Grief Doesn't Follow a Cycle: What I Learned When It Became Personal

Grief, in my opinion, is an emotion, a feeling, and an experience so complex and multifaceted that sometimes it feels like it can suffocate you.

It is not just emotional pain. It can be a physical ache in your body, a heaviness in your chest, an exhaustion that you cannot explain, or a feeling that your heart is genuinely strained. And there is a reason for that. The brain systems involved in emotional pain overlap with those involved in physical pain. Your nervous system is responding to a loss that has fundamentally changed your world.

This is part of what makes the waves of grief so incredibly unpredictable. You can be having an otherwise ordinary day when something reminds you of your person, and suddenly, you are right back in the middle of it. A song, a smell, a familiar place, or a memory you did not even realize you were holding onto can bring the weight of the loss rushing back.

Before I experienced the grief of losing my best friend, my dad, I genuinely thought I had learned everything I needed to know about the grief cycle. I studied it in undergrad and graduate school. I attended continuing education trainings. I learned the theories, the terminology, and the different ways grief can present itself.

I thought I was prepared.

I was wrong on so many levels.

Not because what I had learned was useless, but because grief is something you can study, understand, and explain to someone else without ever fully understanding what it will feel like when it is yours. Grief does not always make sense. It does not reliably follow a cycle. It does not operate on a timeline that feels reasonable or convenient. And it certainly does not wait until you are ready. You can know all the theories and still find yourself completely undone by a memory on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

The Cycle We Don't Talk About Enough: Replaying Everything

There is one pattern I have come to think about differently through both my clinical knowledge and my personal experience: the way we replay, revisit, and ruminate after a loss. You find yourself suddenly trying to remember everything.

Every shared moment. Every conversation. Every word spoken. Every opportunity you had to tell that person what they meant to you.

You start analyzing those moments, asking yourself whether you said the right thing, whether you showed enough love, whether you communicated your admiration and respect, and whether that person truly understood how much they mattered to you.

Then come the moments you wish you could take back or do differently.

The things you wish you had said. The phone call you wish you had made. The conversation you wish had lasted a little longer. The ordinary moments you never imagined would become memories you would desperately want to return to. And sometimes, you begin beating yourself up for things that may not even be fair or accurate.

Why?

Because your brain is trying to make sense of something that feels impossible to make sense of. After a loss, your mind may repeatedly revisit memories, search for explanations, and imagine alternative outcomes. Sometimes, it is trying to find meaning, regain a sense of control, or reconcile the reality of what happened with the reality you wish had happened. But in that search, your mind can start filling in gaps, assigning meaning to things you cannot know for certain, and creating questions that have no clear answers. You can get stuck trying to solve something that cannot be solved by thinking about it one more time. And this is where I think it is important to recognize the difference between processing grief and ruminating on it. Processing allows you to gradually make room for the reality of your loss. Rumination can keep you circling the same questions, searching for certainty or a different ending that may never come.

Neither experience means you are grieving incorrectly. Sometimes, it simply means you are hurting and trying to find your footing in a world that no longer feels the same.

It Doesn't Matter How Prepared You Thought You Were

Grief does not care how much you know about attachment styles. It does not care whether your relationship was secure, complicated, strained, or somewhere in between. It does not care whether you had the opportunity to say goodbye or whether the loss happened suddenly. It does not care whether you have a background in psychology, whether you have supported other people through grief, or whether you thought you had emotionally prepared yourself.

You can have a beautiful relationship with someone and still be left with questions.

You can have a complicated relationship with someone and still feel an overwhelming sense of loss.

You can know that a person loved you and still find yourself wondering whether you did enough.

You can have said goodbye and still wish you had more time.

And when the loss is sudden, you may be left trying to reconcile a reality you never had the chance to prepare for. There is no single set of circumstances that makes grief easier to navigate in every situation. Our relationships, histories, expectations, and experiences all shape how we respond to loss. But there is one thing I believe deeply: when you lose someone who occupied a significant piece of your heart and soul, even if they had lived forever, it still would not have felt like enough time.

Because when someone matters that much, there is always another conversation you would have wanted to have, another memory you would have wanted to make, and another ordinary day you would have gladly spent with them.

Time Doesn't Erase the Empty Space

I think we sometimes talk about time healing grief as though time gradually makes the loss smaller until it eventually disappears.

That has not been my experience of grief.

The quiet, empty feeling left behind can still exist internally and externally. It can show up in the spaces that person used to occupy, in the traditions that look different now, in the stories you can no longer share with them, and in the moments when your first instinct is still to reach for your phone to tell them something. The world continues moving. Life asks you to keep showing up. Responsibilities remain. People around you may begin to expect that you are feeling better. And yet, you may still feel the absence. I don't believe that means you are failing to heal.

Perhaps time is not always about making the absence disappear. Perhaps it is about giving your brain and your heart time to reconcile with a reality you never wanted. It is learning how to carry the knowledge that someone is no longer physically here while still recognizing the significance of the relationship you shared. You may begin to laugh again, enjoy things again, and experience moments of genuine happiness. Then a memory catches you off guard, and the ache returns.

Both can be true.

Healing does not require you to stop missing someone. And experiencing joy does not mean you have forgotten them.

You Are Not the Same Person You Were Before

One of the hardest parts of grief is realizing that you are not the same person you were when your person was alive.

Something has changed.

Your understanding of life may have shifted. Your priorities may look different. Your sense of safety, identity, relationships, or even your future may have been altered in ways you are still trying to understand. You are left with the difficult task of redefining who you are now, without the person who was part of the life you knew. And that is a kind of work that cannot be rushed. Sometimes, you are not just grieving the person you lost. You are grieving the future you imagined with them, the traditions you thought you would continue, the milestones they will not be here to witness, and the version of yourself who existed before the loss. Grief can change the way you see yourself and the world around you. You do not have to force yourself to return to who you were before. You are allowed to discover who you are becoming.

You can carry the love forward without having to pretend that the loss did not change you.

There Is No Right Way to Grieve

If you are grieving right now, I want you to know something. You do not have to make your grief look a certain way for it to be valid. You may cry every day. You may go days without crying at all. You may want to talk about your person constantly, or you may find that talking about them feels too painful right now. You may feel anger, relief, guilt, numbness, confusion, longing, or several of these emotions at once. You may feel like you are doing well one day and find yourself struggling the next. None of these experiences automatically means you are grieving incorrectly. Grief is personal. It is shaped by who you lost, what that relationship meant to you, the circumstances surrounding the loss, and the life you are trying to navigate afterward. There is no universal timeline that tells you when you should feel better. There is no deadline by which you should be finished missing someone. And there is no requirement to move through a predictable series of stages before you are allowed to heal.

If grief is affecting your ability to function, leaving you feeling persistently overwhelmed, or making it difficult to find your footing, support can help you navigate what you are carrying. You do not have to wait until you reach a breaking point to ask for help.

If you are grieving the loss of a loved one who is no longer here, a relationship you thought you would grow old in, or even the person you used to be, please know that support is available.

At Aspen & Ivy Collaborative, we recognize that grief is not something you simply check off a list or move past on someone else's timeline. It is an experience that deserves patience, compassion, and space to be understood.

Because at the end of the day, no one should have to grieve alone. And no one should have to be afraid that the way they are grieving is somehow unacceptable.

Stay rooted. Keep growing.

JH