For a long time, I carried a heaviness I couldn’t explain.

It just became a part of me

The heaviness wasn’t loud.
It didn’t show up as something I could name.

It was just… there.

My father died when I was three.

But it wasn’t something we spoke about.
Not in a way that helped me understand what had happened, or what I was feeling.

So the grief didn’t move.
It stayed — without words, with expression in an unexplainable sadness I felt I had to hide.

What I didn’t understand as a child or an young adult was that grief doesn’t just disappear with time.

It settles.
In the body.
In the nervous system.
In the way we move through the world.

And if it’s not met, it doesn’t dissolve — it stays.

For years, I wasn’t consciously “in grief.”

But the heaviness was there.
In the background.
Shaping how I felt, without me knowing.

What began to change wasn’t the grief itself.

It was my way of meeting it.

Through slowing down.
Through allowing what I felt — even when I didn’t fully understand it.
Through learning to stay present with something that had never been given space before. I simply didnt know how to do it.

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In my work today, I often see this.

Grief that was never named.
Emotions that were never held.

And because of that, they stay in the system — not as clear memories, but as a quiet weight.

And sometimes it is a conscious grief that still has a hold in you few years after the passing of a loved one.

Stepping out of grief is not about leaving it behind.

It’s about finally meeting it.

Giving it the attention, the space, and the presence it didn’t receive before.

When that happens, something shifts.

Not all at once.
But enough to create space.

And slowly, the heaviness begins to loosen.

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If you recognize something in this, you’re not alone.

And if you feel the pull to meet what you’ve been holding, you’re welcome to stay close.

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