Grief & Grace: When the Quiet Feels Heavy

A quiet moment to honor what is lost and what remains.

There is a silence that comes after loss — not the peaceful kind, but the kind that hums in your bones. The world keeps spinning, people return to their routines, and yet inside you, time feels frozen. You hear laughter in another room, see someone planning their day, and it feels strange, almost foreign, that life just… goes on.

In those early weeks and months, I remember the guilt most of all. I felt guilty for simply existing in a world that had dared to keep moving without them. If I laughed, I felt wrong. If I enjoyed the taste of food, I felt shame. I remember thinking, How can I possibly feel anything other than pain after what just happened?

It was as if I’d been given my own kind of sentence — one where I had to carry the weight of what was lost, always, without rest. Joy felt like betrayal. Peace felt like forgetting.

But here’s what I’ve come to learn — and it took many years and much soul work to find this truth — guilt is often love with nowhere to go. It’s love that doesn’t yet understand how to exist in a changed form. It’s not that we don’t want to heal; it’s that our hearts don’t yet know how to live without the ones we love.

I lived numb for a long time. I even used to say, “I don’t do feelings.” It was easier to survive that way — to stay busy, to avoid, to keep moving so I wouldn’t have to feel the ache. But grief is patient. It waits. And when I finally began to feel again, I had to face all that had been buried beneath the numbness.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was real. And in the realness, I began to understand that feeling was the way back — not away from them, but toward a deeper kind of love.

Now, I know that every bit of joy I allow in is not a betrayal of them — it’s a way of carrying them with me. My laughter honors them. My peace honors them. My life honors them.

I wish back then I had something like this — a space, a voice, a gentle place to help me process the pain and alchemize it into the Grace I’ve finally found, many years later.

So if you find yourself in the quiet, feeling guilty for moments of peace or glimpses of joy, please know: You are not leaving them behind. You are bringing them forward, with love.

🌿 Reflection

Guilt is often love in disguise. Where is your love asking to be redirected — into something that keeps their light alive through you?

✍️ Journal Prompt

When was the last time you felt a moment of joy and then felt guilt right after? What would it look like to allow that joy as a way of honoring your loved one instead of betraying them?

🕯️ Simple Practice

Light two candle today — one for your love and one for your life. As both flames flicker, remind yourself that love and living can exist side by side. Whisper softly: “I carry you in all the light I allow in.”

🌾 A Gentle Invitation

Grief doesn’t come with a map, but sometimes a small guide can help light the way. If you’re walking this path too and longing for a little guidance, I’ve created the Grief & Grace Workbooks — gentle companions to help you process your emotions and find your own rhythm of healing.

And when you’re ready to walk with someone who truly understands, I offer 1:1 support sessions where we explore your story, your love, and the grace that still lives within it.

You can explore both below, and choose what feels right for where you are in your journey.

Mini Workbook

Deluxe Workbook

Wherever you are — in the quiet, in the guilt, or in the first fragile moments of peace — may you remember that love doesn’t end. It transforms. And so do you.