Grief

The Silent Holding

What do you do when you lose something so precious, something that has been so close to your heart? How do you move forward? How do you show up with this part of yourself, tender and aching? How do you make friends with the grief that sits quietly in your chest, persistent and deep?

This week, this has been my question. As I journey through transitions, growth, and change, I find myself struggling deeply with something that has been with me for a few years. Although I am not yet ready to fully share it, I want to acknowledge it: I am in an intimate relationship with absence.

I am exploring many avenues to support myself, yet some days all I can do is cry. And perhaps this is the point. Perhaps I need to stop holding on so tightly, to release the tension and pain that has been settling into my body and mind.

I am grateful for my practices, for the rituals and routines that bring me back to center. But even with these tools, there are days when I reach a point of surrender, when I feel lost and uncertain about the path forward.

This full moon eclipse feels like the closing of karmic chapters, a moment that forces clarity where once there was confusion, brings healing where there was stagnation, and ignites transformation where there was inertia. It is as if the universe is inviting us to release what no longer serves and to step into the next phase of ourselves with courage, even if our hearts are still tender from loss.

I wish to find comfort and forgiveness within myself. I wish to accept myself fully and stop endlessly searching for answers. I wish for my focus to return, and for my life to feel lighter once again.

To work with grief is to hold it with kindness and presence. To allow it to exist without rushing it away. To cry when tears rise, to sit in stillness when words are not enough, to feel its weight in the body without judgment. Gentle rituals, mindful movement, and creative expression can give grief space to soften. Being witnessed by another can remind the heart it is not alone.

Perhaps grief is not something to conquer, but something to sit beside. And in sitting beside it, with patience and compassion, we begin to notice that even in our tenderness there is transformation. Even in our breaking, there is becoming.