I didn’t realize I was grieving at first.
I just knew something felt heavier than it should.
Lately, it’s been showing up in small, ordinary moments. Sitting on my bed at the end of the day, not sad in a way I could explain, just weighed down. Choosing silence on drives when I’d normally turn on music, because quiet feels easier right now.
This season hasn’t been about a single, clear loss.
It’s been about letting go of timelines I carried for years. The version of my life I thought I’d be living by now. Spoiler: it’s nothing like what I had envisioned. I’m 34 years young, living back at home in the guest bedroom, restarting my career after a decade of unwavering commitment, and watching my savings shrink faster than I’d planned.
I really believed that age, success, or finally choosing myself would come with a sense of certainty, but instead it’s come with doubt, humility, and a lot of unknowns. I’ve been grieving identities I poured so much energy into that no longer fit the person I’m becoming. Grieving the comfort of knowing who I was, even when that version of me was exhausted.
There’s also grief in realizing that choosing alignment sometimes means leaving familiar ground behind.
That realization really hits for me.
Even when the change is right. Even when it’s necessary. Even when the universe is practically holding a foam finger cheering you on.
I’m learning that moving forward doesn’t mean you don’t feel the weight of what you had to release to get here.
For a while, I kept telling myself I didn’t have the right to call it grief. Nothing catastrophic happened. But grief doesn’t always need a dramatic event to be real. Sometimes it comes from transition. From growth. From becoming someone new and having to say goodbye to what came before.
If you’re grieving this season, in ways that are obvious or hard to explain, this letter is for you.
Dear You,
This time of year has a way of magnifying everything.
This time of year can make everything feel louder. The joy, the gatherings, the light and also, the absence. Winter has a way of sharpening grief. The days grow quiet, and suddenly the missing becomes easier to feel.
You may be grieving someone you loved.
You may be grieving a version of yourself you thought would still be here.
You may be grieving a relationship, a place, or a dream that no longer fits.
Whatever you are carrying is real. It deserves room, even in a season that urges celebration.
There is no right way to move through the holidays when you are hurting. You do not have to force cheerfulness. You do not have to become smaller to make others comfortable. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to take space.
You are allowed to feel exactly what you feel.
Ask yourself:
What do I need this season, and what can I release?
Who allows me to grieve without trying to fix me?
How can I speak to myself with more compassion right now?
If you’re looking for ease, really sit with these questions.
Grief means something matters. It does not mean you are broken. And even though this season may feel heavy, you are not carrying it alone.
With you in the quiet edges of this season,
Kasim
Thanks for writing this ❤️ grieving my marriage right now and moving to a new place unexpectedly in the process. Read this in my hotel room as I was trying to figure out this weird, hard to name empty feeling I was feeling. Love your words!