Tag: Grief

Navigating grief and compassion, clarity, and trauma-informed support. Information regarding different types of grief, how to process, and more.

The Grief of Identity Loss
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 s eries, 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—
1. I did have a choice.
1. 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.

Understanding Identity Grief: Why Losing Yourself Hurts

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.

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Psychology Today

🧭 Prompts for Reconnection

Start by asking:

• What feels true to me?

• What values guide me?

• 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
1. 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
1. 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
1. 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.
August 24, 2025
Processing Grief
A Compassionate Guide to Healing After Loss

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.

For more resources on healing trauma or processing difficult emotions, check out our Wellness Tips and don’t forget to sign up for your free Recovery Toolkit!

Sources
1. Baikie, K. A., & Wilhelm, K. (2005). Emotional and physical health benefits of expressive writing. Australasian Journal of Psychiatry, 39(12), 1083–1090.
1. 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.
1. 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.
1. 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.
1. O’Connor, M. F. (2019). The neuroscience of grief. Current Opinion in Psychology, 30, 148-152.
1. Sweeney, A., & O’Connor, K. (2018). The role of physical activity in the management of grief. Death Studies, 42(10), 651-659.
1. Charlie Health. (2025). Group support might help you cope with grief, data shows.
1. 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.
1. Shear, M. K., Frank, E., & Foa, E. (2008). Traumatic grief: A conceptual and clinical review. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 10(2), 173–182.
1. 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.
August 10, 2025
Compound Grief

Coping When Everything Feels Like a Loss

Part 2 of a 4 part series on Grief, find more here.

Over the past year, my world didn’t just crack, it shattered. It wasn’t just a single event, but a relentless culmination of losses. My identity, my stability, my core relationships, and future dreams faded away. And despite my best efforts, I wasn’t prepared for the emotional wreckage I would be left with. I found myself dazed and confused by all of the feelings. I didn’t recognize it at first, because it didn’t look like “grief” as I knew it. There was no funeral, no single marker, just a quiet unraveling of self. What I thought was consequences of a wrong decision, was something far more complicated. It was compound grief; the silent, overwhelming weight of grieving everything, all at once, without a clear end in sight.

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What is Compound Grief?

Compound grief, sometimes called cumulative grief, isn’t the single shot to the heart we typically understand. It’s an emotional avalanche, triggered by multiple losses piling up. Often these losses happen in rapid succession or before you’ve had a chance to process the one before. Think divorce, job loss, relocation, the quiet death of friendships, or even shifts in identity and purpose.

Unlike the focused sorrow after death, compound grief arrives subtly. It disguises itself as persistent burnout, irritability, and internal resistance. Or it shows up as physical symptoms like fatigue and insomnia. There’s no memorial, no sign, and no fruit basket declaring, “This is grief.”

Instead, your nervous system gets completely overwhelmed, a familiar feeling to those from trauma. You feel paralyzed, disconnected, or you’re on high alert, anticipating the next loss. Each unprocessed layer of loss compounds the next. This makes it harder to heal, to breathe, and to simply be yourself.

The ending of my marriage, loss of my home, long-held friendships, and the identity I built my strength around are the compounds of my grief. Add in the gnawing anticipatory grief for my father’s declining health and the intense unpacking of childhood trauma, it’s no surprise my soul feels heavy. None of these losses arrived with an obituary, but each one buried me deeper in the suffocating mix of shame, abandonment, sadness, and anger.

How Compound Grief Shows Up

This unnamed grief first manifested as intense burnout, not the kind a long weekend can cure. But a deep exhaustion seated in the soul, filling you with dread as you wake up. My job, once a passion, felt like a prison. I wasn’t lazy or ungrateful; my spirit was screaming for space to feel, and the whole world refused to pause.

Then came an almost physical resistance to movement. My body rebelled against walks, stretches, anything that might stir the buried sorrow. It felt like a deep, internal injury, demanding stillness as a way to protect my wounds. “We’re wounded. Don’t move,” my soul commanded.

Withdrawal followed. Hiding felt like a shield against future rejection, a way to deny the current wounds. Subconsciously, I feared that acknowledging these losses would turn me into a full-time victim. It’s tricky, embracing a victim mindset. It can offer temporary safety, a way to gain validation and be seen in suffering. Yet, it’s a deceptive comfort that can quickly become an addiction.

Compound grief rarely presents with obvious tears. Instead, it weaponizes avoidance and self-sabotage, as seen in the ways we disconnect from ourselves and others. It is, quite simply, grief without a name tag. But finding that name is the critical first step toward reclaiming your power.

Why This Type of Grief is So Hard to Name

Grief is often misunderstood, especially when it doesn’t follow a death. Society tends to recognize grief only when it’s tied to funerals, obituaries, and memorials. But what about the losses of relationships, identity, stability, or even hope? These significant shifts can elicit a deep grief, yet without a tangible “event,” we struggle to validate it.

A WebMD survey highlights this disconnect, 88% of people who experienced grief due to a life event reported emotional symptoms. With sadness and depression being the most common. It further revealed those who lost friendships/relationships experienced depression, anger, and withdrawal at higher rates than those grieving the death of a loved one. Astonishingly, many don’t connect these symptoms to grief until they begin to disrupt daily life, or in my case, sense of self.

My first clue wasn’t sorrow; it was the return of self-criticism. Suddenly, the voice in the mirror sneered, “You’re disgusting.” Mistakes began triggering an overwhelming shame. Destructive patterns I’d spent years in therapy dismantling resurfaced. This wasn’t burnout or simple lack of motivation; it was grief, deeply hidden, even from myself.

Unnamed grief becomes a silent master. It manifests as corrosive self-doubt, persistent shame, and a slow, agonizing disconnection from our bodies and worth. Because it defies the tidy boxes of “traditional” grief, we deny ourselves permission to feel it. And even if we acknowledge it, we rarely make the necessary space or time. After all, life demands we keep moving and producing, right?

What’s Helping Me Cope

Naming the grief has changed things. The moment I understood my depression and crushing exhaustion were not personal failures, but symptoms of compound grief, the self-blame began to dissolve. My focus shifted from “fixing what’s wrong with me” to compassionately tending to myself.

I’ve doubled down on my established coping mechanisms: consistent therapy, regular support groups, and dedicated journaling. This blog has also become a vital processing space where I feel seen and understood. The value of these five years of recovery work is now becoming clear; these tools are my anchors. The sheer relief of simply understanding why I feel this way has lifted an immense weight.

It’s perplexing the way our brains shield us from the source of our suffering. It leads us to frantically search for solutions in our current environment when the pain originates from months, or even years, prior. I’ve realized, once again, that I am not broken. I am simply grieving—for the life I lost, the relationships that ended, the home that vanished, and the identity that evaporated.

With this grief comes the inevitable question, “What will my life be now?” But coping isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about choosing to stay present with the questions, granting permission to feel, to rest, and to rebuild at my own pace. And for today, that is enough.

You’re Not Alone

If you’re feeling low and can’t quite explain why, if your depression doesn’t seem to match your current circumstances, you’re not alone.

What we label “depression” is often unnamed grief; pain pushed aside because life, and society, demanded we keep going. There’s no prescribed adjustment period, no ritual, no societal recognition for the deep, cumulative losses.

We’re expected to show up, be present, keep moving. And we do, until our bodies, minds, and spirits declare, “Enough.” But here’s the truth you need to internalize:

Your grief is valid.

Your healing requires no external permission.

You never have to justify your pain to deserve boundless compassion.

I’m still navigating this terrain, still healing, still learning to honor what’s been lost. All while gently making space for what comes next. If you’re grieving quietly, carrying this heavy, unnamed weight, I see you. You are not alone.

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July 30, 2025
Anticipatory Grief

Grieving the Worst Before it Happens

Part 1 of a 4 part series on grief, find more here.

The term anticipatory grief captures a unique and often hidden struggle. It’s the profound sorrow and anxiety we feel in anticipation of a loss, particularly when a loved one is battling a long-term illness or addiction. It’s a type of grief that arrives early, before the final goodbye, leaving us to navigate a landscape of uncertainty and profound emotion. My journey into understanding this deeply personal anguish began unexpectedly almost five years ago when my father’s health took a sudden turn, and my body reacted as if the worst had already occurred.

He had a heart attack and was going to have bypass surgery. My body and brain seemed to mistake that information for death. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. It was the type of anguish that feels like a vice around your throat. And the only other time I’ve experienced that was when my best friend suddenly died. But he wasn’t dead.

Nevertheless, my body continued to react as if he had. Or as if death was at his front door letting itself inside with a key. I would think of all the things that reminded me of him, and how we connected throughout the years. Then I tortured myself by replaying all of those memories over and over again. I added to that chaos by trying to carry his pain, to the point of breathing deeper when I’m around him, as if my oxygen will fill his lungs.

Since then, anticipatory grief has come in waves just like any other grief. Each time he’s in the hospital, it comes crashing down. His first hospitalization post-surgery actually brought about a panic attack. It made me fear how I would handle his actual death. Thankfully, I still don’t know how I’ll react to that. It feels like a type of emotional preparation or strength and conditioning. Much like a marathoner would train for a race, I’m conditioning my body to feel that grief.

What Does Anticipatory Grief Refer to?

Anticipatory grief refers to the emotional distress we experience in anticipation of an impending loss. Most commonly in death, but also surfacing in other life events, like divorce and job loss. Even the anticipation of relocating can trigger this type of grief to appear. This is because our minds and bodies are wired to perceive change as a potential threat. This prompts them to activate our protective responses.

Unfortunately, the protection they offer looks like intense feelings of sadness, anxiety, and more fear. That can make us feel powerless. Because of that, it’s important to remember that this is a normal response to impending loss. The thing about loss is you don’t always know when it’s coming. So, you may experience the anticipation for a few days to decades. Unfortunately, when your loved one suffers from addiction, the anticipatory grief experience can be far more intense.

Anticipatory Grief In The Context of Substance Use Disorders

If you love someone suffering from addiction, you’re familiar with the constant uncertainty and fear of loss. With our loved ones facing a greater potential for death, we experience prolonged periods of emotional distress and grief before an actual death occurs. This sometimes involves grieving who they were before their addiction. When someone we care for is in active addiction, each phone call and knock at the door can feel like the moment everything falls apart.

That fear, of overdose, accident, arrest, or disappearance, can trigger this grief inside us. We quickly shift to mourning outcomes that have yet to come. Our grief is exacerbated by the sense of helplessness and lack of control we have over their addiction. We want to fix it, but we’re often in such a state of emotional distress that we’re too paralyzed to even take care of ourselves.

Anticipatory Grief: How to Cope

The first step in coping with anticipatory grief is to acknowledge and accept your feelings. No matter how silly, how big, or how painful, it’s imperative that we feel them. Even when they’re difficult, when we suppress these emotions, we’re telling our bodies and brains that it’s not safe to feel. This leads to further internal disconnection and a cycle of avoidance. So, let me say this again—

Anticipatory grief is a normal response, and your feelings are valid.

Discussing these feelings and experiences can also help. Support groups, friends, family, and therapists are excellent resources when coping with anticipatory grief and addiction. Social connection activates the release of oxytocin. This release helps with regulating stress and fosters emotional resilience, both of which are important in processing grief.

Another way we can cope is by preparing for the future. While much about impending loss feels out of our hands, shifting our focus to what is within our control can be incredibly empowering. Use your energy to make practical arrangements, such as setting up a will or pre-planning the funeral. If those things don’t seem like the right fit, simply discussing the future and what it might hold can prove beneficial.

Final Thoughts

The experience of anticipatory grief is a testament to our profound capacity to love, even in the face of deep uncertainty. Whether you’re anticipating a loss due to illness, addiction, or any other life transition, remember that your feelings—no matter how intense or confusing—are valid. You’re not alone in feeling this unsettling mix of sadness, fear, and love. By acknowledging these emotions, connecting with your support network, and giving yourself permission to feel without judgment, you are building resilience. It’s a continuous journey, but with each step of self-compassion and understanding, you empower yourself to navigate these difficult waters.

For those looking for more resources:

Find a Therapist

Psychology Today

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

SAMHSA

Download our PDF on Signs of Childhood Trauma for more on how childhood trauma affects us in adulthood.

Signs of Childhood Trauma PDF Download

July 21, 2025
Vengeful Martyr

There are no villains in my story. There are, however, a lot of victims. Bad people didn’t do bad things to me. But bad things did happen to me, often by the direct hand of another.

Bear with me, I promise I’m not contradicting myself.

The bad things I experienced didn’t come from perfect people because they don’t exist either. They came by the hands of people that experienced similar at another point in time. People that hurt in the same ways I hurt. Behaviors and actions do not determine the amount of good or bad someone is. But they do have a story to tell if you listen.

I have to believe in the idea that there are no bad people or parts. I have to believe in it because if I don’t, I’ll be a villain in my own story. None of us are above causing harm. No matter how good you claim to be, how hard you work on yourself, or how much you pray. Even the kindest people, the ones that “want the best for you” can inflict harm. It’s not our intention to do so. At least not our conscious intention.

I’m finding there is a part of me that is a little less kind. That is a little more conniving and, my goodness, is it stealthy. The intention with this part IS to inflict harm. On their abuser and anyone that appears similarly. They want revenge. They’ve referred to themself as a “vengeful martyr.”

Let’s all laugh at the accuracy of that name.

The vengeful martyr is the part that says the nasty thing to you when my feelings are hurt. It’s the part that’s cheated and lied. But it’s also the part to say yes only to hold a passive resentment. The part that gives you the silent treatment. It ghosts you. It’s the part that pushes everyone away.

What seems like justice and protection to this part appears as self-destruction and abuse to those in my current reality. Whether it’s a bold lashing out to the original perpetrators or just holding quiet contempt for others we find similar, it’s a slippery slope. That part is no longer qualified to be the judge and jury of anyone. But there’s a lot of anger there. And even more fear. So now I get to learn how to release that anger and ease the fear.

Let’s not confuse any of this with letting people off the hook. People are still responsible for the harm they cause. In a sense, this is letting me take responsibility for some of the harm I’ve caused. If I can build a connection with this vengeful martyr and provide it with the validation it needs, I’m sure we’ll find less contempt and be able to offer more compassion.

<3

September 22, 2024