When Your World Stops but Everyone Else's Keeps Going
The Unspoken Truths of Grief
Within weeks of each other, I lost both of my parents.
Nothing could have prepared me for the devastation that followed.
At that point, I had been a therapist for more than nine years and had spent over fifteen years working in the mental health field. I had studied grief in graduate school, walked alongside people experiencing profound loss and trauma, and supported clients through some of the hardest moments of their lives.
I understood grief the best way I knew how.
But until I lost my parents, I didn't know what true devastation felt like.
I didn't yet understand what it was like for grief to completely change the way you experience your own life.
The best way I can describe it is that it felt like I was trapped in a nightmare while somehow still living in reality.
The world around me kept moving, but mine had completely stopped.
There were moments when I felt like I didn't even belong in my own life. I felt like an imposter simply going through the motions, watching everyone else continue living while I struggled to recognize my own life.
I was surrounded by people who loved me, yet I had never felt so alone.
Not because people didn't care.
But because no one else's world had changed in quite the same way mine had.
Over the years, I've come to realize this is one of the most common experiences people describe after a profound loss. Even when you're surrounded by love, grief can leave you feeling like you're living in a reality no one else can fully enter.
There Were Parts of Grief No One Prepared Me For
Like many people, I expected grief to be painful.
I expected to miss my parents.
I expected birthdays and holidays to be difficult.
What I didn't expect was everything else.
No one prepared me for becoming the keeper of a lifetime.
Suddenly I found myself going through the things my parents had carried and collected for decades.
Photographs.
Handwritten cards.
Keepsakes.
The little things that most people would simply call "stuff."
But none of it felt like stuff.
Every drawer told a story.
Every photograph held a memory.
Every handwritten note reminded me that my parents had been here, living ordinary lives that suddenly came to an end.
For the first time, I realized I wasn't only grieving the people I had lost.
I was grieving an entire lifetime.
Many grieving people are surprised by this part of loss. We often think we're grieving a person, but we also find ourselves grieving traditions, routines, future milestones, and the countless ordinary moments that quietly disappear alongside the person we love.
Life Frozen in Time
One memory has stayed with me all these years.
Walking into my parents' house.
Their car was still in the driveway.
Laundry was folded on the coffee table.
Their clothes still smelled like them.
Everything was exactly where they had left it.
It felt as though they were simply supposed to come back.
But they never did.
There is something incredibly disorienting about walking through a home that still feels full of someone's life while knowing they will never walk through the front door again.
It was as though the house was waiting for them.
In many ways, I think I was too.
If you've ever experienced something similar, you're not alone. Many people describe grief as surreal. It can feel impossible that the world continues exactly as it was when everything inside of you has changed.
I Chose to Do Something Different
For the first time in my life, I knew I couldn't simply put my head down, push through, and return to supporting other people when I was barely keeping my own head above water.
Instead, I hit the reset button.
I gave myself permission to grieve.
I stopped expecting myself to bounce back.
I didn't run from my pain.
I sat with it.
The good, the bad, and the ugly.
Little by little, I began picking up the pieces of my life.
Not all at once.
One piece at a time.
Healing wasn't quick, and it certainly wasn't linear.
There were days I felt like I had taken a step forward and days when the grief felt just as overwhelming as it had in the beginning.
Looking back, I don't think grief became smaller.
I think I slowly became more able to carry it.
That experience changed the way I understand healing.
Healing isn't about pretending you're okay.
It isn't about "moving on."
Sometimes healing simply begins by giving yourself permission to acknowledge what has happened and allowing someone to sit beside you while you slowly find your footing again.
Why Grief Can Feel So Lonely
People often assume loneliness in grief happens because people disappear.
Sometimes that does happen.
But even when you're surrounded by loving friends and family, grief can still feel profoundly lonely.
Grief changes your entire world.
The people you always called.
The holidays you've always celebrated.
The traditions you've always known.
The future you imagined.
Even your sense of who you are.
I remember watching friends call their parents, spend holidays together, or ask them for advice.
There wasn't resentment.
There was simply an overwhelming awareness that my world had changed in a way theirs hadn't.
I wasn't only grieving the people I had lost.
I was grieving the life I no longer had.
That's a kind of loneliness that's difficult to explain unless you've lived it.
If This Is Where You Are...
If you've ever felt like you don't recognize yourself anymore...
If you've wondered why you feel disconnected from your own life...
If you've questioned why everyone else seems able to move forward while you're simply trying to make it through the day...
Please know this:
You're not alone.
These experiences don't mean you're grieving incorrectly.
They don't mean you're weak.
They don't mean you're failing.
They are often a reflection of how profoundly love and loss can reshape our lives.
You Don't Have to Carry It Alone
Looking back, I don't think what I needed most was someone who could fix my grief.
I needed someone who understood that my world had changed.
Someone who wasn't afraid of my sadness.
Someone who didn't expect me to bounce back before I was ready.
Someone who could simply sit beside me while I slowly picked up the pieces.
One piece at a time.
Today, that's the space I hope to offer others.
Not because I've found a shortcut through grief.
Not because I've figured it all out.
But because I know how lonely it can feel when your world changes overnight.
And I know the difference it makes when you don't have to carry it alone.
If You're Grieving
If you're grieving the loss of someone you love, I want you to know this:
You don't have to have the right words.
You don't have to pretend you're okay.
You don't have to bounce back before you're ready.
Healing isn't about returning to the person you were before your loss.
It's about slowly learning to carry both your love and your grief forward.
One piece at a time.
If you're looking for a place where your grief is welcome—exactly as it is—I offer virtual grief therapy for adults throughout Colorado. I'd be honored to walk alongside you.
If you're finding that grief feels overwhelming or you're looking for support navigating life after loss, you can learn more about my approach to Grief Therapy here or you can Schedule a 15-minute free consultation.
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