The world around us often minimizes loss + encourages us to push grief away.

To downplay our pain, look on the bright side, to tell ourselves “it wasn’t that bad.”

Especially when the grief is ambiguous or the loss isn’t so obvious to others.

Maybe we got cancer but survived. Or lost a close friendship but still have other loved ones to lean on. Or were diagnosed with a chronic health condition that will change things but isn’t life-threatening.

When it comes to losses like these, we’re often not given a lot of room + permission for grief.

Because we made it through, or it could have been worse, or we have so much to be thankful for, or we survived when so many others didn’t.

And so we “should” be okay + grateful + happy. Because we’re the lucky ones.

But even in the relief it wasn’t worse than it was, or in the gratitude for what we still have, or in the triumph + relief of surviving something really hard -- there are, of course, still real losses to grieve: life changes, losses in identity, uncertain futures, shattered senses of safety + security, and more.

And making room for this grief matters.

Because grief is the medicine that supports us in tending to the injuries, alchemizing the losses, navigating the changes, and stepping into the new possibilities waiting for us on the other side.

And that grief is real + necessary + healing, even if it shows up together with gratitude, joy, and the relief of making it through.

So how might you claim your grief, remember it belongs, invite it closer, and give it room to do its healing work in your life?