Grieving the Invisible
The quiet, invisible losses that need compassion and recognition.
For several weeks now, I’ve been reflecting deeply on grief, on all the small, and not-so-small, forms of grieving that life brings. This autumn, I’ve felt particularly in touch with the emotions tied to grief as I’ve had to accept many unexpected (and some unwanted) changes in my body and life. Discomfort, anger, sadness, and the refusal to accept reality have been extremely present, and on some days, I’ve felt as if I was fighting an inner battle with them. I’m not sure I can say I’ve worked through all of them, but I do feel I’ve made some progress.
Allowing myself to truly feel it all has been, as always, a tremendous challenge. At the same time, I’ve discovered that such experiences, while painful, often leave behind unexpected gifts. This time, I’ve uncovered a new quality within myself that has helped me navigate the discomfort and pain: self-compassion.
It has been eye-opening and humbling to realize that grief is a constant companion, manifesting in both small and significant ways depending on the situation. And it’s okay to feel it all: to be angry, to feel sad, or to resist reality at times. I’ve learned that the only way to process grief is to allow it, to truly go through it, and, if possible, to do so with compassion. It’s as if grief were a bag filled with thousands of tiny stones that must be carefully removed, one by one, with love and patience, until the bag feels lighter and easier to carry.
When we think about grieving, we often associate it with the loss of a loved one, an experience that society acknowledges as grief. But what about the invisible forms of grief we face throughout our lives? As someone who considers herself very sensitive, I feel drawn to explore this topic. Perhaps I feel these invisible losses more intensely than others, but I believe they touch everyone in some way. Being a mother has made these moments even more vivid for me, watching how quickly and magically a little human grows, while also grieving each phase that passes.
Grief isn’t just about death. It’s an inseparable part of life. Our bodies change constantly. Our babies and children grow older. Our health can falter. As women, our capacity to create life eventually fades. Even our former identities can die as we evolve and change. These losses are all part of the human experience, and they deserve to be acknowledged, and therefore, felt.
I’ve come to realize that some people may find it easier to stay in the present moment, while for me, it takes a conscious effort not to over-grieve. Balancing the need to honor what must be grieved without staying stuck there for too long is, I think, the key. But how do we know when we've stayed too long in our grief? What does 'too long' really mean? I don’t have an answer—perhaps you can help me with it.
What I do know is this: asking for help, and allowing ourselves to receive it, when we feel overwhelmed by grief is one of the most compassionate acts we can offer ourselves. I also know that unprocessed grief stands in the way of feeling whole and loving again.
Thanks for reading.
Lots of love,
Núria :)