Grief shows up uninvited. Then it rearranges all your furniture, including the stuff you thought you knew about yourself.
Losing a person is one kind of grief. There are a ton of others people don't talk about. A marriage that ended. A body that doesn't work the way it used to.
Grief doesn't keep a timeline. It doesn't care about the five stages. It doesn't care that people keep asking if you should be over it by now. You might laugh one day and not get out of bed the next. That doesn't mean you're broken.
Why I do this work
I didn't learn this from a textbook. My daughter Zoe was born with half a heart. She died in 2021. She was 18.
I know that awful silence when people don't know what to say. The world keeps going and yours just stopped.
In my book I wrote about what comes after a loss like that:
"After such a loss, such a deep well of grief, what comes next? The next day. And the next day. And the next."
That loss changed me. It's why I sit with people in their grief now. I'm not here to fix it. Grief isn't something you fix.
Grief counseling in Connecticut and online
Bring whatever you're carrying. The messy stuff. The stuff that doesn't make sense yet. Nothing's off limits.
I see people in person in Connecticut and online. Some people come a few times. Some stick around longer. There's no right way to do this.
A workbook for the hard days
I made a free workbook called The Alchemy of Healing + the In-Between. It's got journaling prompts and breathing practices for the days you need something to hold onto. Not ready to sit across from someone yet? Totally fine. Start here.
Something to try today
Grab one thing that reminds you of who or what you lost. A photo. A shirt. Anything.
Sit with it for five minutes. Phone away. Notice what comes up.
Then tell yourself, "This is grief. It belongs here."
That's it.
