Grief Is Not Linear: Honoring Your Unique Healing Journey

Grief doesn’t come with a roadmap. It doesn't follow a schedule or fit neatly into the five stages we often hear about. It can feel like walking through a thick fog; sometimes you're moving forward, other times you're standing still, or suddenly swept back into a tsunami of pain you thought you’d already passed.

This is the reality of grief, it is not linear. And that truth is not a sign that you're broken. It's a sign that you're human.

We live in a world that often encourages us to "move on" quickly from our losses. Whether it's the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, a change in health, or a deep internal shift, there’s pressure—sometimes silent, sometimes spoken—to tidy up our sorrow and return to “normal” as quickly as possible. But grief doesn’t work that way. There’s no deadline for healing.

It was around Christmas time, just two years after my fiancé passed, when a family member told me I should be over it by then. That time of year carried its own heavy feelings, and it still does. Their words hit me hard, not only because of their insensitivity but because Christmas was—and still is—a trigger for me. It reminded me of the grief not only of traumatic childhood but also of the grief surrounding a car accident that happened two years earlier right after Christmas, and the fact that my fiancé had passed just two months after that.

I still remember how that moment landed in my body—like a wave of disbelief and hurt crashing down all over again. I took a deep breath and responded from my truth. I reminded them gently but firmly to remember that conversation when they lose their spouse… and to pay attention to how they feel two years after their own heart has been broken. Because until you’ve lived it, you don’t know.

Eight years, 4 months and 20 days later, I still run the full gamut of emotions. From overwhelming grief, sorrow and tears, to a deep longing to have my fiancé back here in human form, and sometimes even anger still surfaces. These feelings are all part of my ongoing journey, reminding me of the depth of my love and loss.

More recently, I lost my father shortly before Christmas. Honestly, I never thought I would miss him because of the lifelong abuse I endured from him. But the truth is, I do grieve and miss my dad. I just don’t miss the abuse, the yelling, his anger, walking on eggshells...That complexity is part of my healing journey too.

Even now, I’m sometimes caught off guard by the waves of grief that rise out of nowhere. It can be something as simple as walking past his closet and seeing his clothes still hanging, untouched. Or noticing his Keurig sitting quietly on the counter, his favorite mug still resting underneath it—waiting for him to come make his morning coffee like he always did.

Grief doesn’t always announce itself. It doesn’t schedule its visits. It lives in those in-between moments, in objects, in songs, in scents, in silence. And no matter how much time has passed, it can hit you like it was yesterday. That doesn’t mean you haven’t healed or that you're not strong. It means you loved deeply and that love still echoes through your days.

Some mornings you might wake up with a sense of peace, and other days you find yourself in tears without even knowing why. These waves of emotion don’t mean you're stuck; they mean you’re still feeling, still loving, still honoring the depth of what was lost.

Grief is not a straight line. It’s not even a tidy spiral. It’s more like a child’s scribble—loops and zigzags and swirls that go in all directions, sometimes doubling back, sometimes trailing off unexpectedly. It’s messy, unpredictable, and impossible to follow with logic. But even in that chaos, there is movement. There is life. There is healing, even if it doesn't look the way you imagined.

There is no “right way” to grieve. Some people cry daily. Others feel numb for weeks or months. Some seek the comfort of rituals and spiritual connection, while others find solace in solitude or creativity. There is no universal path. There is only your path—and it is valid. It is enough. You are enough.

You may never “get over” your loss, but you can learn to carry it with more ease, more love, and more grace. You can rebuild your relationship with life, piece by piece, without abandoning your grief or the love that still lingers.

And if, in time, you feel called to share your own grief story—the ache and the healing, the memory and the light that followed—you are gently invited to be part of something meaningful. On the Other Side of Grief is a collaborative book series where voices like yours are held with care and shared with compassion. Sometimes, telling your story helps someone else breathe a little easier. Sometimes, it helps you do the same.

Wherever you are on your journey, I’m holding space for you.