What is Grief?

Going to funerals, visiting gravesites, and making memorials are only one corner of grief. The truth is, grief shows up in so many other places in life.

Grief is the gap between what was and what is now. It’s the ache of loss—not just of people, but of stability, dreams, health, identity, or even seasons of life we thought would last forever.

I see it in clients walking through divorce they never wanted. In friendships that faded without closure. In job losses and career paths that ended unexpectedly. In the childhood someone needed but never received. In the decline of health, energy, or the version of ourselves that once felt strong.

All of this is grief. Yet because it doesn’t fit the traditional mold of mourning—or doesn’t come with time off work—we minimize it. We tell ourselves it’s not a big deal, that others have it worse, that we should be grateful. But grief doesn’t shrink just because we minimize it, or because someone else’s pain looks different. All losses matter. And all losses take up space, whether we acknowledge them or not.

Often, people mean well when they say things like “Don’t worry, everything will be okay” or “They’re in a better place. But for someone grieving, words are rarely what’s needed—it’s presence. My least favorite phrase is “Everything happens for a reason.” While well-intentioned, it can make grief feel like a failure of faith, as though sadness means doubt in God. But that’s not true.

Grief and faith can—and must—coexist. Grief is not the absence of faith. It’s the reflection of love, the longing for what once was whole. Faith doesn’t erase grief—it anchors us in it. It doesn’t demand that we skip the valley. It promises that we won’t walk it alone.

Here’s the thing: grief needs space. It’s not something to push down, rush through, or “get over.” It’s something we learn to carry differently.

Making space might look like honesty—naming what you’ve lost, even if others don’t understand. Permission—allowing yourself to feel every emotion without judgment. Support—leaning on safe people who can hold your story without rushing you. And hope—not the kind that denies pain, but the kind that says, "this is not the end.

So if you’re grieving—whether it’s death, a broken dream, or the quiet loss of a life you thought you’d have—please hear this: Your grief is valid. It doesn’t need to be compared, justified, or explained. And your faith doesn’t erase it. Faith gives you the courage to name it, to sit in it, and to trust that even here, you are not abandoned.

Because grief is more than death. It’s the ache of every loss. But it’s also the reminder of how deeply we loved, how fiercely we hoped, and how bravely we can keep going.

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