Below is a piece I wrote in mid-2024. It marked a moment of clarity for me. I finally understood all of the ways fear was directing my path. But not in the ways I wanted, since writing this, fear has remained a compass, but instead of holding True North, I’ve allowed it to guide me to places I never thought possible.
By approaching the things that scared me through the lens of curiosity and excitement:
I’ve expanded my knowledge by taking classes I was previously afraid to take.
I’ve experienced new things, like traveling and immersing myself in new cultures 🇲🇽.
I’ve learned more about myself, such as what I need and want from life.
I hope this can encourage you to let fear guide you in a new way.
The Compass of Fear: Doing it Scared
06/12/2024
I’ve lived in a constant state of fear. Fear of failure, fear of success, fear of abandonment; fear is in every decision I make, and especially the ones I don’t. Fear keeps me frozen in time. For my entire life, I have altered my actions and behaviors out of fear of not being accepted by others. I never stopped to question whether they were people by whom I wanted to be accepted.
It’s exhausting pretending to be something you’re not. Even when you’re not fully aware you’re doing it. I would push the uncomfortable feelings down, the ones that told me something wasn’t right. Because I felt so broken and misunderstood, I worked extra hard to understand others. To the point I could make excuses for their actions to convince myself things were okay. Never questioning whether it was the type of behavior I wanted to surround myself with.
I lost myself in fear. I lost the things that I enjoyed, my values, and my dreams. I replaced them with the passions of others. I sat around wondering why I couldn’t seem to stick with a hobby. It never occurred to me that the hobby wasn’t mine. I spent so much time trying to fit a mold that was not meant for me.
Just as the fear hurt me, it also helped me to hurt others. By pretending to be something I was not, I manipulated my relationships. By not being honest about my needs and wants, I created confusion and distrust. By saying yes when I meant no, I built false resentments. Relationships require vulnerability, honesty and intimacy. None of which fear allows.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to open myself up and show people my favorite parts. I want to be honest in my relationships and with myself. I wish it was as easy as saying it, but I’m still uncovering these parts of me that were buried so deep. I’m just now remembering who I am, and I can’t be honest until I know my truth.
I’ll continue searching for myself because I believe she’s worth it. But also, because I think others deserve it. They deserve the best parts of me, the genuine parts. Not just the parts I built to please them. And since fear doesn’t come with an on/off switch, I will be doing it scared, turning anxiety to excitement.
When I was eleven, I calculated my family’s finances, analyzed where cuts could be made, and presented my parents with a budget. They were unimpressed with my findings—that we could be a little more financially secure without alcohol or cigarettes. With a history in finance such as that, one would think I make financially sound decisions in adulthood. And one would be wrong.
Something that didn’t occur to me at eleven years old—
Knowing how to prepare a budget and knowing how to carry one out are two, massively, different things.
When you’re stuck in survival mode and come from a scarcity mindset, financial literacy and budgeting probably aren’t at the forefront of your mind. Or maybe they are. As with anything, the extremes can go both ways. You may struggle to manage your money, or you may exert rigid control—never allowing yourself to indulge and avoiding necessary purchases.
How do we handle finances after trauma? And are the decisions we make with our money aligned with our present reality?
Financial trauma is a term used to describe the psychological and emotional distress that results from negative, often repeated, financial experiences. These experiences can include financial abuse, poverty, debt, or a chaotic money environment in childhood.
The effects of financial trauma often extend beyond a person’s bank account, impacting their self-worth, relationships, and ability to make rational financial decisions.
Can you recover from financial abuse?
Yes, recovery is absolutely possible. The journey involves both practical steps like gaining financial independence and emotional healing to rebuild your sense of self-worth and trust. Seeking support from a trauma-informed financial coach or therapist can provide a safe space to process these experiences and create a personalized plan for recovery.
The Link Between Financial Trauma and Financial Literacy
My early budgeting skills weren’t born from empowerment, they were born from necessity. And like many of us who grew up in survival mode, my financial literacy was shaped more by chaos than clarity.
Before we ever learn to budget, save, or invest, we absorb financial behaviors from the people around us. Think about how your parents or caretakers managed money. Was it a major stressor? Were you expected to contribute to the household as a child? Did you grow up in poverty, with debt collectors knocking and bills going unpaid?
These experiences don’t just shape how we feel, they shape how we spend. Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs)—like neglect, abuse, and household dysfunction—don’t just affect emotional development. They shape how we approach money, risk, and long-term planning.
ACEs Leave Us At Higher Risk
Studies show that individuals with high ACE scores are significantly more likely to experience financial instability, regardless of income level [1][2]. For many, the challenges of financial trauma begin in childhood with patterns like:
Financial abuse: You earn money, but it’s never really yours. Your autonomy is erased before it even begins.
Scarcity: You learn to stretch everything—food, clothes, medications. Budgeting becomes a game of survival, not strategy.
Domestic violence: Money becomes a weapon. Arguments erupt over spending and you learn to fear financial conversations.
Shame: You internalize the idea that poverty equals failure. Even as an adult, you feel guilty for needing help.
Guilt-Driven Spending
Guilt-driven spending is one of the most confusing loops to untangle. It often looks generous on the outside—over-gifting, over-tipping, over-buying for others—but underneath, it’s a nervous system trying to earn safety.
We spend to soothe, to apologize, to prove we’re good, worthy, or not a burden. Sometimes we spend because we feel guilty for having anything at all. For me, guilt shows up as tipping 50-100% to be a “good customer,” feeling bad for saying no, or trying to “make up” for emotional absence with material presence.
When guilt is driving, long-term planning feels impossible. The future becomes a blurry threat instead of a grounded possibility. We avoid budgeting because it feels like punishment. We resist saving because we don’t believe we’ll be around to enjoy it. We sabotage stability because chaos feels more familiar than calm.
A Gentle Reminder
Avoidance isn’t laziness, it’s protection. And guilt isn’t morality, it’s an echo of the trauma we experienced.
When we begin to understand our financial behaviors as emotional survival strategies, we stop shaming ourselves and start reclaiming choice. We start asking:
What am I trying to feel by spending this?
What am I afraid will happen if I plan ahead?
What does safety with money actually look like for me?
This is where healing begins, not with perfect budgets and spreadsheets, but with honest reflection. Before we learn new financial skills, we have to unlearn the ones trauma taught us. If you’re ready to dive deeper, check out my article, Financial Abuse: Rebuilding Your Finances After Abusive Relationships .
Living with CPTSD means my nervous system doesn’t always recognize safety, even when I do. It shapes how I move, connect, create, and rest. Every day is a negotiation between survival instincts and self-trust.
It can feel like a rollercoaster, swinging from excitement for the plans I have, to being filled with suicidal thoughts. It isn’t always that extreme, but it has been and probably will be again.
It feels like my body has been hijacked: these aren’t my feelings, these aren’t my reactions, these aren’t my thoughts. I pride myself on my kindness and gentle nature. So, when I ‘wake up’ from an emotional flashback, it’s disorienting. Depending on what I did or said, it can be deeply shame-inducing.
Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD) is a mental health condition that can develop after prolonged, repeated trauma; especially trauma that occurs in relational or inescapable contexts. Unlike PTSD, which is often linked to a single traumatic event, CPTSD arises from chronic exposure to harm, such as childhood abuse, domestic violence, or captivity [1].
Core Symptoms and How They Show Up
According to Cleveland Clinic, CPTSD includes core symptoms of PTSD—flashbacks, avoidance, and hypervigilance. But adds three additional symptoms:
Affective Dysregulation: intense emotional reactivity or numbness
Negative Self-Concept: persistent shame, guilt, or feelings of worthlessness
Interpersonal Difficulties: chronic mistrust, isolation, or fear of relationships
The World Health Organization officially recognized Complex PTSD in the ICD-11, distinguishing it from PTSD and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) [1][2]. However, the American Psychiatric Association’s DSM-5 still does not list CPTSD as a separate diagnosis, contributing to confusion and inconsistent care [1][3].
Why Complex PTSD is Often Undiagnosed or Misdiagnosed
The Challenge of Finding Trauma Informed Care
Despite its prevalence, Complex PTSD is frequently overlooked or misdiagnosed, especially in marginalized communities. For example, research indicates that minority groups, particularly Black individuals, face higher rates of misdiagnosis for mental health conditions due to racial bias and a lack of culturally competent care [8][9]. Several factors contribute to this:
Gaps in Trauma-Informed Care
Many clinicians lack training in complex trauma, especially in primary care settings [4].
Survivors may not have access to specialists who recognize relational trauma patterns.
Low Public Awareness
CPTSD is still emerging in mainstream mental health discourse.
Survivors often internalize their symptoms as personal failings rather than trauma responses.
Stigma and Misdiagnosis
Complex PTSD is commonly misdiagnosed as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), especially in women and survivors of childhood abuse [4][5][2].
Research shows that while BPD and CPTSD share overlapping symptoms (e.g. emotional dysregulation, relationship struggles), they differ in origin and presentation. CPTSD stems from chronic trauma and includes a distorted self-concept rooted in shame, whereas BPD is characterized by unstable identity and fear of abandonment [5][2].
Complex PTSD doesn’t arise from a single traumatic event—it’s the result of prolonged exposure to harm, especially in relationships or systems where escape feels impossible. While chronic childhood abuse and neglect are among the most common causes [1], CPTSD can also develop in adulthood through repeated emotional, physical, or psychological violations.
Relational Trauma in Adulthood
Abusive relationships, spiritual exploitation, and medical gaslighting are all valid contributors to CPTSD. Long-term exposure to controlling or manipulative dynamics, especially those involving cheating, domestic violence, financial abuse, or sexual coercion, can destabilize the nervous system.
Survivors often find themselves walking on eggshells, bracing for the next incident. Over time, this hypervigilance and emotional dysregulation become embedded patterns, even after the relationship ends.
For many, Complex PTSD symptoms existed before the relationship—but the abuse intensified them. The longer the exposure, the deeper the imprint.
Medical Trauma and Gaslighting
Medical gaslighting—where a patient’s symptoms are dismissed, minimized, or misattributed—can be deeply traumatic, especially for those with chronic illnesses.
Studies show that women, minorities, and disabled individuals are disproportionately affected by diagnostic dismissal and invalidation [1]. When your pain is ignored by the very systems meant to help, it reinforces the belief that your suffering is invisible or unworthy of care.
“I’ve experienced the gaps. I’ve sat in exam rooms while my pain was minimized, my symptoms brushed aside. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was retraumatizing.”
Ash Elizabeth, The Hard Peel
Systemic Oppression and Institutional Betrayal
CPTSD can also stem from systemic abuse—when institutions fail to protect, support, or acknowledge harm. This includes:
• Racial and gender-based discrimination
• Legal and financial exploitation
• Medical neglect
• Educational or workplace retaliation
• Governmental abandonment
Institutional betrayal occurs when trusted systems—like healthcare, education, or law enforcement—fail to respond appropriately to trauma, or actively contribute to it [6][7].
Research shows that survivors of interpersonal trauma who also experience institutional betrayal report more severe CPTSD symptoms, higher emotional dysregulation, and lower treatment completion rates [6].
Being a female, from a traumatic childhood, with chronic illness, I’ve lived the betrayal. I’ve been gaslit by doctors, dismissed by systems, and left on edge by relationships that promised safety but delivered harm.
The Cumulative Nature of CPTSD
It’s Not Just One Thing
CPTSD is more than just one traumatic event. It’s the accumulation of being unseen, unsafe, and silenced over time. It’s the slow erosion of trust; in others, in systems, and sometimes in yourself.
For me, it was years of surviving in spaces that didn’t know how to hold me.
My Journey with CPTSD: A Look at the Symptoms
Symptoms of CPTSD can vary in frequency, severity, and trigger for each person. It’s important to remember they are not personal failings. They’re survival adaptations. Many of these responses once protected us in unsafe environments. Some can even be gently reframed into tools for healing in the present.
Here are a few of the most common symptoms, along with how they show up in my life:
Emotional Flashbacks and the Younger Self
Sudden, intense emotional states, often without a clear trigger, that transport you to a past version of yourself.
I experience emotional flashbacks frequently. They’re not always dramatic, they can sneak in quietly. A tone, a look, a physical discomfort and suddenly, I’m not in the present anymore. I’m in the mind of a younger version of myself. A version that feels neglected, attacked, and alone.
As a kid, my pain was dismissed, by my parents and doctors. So now, even a small ache or hormonal dip can send me spiraling. I get depressed, at times to the point of suicidal ideation. I feel unseen, disrespected, angry, and I isolate.
I don’t fight it anymore. I treat it as a signal for rest and compassion. I gather my comfort items, curl up on my couch or in bed, and let myself be cared for, by me. I journal, read or watch something familiar. It’s my way of saying: I see you. I believe you. You’re not being neglected anymore.
Hypervigilance: Protection, Not Paranoia
Constant scanning for danger, difficulty relaxing, and exaggerated startle responses.
Because of the abuse I experienced and witnessed in childhood, and the cheating and financial abuse I experienced in adult relationships, I’m nearly always scanning. Always calculating. Did his timeline add up? Was he on his phone more than usual?
I’ve literally gotten in my car and retraced a partner’s steps to see if the timing made sense. That’s not just anxiety or trust issues, that’s CPTSD. It’s also in my body. I flinch when someone moves too fast. I brace myself when I make a mistake, like spilling coffee, because I’m expecting punishment.
It’s exhausting. But I understand it now. It’s not paranoia, it’s protection.
Dissociation: Running in a Dream
Feeling disconnected from your body, emotions, or surroundings; a sense of floating or unreality.
Some days, I feel like I’m floating above myself. Watching my body go through the motions while I’m somewhere else entirely. I used to think it was just depression, but it’s more than that. It’s like trying to run in a dream — where you feel stuck, held back, unable to reach what you’re chasing.
When I’m in that space, joy disappears. My loved ones feel distant. I stop seeing them as people I’m connected to and start seeing them as obstacles or pawns. It’s painful to admit. But naming it helps.
When I notice that shift, I try to stay honest — with myself and with them. I let them know what’s happening. That openness helps me move through it with less shame and more compassion.
The Filter of Shame
Persistent feelings of guilt, worthlessness, or self-blame.
Shame follows me everywhere. It’s not just a feeling, it’s a filter. It dictates what I can do, it tells me who I am, it shows up in my work and in my relationships.
It’s loud when I write. It whispers when I show up to my support groups. It tells me I’m too much or not enough. That I should be further along. That I’m failing. Sometimes I can’t even name where it’s coming from — it just shows up.
I’ve learned to recognize it a little better, and to talk back to it. I remind myself that shame is not the truth, it’s a wound. And wounds can be tended to.
CPTSD and Relationship Challenges
Difficulty trusting, fear of abandonment, and people-pleasing.
CPTSD doesn’t just affect how I feel, it affects how I relate. In my relationships, it shows up as trust issues, fear of abandonment, people-pleasing, and avoidance. If my partner says they’re working late, my mind doesn’t care about facts, it automatically assumes they’re lying.
I’ve looked up the addresses they’re working at to see who lives there. I’ve bent over backwards to keep the peace, even when it cost me my own boundaries. I’ve pulled away when things felt too good, because it felt suspicious.
These patterns aren’t about drama. They’re about survival. And when I can’t redirect or reframe, they lead me to act in ways that go against my own values. But I’m learning to pause. To name it and to focus on the facts and my present reality.
A New Definition of Healing: Reclaiming What Was Taken
Healing isn’t a finish line to chase. It’s a daily decision; it has to be. Because no one works harder than mental illness. CPTSD shows up every day and we have to as well.
Healing means forgiving yourself for the ways you’ve reacted from past wounds. It means choosing presence over protection, even when it’s hard. It’s about regulating your nervous system and creating safety from the inside out.
Tools for Daily Regulation and Self-Care
There are tools that help. Not to fix us, but to support us in reclaiming our peace:
Journaling offers a safe space for your best and worst parts to speak.
Creative expression builds confidence and authenticity, reconnecting you to your identity.
Gentle movement creates safety in the body, helping you feel grounded and whole.
Self-compassion rituals remind you that you’re worthy of care—even when you’re struggling.
Check out our Wellness Tips for prompts, meditations, and ideas for creative expression.
A Final Message of Hope
For me, healing looks like journaling, therapy, and support groups. But it also looks like days in bed or on the couch. It looks like listening to my needs and granting myself permission to care for myself; without guilt. I used to think I had to push through, hustle harder. But I realized hustling and guilt kept me stuck in the same cycle.
Motivation to continue healing doesn’t exist for me. It’s a commitment, a determination to not let my past define my present. So much was taken from me, I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up any more. Healing has become less about fixing and more about honoring and reclaiming what was stolen—my authentic self. The trusting, kind, loving, joyous self whose spark was extinguished.
Healing asks us to be open. To stay curious. To believe that we’re not failures. We’re not broken. We’re worthy—of love, of rest, of joy, of peace.
How can you care for yourself today? What do you need to feel safe and secure? Do it. Go after it. Ask for it.
Part 4 of a 4 part series on Grief, find more here.
I mourned who I used to be, until I realized she was never fully whole. She was stitched together by expectations, silence, and survival.
Understanding the Unspoken Mourning of Self
I expected separation and the end of relationships would involve grieving, but I never imagined how layered that experience would be. As we’ve explored in our grief series, there’s a lot more to grief than dying. But did you know there’s also a lot more to it than grieving the loss of other people and things?
I knew I would be grieving the absence of my husband and relationships within that marriage, after all, they had been a large part of my life and routine. I expected to feel loss there, to feel an emptiness. What I didn’t expect was to feel like I was lost myself.
After my marriage ended, I didn’t just grieve my husband and relationships associated with our union, I felt the loss of the version of me that existed within those relationships. The wife, the caretaker, the cook, the lover, and the partner. I sank into a depression, no longer recognizing my reflection in the mirror. I felt like a sailboat with no wind for my sails, like I was built for motion but stuck, stagnant.
And when I began to examine who that version of me really was, I uncovered a deeper truth: she wasn’t just lost, she had never truly belonged to me.
Personal Experience: Grieving Identity Loss in Relationships
For most of my adult life, I identified myself through my relationships. I was someone’s partner, someone’s emotional anchor, someone who existed to meet others’ needs. I didn’t just love, I performed love. I sacrificed, accommodated, and shape-shifted to keep the peace. I said yes when I meant no. I stayed silent when I wanted to speak. I believed that if I set boundaries, I’d be abandoned.
I wasn’t taught boundaries growing up. My emotional, physical, and social limits were crossed repeatedly in childhood and early adulthood. So, when I entered relationships, I didn’t know how to protect myself; or that I was even allowed to. I thought my people-pleasing was love. And in a way, I guess it was. It was the only love I had ever known. One based on performance and availability. A love that required me to disappear.
It wasn’t until my marriage ended and I began unpacking the patterns beneath it, that I realized how deeply I had betrayed myself. I felt guilty for the ways I had deceived my partners by pretending to be okay. I felt ashamed for saying yes when I meant no. And I felt devastated by the pain my compliance had caused. Not just for me, but for the people I loved.
Then came victimhood. I felt taken advantage of. Used. Unseen. But that quickly spiraled into guilt again, because hadn’t I allowed it? Hadn’t I taught people to treat me this way? Didn’t I grant them permission?
It was a brutal emotional pendulum, swinging between blame and shame, betrayal and responsibility. But somewhere in that chaos, I uncovered two things that shifted my mindset—
I did have a choice.
I had a responsibility, to myself and others, to make a different one.
Grieving the loss of my relationships was hard. But grieving the loss of identity I had built within them—that was harder. Because that version of me wasn’t just gone. She never fully existed to begin with.
Identity grief: the mourning of a self that no longer exists or was never truly authentic.
Grief isn’t always about losing someone else; sometimes it’s about losing yourself or realizing you never had the chance to become who you were meant to be. This is especially true when a version of you was built on survival—masking, people-pleasing, and self-erasure. When we lose a relationship, we often lose a self we thought was real. The grief becomes even more complex because the absence of a partner is also the absence of the identity you performed to keep them.
🧠 The Pain of Identity Disruption
Our identity is our lifelong companion. It’s how we understand ourselves, make decisions, and connect with others. When that sense of self is disrupted, especially after trauma or relational loss, it can feel like our one and only lifelong partner has vanished. We feel empty, disoriented, and alone. We question our reality, our past, and our worth.
In healthy environments, identity forms through exploration. Trying new things, expressing preferences, setting boundaries. But in dysfunctional homes, identity often forms through adaptation and survival—
What can I do to make them happy?
How can I stop the fighting?
What will earn their love and attention?
Self-expression is shamed. We’re told our music, clothes, body, or voices are wrong. And we begin masking. We present ourselves in ways that feel acceptable, not authentic. We shrink to fit the mold others expect. And over time, we forget who we are.
Even as adults, this pattern can live on. I’ve found myself staying quiet when meeting someone new, scanning for cues about how they want me to show up. I’ve withheld my truth to avoid rejection. I’ve shaped myself to fit their comfort; not mine.
Research on Identity Loss and Grief
Recent studies confirm that identity disruption is a core component of grief. Especially in cases of relational loss, divorce, and prolonged grief:
• A 2021 study published in Current Psychology found that merged identity with a partner was a key predictor of prolonged grief symptoms. When our sense of self is deeply entangled with another person, their absence destabilizes our emotional and cognitive functioning [1].
• Research from Antioch University highlights the concept of non-death grief, especially in marginalized communities. It shows that loss of identity—whether through gender shifts, trauma, or relational rupture—can trigger grief responses as intense as bereavement [2].
• A 2018 study in the Journal of Loss and Grief found that a disrupted sense of self after bereavement is a key predictor of more severe and prolonged grief symptoms [3].
These findings validate what many trauma survivors feel but struggle to explain; that losing a version of yourself, especially one built on survival, is a legitimate and painful form of grief.
The Invisible Grief of Identity Loss
Identity grief is often dismissed or overlooked because there’s no tangible loss. No funeral. No obituary. But if you’ve experienced it, you know; it’s one of the most disorienting and painful losses you can feel.
It can trigger:
• Emotional flashbacks
• Depression and anxiety
• Dissociation and self-doubt
• A pendulum between guilt and victimhood
And yet, it’s a grief only you can see. Only you can feel. If you’re lucky, you’ll have friends who notice the shift and support you as you peel back the layers and meet your truest self.
Rediscovering Self: Healing from Identity Loss
Reconnection to self is possible; but it requires patience, compassion, and a willingness to sit with discomfort. After years of performing roles that weren’t truly mine, I’ve found the most powerful way to reconnect with my authentic self is through journaling and meditation.
Some days, it’s directionless. I write freely or sit quietly. Other days, I need encouragement, a prompt, a question, or a gentle nudge. You can find some of my favorite journaling prompts here. They’ve helped me meet myself in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Therapy has also been a cornerstone of my healing. I’ve been in consistent therapy for five years, and it’s guided me when I couldn’t guide myself. Anonymous support groups have offered a different kind of safety—less pressure to perform, more space to witness and be witnessed. Vulnerability isn’t always about sharing with others. Sometimes, it’s about sharing with yourself. And if you don’t feel safe within yourself, your inner parts will keep you stuck.
• What parts of me feel most alive, even if they’ve been quiet lately?
Don’t rush the process. Give yourself grace. Like all healing, rediscovery isn’t linear; it’s layered, tender, and often surprising. But with time, you’ll begin to uncover parts of yourself you’d forgotten. Parts that bring joy. Parts that feel like home.
My Personal Journey of Self-Rediscovery
I re-discovered my love of writing and blogging last year. You can read more about that in my Medium article, The Hard Peel of Identity: How Creating Helped Me Meet Myself. These were parts of me I had buried to focus on performing in my relationships. Had you asked me three years ago, I would’ve told you I had no hobbies. Nothing stuck. That’s because I was trying on the hobbies of other people, not my own.
It took time. It still requires maintenance. But I feel more connected to myself than I ever have. I feel confident. And I feel more secure in my worth.
Navigating Setbacks in Identity Healing
It’s not always sunshine and rainbows. Rediscovery doesn’t mean you’ll never struggle again. A little over a month ago, I fell back into depression. I felt like all my hard work had been for nothing. I was stuck in an emotional flashback, incapable of caring for myself in even the smallest ways.
It took writing this series, multiple support group meetings, therapy sessions, and intense journaling to reignite my spark. But having those tools meant everything. What could’ve been a downward spiral that lasted weeks, months, or years was interrupted.
Healing isn’t about perfection. It’s about curating the tools and behaviors that guide us out of the dark—the ones that save us from falling into the deep end when we’re slipping.
Coping with Identity Grief: Tools & Resources
Rediscovering yourself after identity loss isn’t just emotional—it’s somatic, spiritual, and practical. You’ll need tools that meet you where you are, especially on the days when clarity feels far away. Below are a few methods I’ve used to reconnect.
🛠️ Practical Tools for Identity Reconnection
• Journaling: Free writing, guided prompts, and identity mapping
• Meditation: Breath-led grounding, visualization, and body scans
• Movement: Trauma-informed yoga, stretching, and walking
• Support Groups: Anonymous spaces for shared vulnerability
• Therapy: Consistent guidance and emotional regulation
You don’t need to use all of them. Just start with one. Let it be gentle. Let it be yours.
I’ve curated a full page of downloadable resources to support you—PDFs with journaling prompts, meditation guides, breathwork rituals, and more. You can explore them here. You’ll also find my favorite podcasts, affirmations, and reflections to help you feel less alone.
If you’d like even deeper support, you can sign up for my email list and receive a free Recovery Toolkit—a collection of healing tools designed to help you reconnect with yourself and move through grief with compassion.
Embracing Your Becoming: A Gentle Invitation
Grief and identity loss are not just events, they’re emotional landscapes. And rediscovery isn’t a destination, it’s a practice.
If you’re feeling lost, fragmented, or unsure of who you are without the roles you once played, know this: you are not broken. You are becoming.
You are allowed to change.
You are allowed to return to yourself.
You are allowed to heal on your own terms.
Let this be your invitation to begin.
To meet yourself with softness. To peel back the layers and find what’s true.
Be gentle. Go slow. Peel better. 🍊
Sources
Merged Identity and Prolonged Grief Symptoms Current Psychology (2021) It’s not who you lose, it’s who you are: Identity and symptom trajectory in prolonged grief
Non-Death Loss and Identity Grief in Marginalized Communities Antioch University Dissertation (2024) The Grief of Identity Formation: How Non-Death Loss Complicates Trans Identity Narratives
Neimeyer, R. A., Klass, D., & Dennis, L. (2018). The death of a “self”: Identity disruption and the experience of grief. Journal of Loss and Grief, 22(1), 1-17.
Part 3 of a 4 part series on grief, find more here.
Processing grief isn’t about finding a fix, though we often want it to be. We want to make it go away; to pack it neatly in a box in the back of our minds to never bother us again. But that’s not what grief wants or needs. Grief wants a companion. It needs someone to sit with it in the dark, to feel the tragedy, the agony, and the despair. Grief needs someone to bear witness to its pain and to move through what cannot be fixed.
Grief is the echo of all we’ve lost. We honor it by listening.
—Ash Elizabeth, The Hard Peel
It comes in waves because if it hit all at once, it would wipe us out completely. The waves sometimes feel like tsunamis; fortunately, we’re still able to come up for air in between crashes. We welcome those moments of reprieve because, for grief, time doesn’t exist. For some of us, it can even feel permanent. One thing I’ve learned from grief is that it doesn’t want answers, explanations, or justification. And it doesn’t need structure or routine. It only wants our presence, and it needs our acknowledgement.
Exploring Your Grief: Practical Tools for Healing
If you’re currently processing grief, it can feel overwhelming to even know where to begin. The goal isn’t to get rid of your pain, but to create a space to move through it. Below are some powerful tools that can help you explore your grief and find a way to honor it.
How to Process Grief Through Journaling
Journaling is a powerful tool for exploring grief. It doesn’t require you to talk to anyone. You don’t have to share openly; it’s a way you can be completely honest about your feelings without fear of judgment or repercussions. Research shows that writing about stressful and traumatic events can lead to significant improvements in both physical and psychological health, reducing symptoms of anxiety and depression [1, 2].
Try asking yourself these questions:
What else did I lose beyond the obvious?
What parts of me feel different since the loss?
What do I wish I could say to them, to myself, or to others?
What does my grief need from me today: rest, expression, silence, or even laughter?
Finding Healing Through Creative Expression
Another way to work through grief is through creative expression. Art provides a healthy outlet for the uncomfortable emotions we’re experiencing. Whether you’re writing, painting, or dancing to your favorite music, expressing yourself is a perfect way to process grief. Engaging in creative arts therapies has been found to be effective in reducing symptoms of anxiety and depression, providing a non-verbal outlet for complex emotions [3, 4].
You might try some of these methods:
Create a photo collage or memory box.
Try nature photography.
Paint or draw whatever comes to mind.
Write poetry or short stories.
Grounding Your Body with Grief Practices
Grief is felt in both the mind and the body. Engaging your senses and bringing awareness back to your body can help prevent you from getting stuck in a cycle of grief. Slow and gentle movement will allow your body to process uncomfortable feelings instead of holding on to them. Studies show that incorporating physical activity, even gentle movement, can significantly reduce symptoms of depression, anxiety, and stress by boosting mood-lifting endorphins and regulating the nervous system [5, 6].
Try some of the ideas below to help regulate your nervous system while grieving:
Stretching
Walking
Somatic grounding & breathwork
Vocal release, such as humming, singing, or even yelling into a pillow
Why Talking It Out Can Help You Grieve
Sharing your grief can restore a sense of connection and community. Finding a trusted therapist, leaning on friends, or joining a support group can help you feel less alone. Research suggests that group support can reduce feelings of isolation and stress, provide emotional relief, and foster a sense of understanding [7, 8]. For more complex grief, targeted therapies have shown high rates of effectiveness in helping individuals restore functioning and find new ways to think about their loss [9].
If you’re grieving, ask a friend to meet you for a cup of coffee or a walk. Sometimes, simply saying the words out loud can be a huge step forward.
Finding Comfort in Spiritual Reflection
Spiritual reflection doesn’t have to be religious, though it can be. It’s about leaning into your personal belief system—whether that’s God, the universe, or a set of rituals you’ve developed for yourself. Find what brings you internal peace during your time of grief and lean into it. Spirituality and religious rituals can offer powerful coping mechanisms, providing comfort, meaning, and a sense of connection during times of profound disorientation [10].
This might look like:
Prayer
Rituals, such as lighting a candle or visiting a meaningful place
Meditation
Connecting with spirit guides or your higher power
My Journey with Grief
Twelve years ago, I sat on the edge of my bed as my heart was ripped out of my chest. Agony consumed me as I learned that my best friend, pregnant at the time, had been in a horrendous accident the night before. She was on life support, and it was time to say goodbye. Despair radiated through my body as my friend and her unborn son were suddenly ripped from this earth. It was the greatest heartbreak I’ve experienced to date.
In the days following her death, family and friends gathered around to support me. We brainstormed ways I could document what she meant to me. I still remember the poster I made for the funeral. It was covered in photos of her and me, decorated with her favorite colors and patterns. In the center were words I wrote expressing how much her friendship meant to me.
Six months later, the waves were still crashing. I found myself sitting by her grave, catching her up on life between my sobs. My partner couldn’t understand why I wasn’t “over it” yet. I’m sure six months seems like a long time to someone who hasn’t lost anyone close to them. But to anyone who’s ever lost someone they loved dearly, someone they spent nearly every day with, six months is nothing. Instead of pushing the grief down, I began sharing on an anonymous online platform and later in therapy.
No single action I took alleviated the pain of loss. But together, they helped me process and move forward. They allowed me to accept, express, and feel the complex emotions associated with the sudden death of my best friend. I still feel the sting from time to time and will even shed a tear or two for the future, the identity, and the lives that were lost that day.
Significant losses have marked my life. Some were public and what some would deem “acceptable,” like losing my best friend and her unborn son. Others I felt I couldn’t speak freely about, like the demise of my marriage, which I’m still processing through therapy and anonymous support groups. Then there were things, like my miscarriage, that I grieved alone, with the help of journaling and my higher power. With each loss, I clung to these foundations, finding solace and a way to move forward.
A Final Encouraging Note
Grief is a heavy and difficult road, but you don’t have to carry it alone. You are not meant to “get over” your grief, but to learn how to carry it. Research on grief consistently shows that actively engaging with your emotions and seeking support are powerful ways to heal. Be gentle with yourself. Your grief is a testament to the love you have, and that love is a beautiful, powerful thing.
The path of grief is unique for everyone, but these tools offer proven avenues for processing, healing, and ultimately, integrating your loss into your life in a meaningful way.
How have you navigated grief in your life? I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments below.
Baikie, K. A., & Wilhelm, K. (2005). Emotional and physical health benefits of expressive writing. Australasian Journal of Psychiatry, 39(12), 1083–1090.
Pennebaker, J. W. (2000). Expressive writing: Connections to physical and mental health. In H. S. Friedman (Ed.), The Oxford handbook of health psychology (pp. 521–539). Oxford University Press.
Taylor, A. J., & Graham, J. A. (2006). The use of art therapy with bereaved children: A qualitative study. Art Therapy: Journal of the American Art Therapy Association, 23(2), 79-85.
Stewart, S. L., & Neimeyer, R. A. (2014). Creativity and loss: Art as a medium for grief work. The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 46(1), 74-94.
O’Connor, M. F. (2019). The neuroscience of grief. Current Opinion in Psychology, 30, 148-152.
Sweeney, A., & O’Connor, K. (2018). The role of physical activity in the management of grief. Death Studies, 42(10), 651-659.
Charlie Health. (2025). Group support might help you cope with grief, data shows.
Jordan, J. R., & Neimeyer, R. A. (2003). Does grief counseling work? An empirical review of the effectiveness of grief interventions. Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy, 4, 143-167.
Shear, M. K., Frank, E., & Foa, E. (2008). Traumatic grief: A conceptual and clinical review. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 10(2), 173–182.
Tix, A. P., & Frenk, J. M. (1991). Coping with bereavement: The role of spirituality and religious beliefs. Journal of Clinical Psychology, 47(1), 1-13.
