“Grief isn’t always loud. Sometimes it sits quietly in the corners of our life, waiting to be acknowledged.”
Grief doesn’t only come when someone dies. It comes when dreams dissolve. When trust is broken. When parts of you had to go quiet to survive.
It’s the friend who stopped calling. The childhood you never had. The words you never got to say.
And because no one saw it, you learned to bury it — deep beneath resilience and routine.
But grief doesn’t go away because it’s ignored. It waits.
And when we finally turn toward it — not with shame, but with compassion — it moves. It speaks. It begins to loosen its grip.
*You are allowed to grieve what others didn’t think was a loss.*
*You are allowed to feel sad for the versions of you that never got to be.*
Today, give your grief a voice. Not because it’s comfortable — but because it’s necessary.
Find a quiet place where you won’t be interrupted. Place your hands on your lap, palms facing up — a gesture of openness. Close your eyes and ask: 'What have I lost that I’ve never grieved?' Let the answer arise. Don’t judge. Just breathe with it. Repeat quietly: 'I honor this loss. I allow it space.'
Write a short memorial for something or someone you lost that was never acknowledged. It can be a version of you, a relationship, a moment, or a dream. Light a candle or hold a symbolic object while reading it aloud. Let the grief be seen — even if only by you.
Rina A. “I always thought grief was only for death. But when I finally let myself cry over the childhood I never had, something shifted. I felt like I finally made space for the girl I used to be. It was sad — and sacred.”
You don’t need anyone’s permission to feel what was real.