Grief, Loss, and Healing: Honoring the Pain, Embracing the Process

Grief is something we all experience, yet it remains one of the most isolating emotions we go through. We lose someone we love, and suddenly, the world feels different—like it's continuing to spin while we stand still. As someone who has spent years working in emergency services, I’ve seen death more times than I can count. I’ve stood in living rooms and on highways, held the hands of strangers in their final moments, and delivered news that would shatter someone’s world in an instant. I’ve witnessed grief unfold in real time—raw, unfiltered, and deeply human.

But no amount of professional experience prepares you for personal loss. When death knocks on your own door, it’s a different story. Suddenly, grief isn't something you support others through—it’s something you carry in your chest, in your bones, and in the silence of everyday life.

Grief in the Line of Duty

In my career, I’ve learned to compartmentalize. You have to, to some extent, in order to keep functioning. You do the job, you process later—if at all. But the weight adds up. It lingers in your body, your sleep, your mindset. You learn to live with a certain level of sadness tucked into the background. You witness the worst days of people’s lives and then go home to dinner with your family.

Sometimes, you can carry that duality. Other times, it breaks you open in the most unexpected ways. Grief doesn’t care if you’re in uniform or not. It doesn't wait for a convenient moment. It floods in like a wave and knocks you off your feet.

And when loss becomes personal—when it's your loved one, your pain—the walls you’ve built around your heart to survive on the job start to crumble. You’re no longer the responder. You’re the one left behind.

Watching a Child Grieve Is a Different Kind of Heartbreak

As a mom, one of the most heartbreaking experiences I’ve ever had was watching my child grieve. Nothing prepares you for that kind of helplessness. You’d give anything to take their pain away—to carry it for them, to undo what’s been done. But you can’t. All you can do is sit beside them in the darkness, hold space for their emotions, and let them feel it in their own time.

Children grieve differently than adults. Their pain comes in waves—sudden outbursts followed by quiet moments, confusion, and questions that break your heart: “Why did they have to die?” or “Are they ever coming back?” You have to find a way to be strong for them, even when you're breaking too.

Supporting a grieving child means being present without trying to fix it. It’s allowing the tears, the silence, the questions, and even the anger. It’s validating their experience and reminding them it’s okay to not be okay. That grief doesn’t follow a timeline. That they’re not alone.

Healing Isn’t Linear—And That’s Okay

One of the biggest misconceptions about grief is that it follows a straight line: shock, sadness, acceptance, and then healing. But the truth is, grief is messy. It's cyclical. One moment you feel like you’re moving forward, the next you're back in the thick of it—triggered by a scent, a song, a date on the calendar.

And that’s normal.

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding ways to live alongside the loss. To carry it without letting it consume you. Some days will be heavy. Others will be lighter. The goal isn’t to “get over it,” but to move through it—one breath, one step at a time.

The Mind-Body Connection in Grief

Grief doesn’t just live in your mind—it lives in your body. It affects your sleep, your appetite, your energy, and even your immune system. Unprocessed grief can lead to chronic stress, fatigue, inflammation, and a weakened capacity to cope with everyday challenges.

This is where health and wellness come in—not as a fix, but as a form of support.

When you're grieving, the last thing you may feel like doing is working out, eating clean, or meditating. But even small acts of self-care can be powerful. Movement can help release stored emotion. Nutrition can support your body's healing. Stillness can help you reconnect with yourself. And mindset work can help you shift from surviving to slowly, gently rebuilding.

Grief forces you to slow down—and sometimes that’s exactly what we need. To stop. To feel. To remember what matters most. To take care of the body that’s holding your sorrow and the mind that’s trying to make sense of it all.

Giving Yourself Permission to Grieve

In a world that often pushes productivity over presence, it can feel wrong to rest. To cry. To take time off. But grief demands rest. It asks us to soften, to surrender, and to stop pretending we’re fine when we’re not.

You don’t need to be strong all the time. You don’t have to hold it all together. You are allowed to fall apart. You are allowed to feel angry, numb, confused, and heartbroken. You are allowed to seek help—through therapy, community, journaling, or whatever helps you move through the storm.

There is no shame in mourning. There is no weakness in vulnerability. In fact, honoring your grief is one of the most courageous things you can do.

What Grief Has Taught Me

Grief has taught me that life is fragile. That time is precious. That love is both a gift and a risk. It has made me more compassionate, more present, and more human.

It’s also made me more passionate about helping others find their way back to themselves—through mindset, movement, and nourishment. Because when you’re lost in grief, you need anchors. You need tools. You need people who remind you that healing is possible, even if it doesn’t look like you expected.

Grief doesn’t define us—but it shapes us. And in the wake of loss, we can choose to rebuild—not by forgetting, but by honoring. Not by suppressing the pain, but by creating space for it to exist alongside the joy.

You are not alone in your grief. And you don’t have to navigate it perfectly. You just have to keep showing up—for yourself, for your loved ones, and for the life that still waits for you beyond the heartbreak.

If you’re grieving, please know this: Your pace is your own. Take the time you need. Lean into support. Be gentle with yourself. Healing doesn’t mean the pain disappears—it means you learn how to carry it with love.