by Francois Hunter.
We often imagine loss as something dramatic.
A death.
A goodbye.
A moment that changes everything in an instant.
But so much of loss is quiet.
It lives in the things we never got to say.
The versions of ourselves we had to leave behind.
The relationships that slowly faded rather than ended.
The futures we once imagined that never arrived.
Loss doesn’t always come with permission. Sometimes it comes wrapped in relief, sometimes in confusion, sometimes in numbness.
Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like grief at first. It just feels like something is missing and you can’t quite name it.
And that can be one of the hardest parts.
We are not always taught how to grieve the invisible things.
The loss of safety.
The loss of identity.
The loss of hope.
The loss of a sense of belonging.
The loss of a version of ourselves that survived something and is now trying to become something new.
Loss is not only about who or what has gone.
It is also about who we are becoming in their absence.
Grief is deeply personal. There is no correct way to do it. No timeline. No neat stages that move in order.
Some days you might feel strong. Other days it might hit you in a way that takes your breath away. Sometimes you may not even feel sad, just tired. Or distant. Or strangely guilty for carrying on.
All of it belongs.
Loss changes us.
It reshapes how we see the world, how safe we feel in it, how open we are to love and connection.
Sometimes it hardens us. Sometimes it softens us. Often it does both.
And yet, so many people carry their losses alone.
Because they don’t want to burden others.
Because they think they “should be over it by now.”
Because their loss doesn’t feel big enough to justify their pain.
Because they don’t have the words for what they’re feeling.
But pain does not need to be measured to be real.
And grief does not need to be dramatic to be worthy of care.
In counselling, loss often shows up in unexpected ways.
In anxiety that won’t settle.
In difficulty trusting.
In a sense of disconnection from others.
In feeling stuck or emotionally numb.
In a quiet sadness that feels like it has no obvious cause.
Sometimes what we are grieving is not a person, but a part of ourselves.
The part that felt safer.
More hopeful.
More certain.
More whole.
If loss is something you are carrying, gently, quietly, or painfully, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.
You deserve space for your grief.
You deserve compassion for your process.
You deserve support that meets you where you are, not where you think you should be.
A gentle invitation:
Maybe today is not about “moving on.”
Maybe it is about allowing.
Allowing yourself to name what has been lost.
Allowing yourself to feel what you feel without judging it.
Allowing yourself to be held, whether by another person, by therapy, or simply by your own kindness.
Healing does not mean forgetting.
It means learning how to live while holding what mattered.
And sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is admit:
“This has hurt me. And I don’t want to face it alone.”