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Grief didn’t just break my heart.

It broke my reality.

I used to think of grief as a moment—something that comes after a loss and fades with time. But that’s not what happened to me.

Grief took everything I believed to be true—about life, about control, about fairness—and shattered it.

It was like swallowing the red pill in The Matrix.
Except I didn’t choose it.
Grief shoved it down my throat.

The Lie I Lost First

The first thing grief took from me was the illusion that if you’re a good person, life will protect you.

I had spent years carefully curating my life—working hard, showing up, being kind, doing everything “right.” But loss doesn’t care about any of that. When it came, it came ruthlessly.

And when it did, I realized something that I now understand as a kind of sacred truth:
Grief is not a punishment. It’s a portal.

The World Went Silent

After the loss, everything felt…off. Food didn’t taste the same. Time lost its meaning. I couldn’t understand how people were still posting brunch photos or walking their dogs like the world hadn’t just cracked open.

I didn’t want to be fixed or cheered up. I wanted someone to sit in the quiet with me.

Grief is a kind of silence. It strips things bare. It removes the small talk and leaves only what matters: truth, tenderness, time.

The Change I Didn’t Expect

I thought grief would harden me. I was afraid I’d become bitter or cold.
But strangely…it made me softer.

Not right away. First it made me angry. Then numb. Then deeply tired.

But eventually, after walking through months of fog, I began to feel again—and when I did, it was as though my heart had grown new nerve endings.

Suddenly, I cried at commercials. I noticed the way sunlight hit the sink. I paused when strangers smiled at me in the grocery store.

Grief cracked me open. And through that crack, light came in.

I Didn’t Bounce Back—But I Grew Forward

The person I was before my loss? She’s not here anymore.
But I’m not interested in resurrecting her.

I’ve grown into someone who can hold sorrow and still show up for joy.
Someone who no longer rushes others through their pain.
Someone who doesn’t try to fix what’s broken—just to be with it.

This version of me walks slower.
Cries easier.
Feels deeper.
Loves harder.

That’s the gift no one talks about.

If You’re In It Now

If you’re walking through your own grief, I want you to know this:

It doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’ve loved deeply.
It means you’re alive.

Let it change you.
Let it soften you.
Let it show you what truly matters.

You don’t have to be who you were before this.
You’re becoming someone new—someone braver, someone deeper, someone more awake.

And that, too, is love.

~