New to Grief. Here’s an Honest Reflection
When I decided to let myself grieve, I thought it would be organized.
I assumed I would pick one thing from my list, grieve it fully, and then move on. I imagined grief as something that could be structured and contained, and I hoped it would be linear.
This has not been my experience.
The moment I truly gave myself permission to grieve, everything became more tender. It was as if the past grief and shoved away emotions were encased in stone and the stone was cracked and began to break a bit. Since then, I am more sensitive to all my emotions, and feel each one more deeply. Each one threatening to make me cry. I cry easily over being sad, frustrated, happy, and deeply moved. Instead of fighting the strong feelings and tears, I’m learning to let them happen.
This alone feels like progress.
By the grace of God, I’m starting to overcome the instinct to shove feelings down. For a long time, that was automatic. Tears felt frivolous to me. I felt embarrassed and silly to cry. It felt like an overreaction. I told myself what I was feeling wasn’t “bad enough” to be crying about, and subconsciously, I think, felt afraid to be caught crying for fear that my tears would be belittled. The fears led me to seek out more productive things to do. After a while of busying myself, my tears felt selfish and even indulgent. I felt wrong for them very often.
These days, fighting the urge to shove it all away and letting myself cry feels like progress. It may look small from the outside, but to me it’s a meaningful shift.
Grief hasn’t shown up neatly or on a schedule. It comes in pieces. In waves. In moments I don’t plan for. Sometimes I know exactly what I’m grieving. Other times, I just feel the weight before I understand why.
Because of that, journaling has been one of the most helpful tools for me.
Not as a fix. Not as a formula. Simply as a place for grief to land and for me to process.
Journaling doesn’t work for everyone as each person processes differently. This is just what is working for me so far.
The Journal Approach That is Helping Me.
This structure is flexible and still evolving, but it’s helping me stay honest without forcing grief to be too ridged.
These are the sections I use to journal:
- The date and a one line title: incident or topic.
- The facts: basic facts of what happened
- I Feel: list of what I feel “I feel…”
- What I’m Grieving/ What I Wish Was Different
- This Connects to: what the thing I am processing connects to, is touching or reminds me of- a memory, a season, another wound…
- What I Need Right Now: gentleness with myself, rest, reassurance, movement…
- Where my Mind Wanders, New Grief: I was grieving X, but then I starting thinking or grieving Z in the middle of it….. (Grief isn’t a line.. sometimes it’s a web)
- What I Want to Say to God: every thought, prayer, question
- Victories: Any size victory- I let myself cry for 5 minutes, I let someone in, I actually acknowledged this.
I’m learning to be more aware of the victories. If that means I cried, or didn’t minimize what I felt, that’s a win. If that means that I simply stayed present instead of numbing out, or pushing the feelings away, that is a victory too.
One thing that has been interesting to me in this process is that I don’t usually feel the grief when it makes sense to me that I would. I’ll randomly, in the middle of a normal task, suddenly feel the urge to cry and feel such grief over something. Later, when I have the time, I will go to journal about it and feel completely fine. I still write all those feelings down because they matter and I need to acknowledge them.
Writing it down takes honesty and vulnerability. I am taking what no one can see and making it tangible on paper.
Another part of my progress has been learning where my limits are.
There are some things I feel deeply, cry over, sit with, even loose sleep over, but don’t yet feel ready to write down. Some grief is tangled with shame. And while I am not afraid to acknowledge the grief itself, writing certain things down still feels exposing.
Writing my most intimate thoughts is very new to me. Being honest, I’m still learning that I do have privacy. Privacy isn’t something I’ve always had a lot of. I lived my life feeling pretty exposed and out in the open. It seemed any part of my life was open to be witnessed and examined if desired. Nothing was truly mine. So I am just recently grasping that it is safe to write my thoughts, feelings, regrets, shame, and the most intimate parts of me down. But I haven’t fully grasped that yet. I’m still learning to trust my own safety and privacy when it comes to delicate matters.
I am also learning when its beneficial to let someone inside. Learning that occasionally it is helpful and healthy to let someone else in on the grief has mattered more than I expected. Simply having someone listen to pieces of what is on my heart can make it feel lighter. It has even made some of it easier to journal when I didn’t think I’d be able to. Having a few safe people I can share with and bare my soul has helped make the grief bearable.
Some things go on the page. Some things go straight to God. Some gets talked out a bit with someone I trust. That’s my process for now. Eventually it will all get written and journaled. But for now I acknowledge it and respect my limitations.
Grace Alongside Grief
Another layer to my grief is this:
Not all grief comes from death.
Not all grief comes from abuse, neglect, or something happening TO me.
Some grief comes from choices I made. Things I didn’t know then. Ways I tried to survive. Simple poor choices. And when that’s true, grief has to sit alongside grace.
I’m learning to hold both.
To grieve honestly, and to remember the grace of God.
To feel regret without self-punishment.
To extend myself the same mercy I believe God extends to me.
This process hasn’t been tidy or predictable. And it’s not finished.
But I can see progress.
If you’re fresh in grief
If you’re at the beginning of grieving, here are a few things I wish someone had told me.
Grief is not a checklist. You don’t have to grieve one thing “perfectly” before you’re allowed to feel the next thing. If your grief feels messy, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just doing it honestly.
Your tears don’t need to be justified. If you keep telling yourself it isn’t “bad enough” to cry, you may stay stuck. Tears are not drama. Tears are release.
Start small. You don’t have to write a novel. You can write one sentence. You can write three emotions. You can write, “God, I don’t even know what I feel, but it hurts.” That counts.
Pay attention to what your body needs. Grief affects sleep, appetite, focus, and energy. Rest is not laziness. It’s care.
Create safety in your process. If privacy is a concern, consider a locked journal, a password protected note app, or writing letters to God that you keep in a safe place. You’re allowed to protect what’s sacred.
Let someone safe know. Grief gets heavier in isolation. Even one trusted person who checks on you can make a difference. You don’t need a crowd. You need safety.
Bring it to God as you are. Not cleaned up. Not polished. Not spiritual-sounding. God can handle honesty. If all you have is silence, tears, or anger, bring that too.
And remember this.
Progress in grief is not always feeling better.
Sometimes progress is simply feeling at all.
Sometimes progress is letting it matter.
Sometimes progress is letting yourself be human, and letting God be gentle with you in the process.
Remember that if shame is in the mix with grief that it is important to be patient and show yourself mercy. Own your mistakes, but don’t live there, don’t carry them. Lay them down use them as a stepping stone.
It is okay and natural if you caused your own grief. I’d venture to say we all grieve ourselves sometimes. But we learn and we move on and we do what we can to do better.
Grieve everything in whatever increments you can. Be patient. Be merciful. Be comfortable being uncomfortable.
When you let yourself grieve you also grow.
This process hasn’t been tidy or predictable. And it’s not finished.
But I can see progress.
I’m not trying to grieve correctly.
I’m trying to grieve truthfully.
And maybe that’s what healing actually looks like.
Not the absence of tears, but the freedom to let them come.