else gets to decide what your emotions “should” look like by now.
No one else lives in your body, your memories, your quiet moments.
Your grief is yours.
Messy.
Inconsistent.
Sometimes deep.
Sometimes dull.
Sometimes loud.
Sometimes just plain exhausting.
All of it belongs.
And on the days when grief just sucks and you’re tired of carrying it — that’s allowed too.
I’m with you on those days especially. 🤍
I am here beside you.
Watch for my next post on March 1st!
There’s a moment when grief shifts —
when it stops being an event
and becomes your reality.
Not the day they died.
Not the phone call.
But the quiet moment when you realize… this is permanent.
In my next post, The Moment Grief Became Real, I’ll share that moment — a story that also lives inside my upcoming book, I’m With You, releasing this July.
Because there is always a moment when grief becomes real.
I’ll meet you there.
I am here beside you.
Here Beside You 