There’s the kind of grief everyone recognizes.
And then there’s the kind no one prepares you for.
In your 30’s & 40’s, you expect to build, to begin, to love, to create a life. You don’t expect to be carrying loss alongside all that becoming. But grief doesn’t check your age before it arrives.
Some grief is obvious …. like losing my dad. On the anniversary of his passing, I feel the quiet weight of it again. It’s no longer sharp like it once was, but it lives in my bones. His absence shows up in small moments. In things I wish I could tell him.
But lately, I’ve been thinking about another kind of grief. The kind no one warns you about.
The grief of watching your children lose relationships.
When your child’s heart breaks.
When friendships shift.
When young love ends.
You feel it in your own body. You remember your own heartbreak, but this time it’s heavier because you can’t protect them. You can’t fix it. You can’t carry it for them … even though every instinct in you wants to.
No one tells you that parenting includes grieving relationships that weren’t even yours.
You grieve the future you pictured.
You grieve the person you welcomed into your home.
You grieve the version of your child that existed in that season.
And you do it quietly.
At the same time, you’re still holding your own grief. Still missing your parent. Still navigating your own losses. It’s a strange thing… being both daughter and mother, grieving backward and forward at the same time.
What I’m learning is this:
Grief is not weakness. It is attachment.
It is love with nowhere to go.
When you love deeply …. your parent, your children, the people they bring into their lives … there will be seasons of letting go.
If your carrying layered grief… your own losses and the ache of watching someone you love hurt …  your nervous system deserves attention.
Here are 2- gentle rituals that have been helping me:
1. The 5-Minute Reset
Hand on heart. Slow inhale for 4.
Long exhale for 6.
Let your shoulders drop.
Say quietly:
“This is grief. And I can hold it.”
Naming what you feel reduces the intensity. It tells your body you’re aware, not in danger.
2. The Prayer Walk
Go outside alone. Walk slowly.
With each step, picture placing what you cannot control into God’s hands …  your child’s heartbreak, your own longing, the memories that ache.
You are not meant to carry it all alone.
Grief doesn’t mean something went wrong. It means something mattered.
On my dad’s anniversary, I honor the love that shaped me.
And in this season of watching my children grow and let go, I honor the love that continues shaping me.
No one warns you about this part of life.
The layered grief.
The quiet goodbyes.
The strength it takes to love and let go at the same time.
But here’s the truth:
You can be grieving and grateful.
Tender and strong.
Breaking and becoming …. all at once.
And somehow, through it all, LOVE remains.
From my heart to yours,
Stacey ♥️
