Your grief story is not just about who you lost or how they died. It’s about what you lost.
I didn’t just lose a person. I lost my best friend. I lost my protector. I lost the one who understood me without words. I lost the one person I could collapse into at the end of the day and know they’d hold me up. I lost the version of myself I was when they were here.
That’s the part most people don’t talk about. That’s the part most people never ask you about. And for many of us, we haven’t even started to understand the depths of it.
When someone asks how you’re doing, you might give the polite version. The edited version. The one that’s just enough but not too much. You might say, “I’m okay. It’s been hard.” Or, “I lost my dad.” Or, “My daughter passed away in 2022.”
And they nod. They say, “I’m so sorry.” Maybe they mean it. Maybe they don’t. But either way, the conversation moves on.
And the story—the real story—stays trapped inside you.
Because the truth is, your grief story is more than a sentence. It’s more than a date, more than an obituary, more than the way they died.
It’s what broke that day. It’s the silence in the house now. It’s the way you don’t recognize yourself anymore. It’s the fear. The rage. The guilt. It’s the memories that hurt and help at the same time.
Your grief story is layered. It’s living. It’s evolving. And it deserves to be told.
You deserve to say, “I lost the one person who made me feel safe.” You deserve to say, “I still don’t know who I am without them.” You deserve to tell the truth.
Because what we don’t say doesn’t just disappear—it lives inside us, deep in our bodies, tight in our chests, stuck in our throats.
So start here. Tell the story that affects your heart. Not just the one that makes sense to strangers—but the one that still keeps you up at night. The one that matters.
And if you don’t know how to begin, start with this:
“This is what happened. This is what I lost. This is what I still carry.”
That is your grief story. And it deserves to be heard.