In my work, I hold grief as a deeply human experience — not something to overcome, but something to honour. Grief asks us to slow down and listen to the body, to notice what it’s holding, and to allow space for what has been lost. Healing begins not in trying to “let go,” but in learning how to stay connected — to the love that existed, to the parts of ourselves that feel broken, and to the nervous system that is working tirelessly to protect us in the face of pain.

I believe that grief, loss, and transition all invite us into relationship — with our emotions, our stories, and our capacity for meaning. When we bring compassion and curiosity to the parts of us that ache, we make room for integration. We begin to understand that grief and love are never separate — they coexist. Through somatic work, bilateral stimulation, grounding, and creative or expressive therapies, we can help the body and mind find safety again, so that the heart can remember how to open.

I often tell clients that grief changes us — it rearranges how we see the world, how we connect to others, and how we understand ourselves. It’s a form of love that has nowhere to go, and yet, with time and care, it begins to reshape itself into meaning. As David Kessler says, “Grief is a change that we did not want.” And yet, within that change, there can still be beauty, connection, and the quiet courage to keep living with love at the center.

The loss of someone we love can shake the very foundation of our sense of safety and belonging. When a person who has been a source of comfort, stability, or identity is gone, the world can suddenly feel unfamiliar and unsteady. Even when grief unfolds naturally, it can deeply affect how we see ourselves and how we move through daily life. For many, it brings waves of sadness, confusion, or even moments of numbness as the heart begins to navigate this new landscape.

When loss occurs under traumatic circumstances — whether sudden, violent, or marked by distressing memories — the grief process can become even more complex. The body and mind may hold on to the pain, replaying moments that feel impossible to release. In these cases, somatic connection becomes essential — helping the body feel safe enough to process what the mind cannot yet make sense of. Through bilateral stimulation (BLS), which rhythmically engages both sides of the brain and body, we support the nervous system in integrating the fragmented pieces of grief and trauma. This is the foundation of therapies like Accelerated Resolution Therapy (ART) and EMDR, which use BLS as a bridge between body and memory. These approaches invite gentle reprocessing of distressing images and sensations, helping to quiet the body’s alarm system so that the mourner can move through the loss with greater calm, clarity, and compassion.

As grief educator David Kessler reminds us, what helps most in these moments is not advice, but presence — the willingness to sit beside someone in their pain and allow their grief to be seen, felt, and named. Unhelpful phrases like “they’re in a better place,” “everything happens for a reason,” or “you need to be strong” can unintentionally minimize the depth of the loss or pressure someone to move on before they’re ready. Healing asks for witnessing and patience instead — an understanding that finding meaning is neither immediate nor linear, and that it often unfolds slowly with time.

Meaning is deeply personal and cannot be imposed. It might emerge through reflection, through ritual, or through action — by honouring a loved one in memory, living by their values, or helping others. Genuine meaning-making doesn’t erase pain or “silver-line” the loss; it allows it to be integrated into one’s story in a way that supports living. Healing doesn’t mean the loss didn’t happen — it means it no longer holds us captive.

Author and grief advocate Megan Devine expands on this truth with clarity and compassion, reminding us that “some things cannot be fixed — they can only be carried.” In a culture that often rushes to tidy grief or reframe it as growth, Devine’s work offers a counterbalance: permission to be with what hurts without needing to make it pretty. She writes that grief is not a problem to be solved, but a natural and valid response to deep love and loss. When we stop trying to push grief away or find silver linings too quickly, we make space for what is real — the ache, the absence, and the quiet love that remains.

Devine encourages mourners to find meaning not by “moving on,” but by moving with their grief — allowing it to become part of who they are. This approach aligns beautifully with trauma-informed therapy: healing is not about closure, but integration. Grief reshapes us. It invites a deeper compassion for ourselves and others, and sometimes, over time, a gentler understanding of what it means to live with loss and still hold love.

Researcher and storyteller Brené Brown often reminds us that true empathy requires vulnerability — the courage to enter another’s emotional world without trying to fix it. Grief cannot be solved or managed; it must be witnessed. When we rush to make sense of someone’s pain or reach for comforting platitudes, we’re often trying to soothe our own discomfort. Compassion, instead, says: I see your pain, and I’m here with you in it.

Brown speaks to how grief and healing invite us to stay openhearted in the presence of suffering — to resist numbing, avoid judgment, and choose connection instead. Showing up, for ourselves and for others, becomes an act of love. It means allowing imperfection, holding space for tears and silence, and remembering that our capacity to heal is born not from avoiding pain, but from being met within it — with gentleness, honesty, and care.