I’m Not Good at Grief

A few years ago, I was in training with David Kessler when he said something that stuck with me:

In order to live well, we have to grieve well.

Honestly? That quote still pisses me off. Not because it’s wrong or inappropriate but because I don’t feel like I’ve ever been good at grief.

Recently, a colleague asked me to name my top three fears.

I said:

• dying in a plane crash

• public speaking

• and, grief

And the last one surprised even me coming out of my mouth. Because grief isn’t just something I experience, it’s something I’m afraid of. Not because it exists, but because of where it takes me.

Grief puts me in a headspace that feels heavy and hard to get out of. And if I’m being honest, that’s what scares me the most, that I’ll go there and not get out of it.

What I’m starting to notice is this: We don’t actually say the word grief very often.

Instead we say:

• I’m homesick

• I miss how things used to be

• I feel lost in this marriage

• I wish things were like they used to be

• I miss the good ole days

But if we told the truth, we’d say:

• I’m grieving being away from home.

• I’m grieving what I thought this working relationship would be.

• I’m grieving who we used to be.

• I’m grieving a version of my life that doesn’t exist anymore.

• I’m grieving something that feels comfortable and familiar.

So we soften it. We package it. We rename it. Because saying grief out loud feels like too much—for us and for everyone else.

Even the small stuff is still grief. One thing I struggle with is feeling embarrassed about that. Why should “this thing” be a big deal? I deal with small and big changes all the time. I’m adaptable. This is life.

But here’s what I’m learning: Every time something changes—something ends, shifts, or doesn’t turn out the way I thought it would—it carries some level of grief. Even the small things.

And avoiding that truth doesn’t make it smaller. It just makes the grief stick around longer.

In 2019, when I was going through my divorce, I didn’t want to do anything. I told my therapist that. I was mortified that this failed marriage was my reality.

She told me to go to Walmart. Not to buy anything—just to walk. So I did. I walked up and down every aisle, looking at things I didn’t need, not really wanting to be there. And somehow… it helped. What I didn’t understand then is that movement matters.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Our bodies process emotion through motion. That old advice—go for a walk, go work out, go move—isn’t surface-level. It’s real. Sometimes we don’t need to solve grief. We just need to move with it.

So what if we got better at grief?

So I’ve been asking myself: What would change if I got better at feeling grief instead of avoiding it?

Not eliminating it. Not rushing through it. Just… letting it be what it is. What would change in how I live? How I lead? How I show up for people?

What if, instead of disconnecting, we recognized: Oh hey. This is grief. Sup?

And maybe instead of isolating, we said: “I’m going for a walk. I think I need to move through something.”

What if we normalized that?

Maybe Grief Isn’t the Problem

I still don’t love that quote. But I’m starting to understand it. Grief isn’t the problem. Avoiding it is. Because every time I actually name it—just call it what it is—something shifts. My life doesn’t feel smaller. It feels more honest. More whole.

Here’s what I know today:

Grief isn’t weakness. It isn’t overreacting. It isn’t something to be embarrassed about.

It means I cared. It means something mattered. Someone mattered. A version of my life mattered. And I’m proud of that.

Because the alternative—numbing out, avoiding it, pretending it doesn’t exist—that’s not living well either.

So hey, grief, sup.

For resources and support with grief, visit grief.com