Coping with Loss: Finding Strength Amid the Pain
Loss reshapes us. It strips away the familiar and leaves us standing in the shadow of something we cannot change. Whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the closing of a chapter, or the shattering of a dream, grief has a way of cracking us open and forcing us to confront parts of ourselves we never knew existed. In my own experience with loss, I found it wasn’t something to be "solved" or "fixed," but rather lived with, learned from, and softened into overtime.
Grief is a universal experience, but it’s also deeply personal. We each walk our own path through the storm. What follows are not solutions, but invitations—ideas to consider as you navigate this profoundly human experience. And, perhaps, some reminders that you are not alone in your pain.
Grief on Your Own Terms
Many years ago, a very close friend was a patient in the hospital I worked at. I was fortunate to be able to spend time at night when no one else was around with him. We sat looking out of this window at these trees in a small park across the way. We had the best time. When he passed, I was really at loss and this well-meaning friend dropped off a book about the “stages of grief.” She said, “This will help you move through it.” I remember flipping through it one sleepless night, trying to understand how I could be in so many of those so-called “stages” all at once: angry, numb, despairing, yearning. I felt broken for not being able to grieve in an orderly way.
Later, I came across the words of author and grief counselor Megan Devine, who wrote in It’s OK That You’re Not OK: “Grief is not a problem to be solved; it’s an experience to be carried.” Those words landed like a soft blanket on my bruised heart. It was the first time someone gave me permission to just be. I didn’t need to measure my grief against a timeline or anyone else’s expectations. I could cry, laugh, fall apart, and stitch myself back together in my own way, on my own time.
This was freeing but also humbling. The truth is, grief doesn't fit neatly into a guidebook, nor does it follow rules. And that’s okay.
Rituals as Anchors
Not long after my friend’s funeral, I found myself sitting in that park on a bench every Saturday morning, sipping coffee after a shift. It wasn’t something I planned—it just happened. I would sit there, staring at the same patch of trees we used to admire, letting the world move around me. Sometimes, I cried. Other times, I smiled at the memory of his laugh. I came to realize that this small, quiet ritual wasn’t just about missing him. It was about remembering him. I didn’t need to fill the silence with words or purpose. Being in that space felt like enough.
This idea of ritual has deep roots in nearly every culture. Holistic psychologist and author Dr. Nicole LePera often talks about the grounding power of rituals, especially during times of emotional upheaval. She writes, “Rituals give us something steady to hold onto when everything feels out of control.” For me, that park bench became my anchor, my way of honoring the relationship I had while also creating space for my grief.
You don’t have to sit on a park bench to find this steadiness. Maybe you light a candle, plant a tree, or carry something that belonged to the person you lost. The ritual doesn’t have to be grand or public. It just needs to be meaningful to you.
The People Who Hold Us
When we’re grieving, the people around us often don’t know what to say or do. And so, they offer platitudes: “They’re in a better place,” or “You’ll feel better soon.” If you’ve heard these, you know how hollow they can sound when the ache of loss is still raw.
In my own grief, I learned something powerful: the people who help the most aren’t the ones who try to fix you—they’re the ones who simply sit with you. Another friend of mine came over a week after he passed. She didn’t try to fill the silence or distract me from my sadness. She made tea, handed me a box of tissues, and said, “I’m here.” It was more than enough and exactly what I needed.
Brené Brown, a researcher and storyteller known for her work on vulnerability, explains it best: “Rarely can a response make something better. What makes something better is connection.” Grief doesn’t need fixing; it needs witnessing. When someone is brave enough to simply sit in your pain with you, it can feel like the greatest gift.
But not everyone will be able to hold your grief in this way—and that’s okay. Some people will rush you to move on because your pain makes them uncomfortable. Others might withdraw because they don’t know what to say. It’s not your job to teach them how to support you, but it is your job to find the people who can.
Grief and the Ground Beneath Your Feet
After my friend’s death, there were days I felt like I was floating in a fog, untethered from the world around me. Grief has a way of making time feel elastic—moments stretch endlessly, yet entire days vanish in a blink. What helped me most during those disorienting weeks were small acts of grounding. A walk through the woods. My hands in the soil of my garden. A quiet morning on my yoga mat, breathing deeply into my chest.
There’s wisdom in the words of Eckhart Tolle, who says, “Some changes look negative on the surface, but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.” Grief strips away so much, but it also asks us to come back to the present moment. Sometimes, it’s in the smallest moments—feeling the sun on your face, hearing the rustle of leaves—that we begin to find our way back to ourselves.
The Softening That Comes with Time
If there’s one truth I’ve learned, it’s that grief doesn’t disappear, it changes. At first, it’s a sharp, unbearable ache that takes your breath away. But slowly, over weeks and months and years, it softens. It weaves itself into the fabric of your life. You begin to carry it differently. It’s always there, but it doesn’t consume you.
This transformation doesn’t happen overnight. For a long time, I resisted the idea that I would ever feel "okay" again. But now, when I think of my friend, the tears are often accompanied by a smile. The pain hasn’t gone away, but it lives alongside the gratitude I feel for having had him in my life.
A Final Reflection
Grief changes us, but it doesn’t define us. It invites us to grow, to deepen, to love more fully. If you’re grieving, know that you’re not alone in this experience. There is no one right way to navigate loss. There’s only your way—and it’s enough.
If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the weight of loss, I’d love to hear how you’ve found your own way to carry it. Have you created a ritual or found an anchor that helps you stay grounded? Share your story in the comments or connect with our community. Sometimes, the simple act of sharing can be the first step toward healing.
