The Things Grief Taught Me (That I Never Asked to Learn)

A personal reflection for anyone trying to make sense of loss, and the journal I made because I needed it, too.

Grief is such a strange companion, isn’t it?

It doesn’t care if you’re busy. It doesn’t care if you had plans. It doesn’t care if you’re “strong” or “self-aware” or “someone who should be handling this better.”

It just shows up, parks itself at the foot of your bed, and waits until the quiet moments to whisper, “Remember?”

For a long time, I tried to outrun it. I tried to distract myself. Work harder. Fill every minute. Keep moving.

But grief has a way of finding you. Especially when you stop long enough to breathe.

And when it finally caught up with me, I realized something: I didn’t have a place to put any of it.

Not the guilt. Not the questions. Not the anger. Not the bittersweet memories that made me smile and cry at the same time.

So I started creating one.

Not a polished place.Not a perfect place.Just a space where I could be honest about what was going on inside of me.

That space eventually became the Grief Toolkit Journal, but before it was ever a “thing,” it was simply a lifeline.

Lesson One: Naming What You Feel Makes It Less Scary

I used to say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” when what I really meant was:

I’m overwhelmed. I’m angry. I’m heartbroken. I’m exhausted. I’m terrified this pain will never end.

One of the first pages I created was just a giant list of emotions, not because it was cute or aesthetic, but because I genuinely didn’t know how to articulate what was happening inside me.

When you can name what’s there, it stops being a monster in the dark. It becomes something you can sit with, understand, and eventually work through.

Lesson Two: Grief Lives in the Body

It shows up in tight shoulders. In headaches. In restless sleep. In that weird ache behind the ribs you can’t quite stretch out.

There’s a page in the journal that asks, “Where is your grief showing up physically?”

The first time I filled it out, I realized I was clenching my jaw so hard at night that I woke up sore.

Sometimes the healing starts with noticing.

Lesson Three: Not Every Memory Hurts the Same Way

I avoided certain memories for months. Not because they were painful, but because they were beautiful and I didn’t feel ready for that kind of tenderness.

Eventually, I permitted myself to write them down:

• the moment that still makes me laugh

• the last words I heard

• the thing I wish I could say now

• the way their voice sounded when they were happy

  
  

There’s a whole section dedicated to memories, the good, the complicated, the ones that feel like they belong to another lifetime.

Honoring them helps you remember you didn’t just lose something painful. You lost something precious.

Lesson Four: Unfinished Business Will Break Your Heart if You Don’t Let It Out

There are always things left unsaid.

Always.

I didn’t realize how much I was carrying until I tried writing a letter to the person I lost. A page turned into two. Two turned into five.

There’s something healing about putting those unspoken words somewhere, even if no one ever reads them.

Especially if no one ever reads them.

Lesson Five: You Are Allowed to Ask for Help

People would say, “Let me know if you need anything,” and I’d nod… then go cry alone in my car.

One of the quietest truths about grief is this:

You don’t always know what you need until you’re drowning.

That’s why I added pages about support systems, not the obvious ones, but the surprising ones:

• the friend you can text without explaining yourself

• the coworker who gives you space

• the pet that lays on your feet when you’re unraveling

• the podcast that feels like a hug

  
  

Support doesn’t always look like sitting across from someone. Sometimes it looks like remembering you don’t have to white-knuckle your way through everything.

Lesson Six: Grief Isn’t Linear (and You Are Not Doing It Wrong)

One day you feel okay. The next day you feel like the loss happened five minutes ago. Both days are normal. Both days are allowed.

There’s a timeline section in the journal, not because grief follows a timeline, but because you do. Your life keeps moving, even if your heart feels stuck.

Seeing your journey laid out, the setbacks, the breakthroughs, the quiet days, the heavy ones, helps you realize you actually are moving forward… even if it’s slow.

Lesson Seven: Healing Is a Practice

Not a moment. Not a milestone. A practice.

Some days you write. Some days you rest. Some days you cry. Some days you feel a spark of hope that surprises you.

That’s why the journal isn’t meant to be filled out in order. It’s meant to be picked up when you need it. Put down when you don’t. Returned to when your heart feels ready.

It’s not homework. It’s a companion.

If You’re Grieving Right Now…

I hope you give yourself grace. I hope you let your tears count as progress. I hope you remember there’s no right way to do any of this. And I hope you find tools, whether it’s this journal or something else, that bring you peace, clarity, and comfort.

You don’t have to heal perfectly. You just have to keep going.

And good news, if you are reading this, you’re doing that already.

Sending you so much love during this difficult season, my friend.