Hi love.
I'm so glad you're here.
Maybe you're listening from a quiet corner of your day,
Or in between tasks,
Or in the thick of feeling.
Wherever you are,
This moment is a threshold.
Let's cross it gently.
Take a slow breath in through the nose,
And exhale through the mouth.
Again,
Softly.
Let yourself arrive.
Grief doesn't wait for convenience.
It comes in waves,
In whispers,
In the middle of busy days or silent nights.
And sometimes we push it down,
Because it's too much.
Because there's no time.
Because we're afraid once it starts,
It won't stop.
And hear this.
You are allowed to grieve.
For what was lost.
For what never arrived.
For the versions of you that didn't make it through.
For the life you hoped would look different by now.
Grief isn't a flaw.
It's a continuation of love.
A language the heart speaks when there are no words.
Take a moment now to scan your body.
Where do you carry the ache?
Is it your chest?
Your throat?
Your stomach?
Without needing to fix anything,
Just be with it.
Offer presence instead of pressure.
Try welcoming it instead of pushing it away.
If your eyes well up,
Let them.
If they don't,
That's okay too.
Grief has many expressions,
And all of them are welcome.
You are not broken for feeling this.
You are human and healing.
Now,
If it feels comforting,
Place a hand over your heart or cradle your face.
Offer yourself the gesture you might long for from someone else.
You can be the one to hold you now.
And as we close,
Here's a quiet affirmation.
I honor what I've lost.
I honor what still hurts.
And I give myself full permission to grieve.
Stay here if you need more time.
There's no rush.
And if you're ready to move forward,
Do so with tenderness.
Carry your grief like a thread woven through your becoming.
Not something to hide,
But something sacred.
You are allowed to feel it all and still move toward the light.
