The Weight of Grief: Making Space for What Hurts
Grief is heavy. But not in the way people think.
It is not just the sadness that comes in waves or the tears that appear at inopportune moments. It is the weight—the sheer exhaustion of carrying something that has nowhere to go. It is the effort of trying to live in a world that expects you to function when part of you is missing. It is the quiet, persistent ache of having to move forward while a part of you still lingers in what was.
We tend to think of grief as a singular event—something we pass through, a chapter to be closed. But grief doesn’t abide by timelines. It doesn’t follow logic. And it doesn’t vanish just because the world tells us it should.
So how do we actually move through grief? How do we hold it without letting it drown us? And why have conversations about grief resonated so deeply in ways we may not have expected?
Why Talking About Grief Resonates So Deeply
Because we live in a world that rushes grief. A world that asks us to be "okay" long before we actually are.
We are taught to package our pain neatly, to keep it brief, to answer “How are you?” with a palatable “I’m getting through it.” We are told to find silver linings and move on. But grief doesn’t work like that.
The reason grief posts go viral, the reason people see themselves in these words, is because we are starving for permission—permission to feel, to grieve, to not be okay. We need to hear that our sadness isn’t a failure. That we are not broken for still carrying what we’ve lost.
Grief connects us because it reminds us: You are not alone in this.
What No One Tells You About Grief
Grief is not just sadness. It’s every emotion at once.
Grief is relief and guilt in the same breath. It’s laughter in one moment and unbearable sorrow in the next. It’s the frustration of trying to explain what feels unexplainable. It’s the fear that if you stop grieving, you might forget. And it’s the exhaustion of carrying a love that no longer has a place to land.
It is unpredictable. One day you think you’re okay. The next, a song, a scent, a phrase stops you cold.
It is physical. It lives in your body—tension in your shoulders, a weight in your chest, the inexplicable fatigue.
It is cyclical. There is no finish line, no neat ending. It comes and goes in waves, some gentle, some overwhelming. And that is normal.
How to Actually Move Through Grief
1. Stop Trying to "Fix" It
Grief is not a problem to solve. It is not something to be rushed or erased. Let it be what it is. Instead of asking, “How do I make this go away?” try asking, “How can I make space for this?”
Let yourself feel. Let the tears come. Let the numbness settle when it needs to. Healing is not about avoiding the pain—it is about allowing yourself to move through it at your own pace.
2. Create Rituals of Remembrance
Grief is love that has nowhere to go. So give it a place.
Talk to them. Write them letters. Light a candle. Carry something that reminds you of them. Speak their name. We are afraid that remembering will hurt more—but often, the real pain comes from feeling like we must forget.
3. Don’t Judge How You Grieve
There is no "right" way to grieve. Some people cry. Some people throw themselves into work. Some people get angry. Some feel nothing at all. However grief moves through you, let it. Your healing does not have to look like anyone else's.
4. Take Care of Your Body First
Grief is exhausting. Your nervous system is working overtime. If you are too depleted to process emotions, focus on your body first.
Drink water.
Get outside.
Move, even just a little.
Eat something nourishing.
Healing happens in the smallest actions.
5. Let People In—But Choose Carefully
Some people won’t understand your grief. That’s okay. Find the ones who do. The ones who don’t rush you, who don’t try to fix you, who sit beside you in the messiness of it all.
Grief is too heavy to carry alone. Let people help you hold it.
6. Trust That the Shape of Grief Will Change
Right now, grief feels all-consuming. But over time, it shifts. It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes something you can carry.
One day, the memories will feel more like warmth than pain. The love will remain, even as the sharpness softens. The ache will still be there, but it will no longer be the whole story.
Grief is Proof of Life, not just love.
We grieve because we have lived. Because something or someone mattered. Because we are human, and to be human is to hold both joy and loss in the same hand.
So let yourself feel it. Make space for what hurts. Know that you are not alone in this. And trust—no matter how impossible it feels right now—that one day, you will carry this weight differently.
Not because the grief is gone. But because you have grown strong enough to hold it.
With love,
Dr. Zelana
Additional Tools
Navigating Grief:
A Practical Guide to Holding Loss Without Losing Yourself
The Weight of Loss:
Making Space for What Hurts