Grief Still Feels Heavy at Times

I haven't blogged in several months.

If I'm honest, I told myself I was embracing stillness. I told myself I was making space to slow down, to be present with the Father, to stop avoiding obedience, to stop avoiding sharing my experiences and the stories He has entrusted me with, and to stop running from my emotions.

In many ways, all of that was true. But if I'm being even more honest, there were moments when stillness became a place to hide. Not because I was avoiding God, but because I was still learning how to sit with the weight of grief without allowing it to silence my voice.

Stillness has become a practice that I often teach my clients because it's a strategy that I have had to implement in my own life. Learning to sit with my emotions instead of avoiding them has helped me walk more boldly in God's purpose and plan for my life. It has changed the way I show up in my relationship with the Father, in my personal life, and in my professional life.

It's one thing to teach people how to embrace stillness and grief. It's another thing to live it.

Living it has reminded me that I am human. That sounds like a “duh girl” moment, maybe even cliché, but it carries so much weight. It requires me to acknowledge and accept that...

I am imperfect, and I always will be.

I am still grieving in some areas.

Still healing.

Still embracing.

Still growing.

Still maturing.

And that's okay.

As I sat here writing this at 5:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, carrying emotions that feel heavy in both my heart and my body, I realize that I am still learning how to embrace, let go, grieve, trust, rebuild, and accept what God is doing in and through me. And that requires stillness. It requires processing. It requires acceptance. It requires allowing myself the space to grieve and release the old version of myself that the world once knew and saw. The version that hadn't always allowed herself space to grieve. The version that believed showing up meant pushing through. The version that became attached to an old way of grieving instead of allowing God to reshape what healing could look like.

Grief isn't linear. Grief doesn't have an expiration date. And some days, grief still feels heavy.

Not because I've stopped healing, but because love leaves an imprint. Loss changes us. Healing doesn't erase what happened; it teaches us how to carry it differently. Grief often feels like the end of something. The end of a season. The end of a relationship.

The end of a dream. The end of who we thought we were supposed to be.

But what if grief is not only the end of something? What if grief is also the beginning of something? The beginning of deeper healing. The beginning of a deeper relationship with God. The beginning of discovering parts of ourselves we never had to uncover before.

The beginning of becoming who God has called us to be. If we don't embrace that there are moments when we are called to grieve, we may miss what God is beginning through the grief. We may spend so much time trying to escape the pain that we miss the transformation happening within it.

Stillness has taught me that I don't have to rush past what I'm feeling, but I also don't have to let my feelings dictate where I'm going. There is a difference. Our emotions deserve to be acknowledged. They deserve to be processed. But they were never meant to determine our destiny or disrupt our future. We'll always carry emotions. We'll experience joy, disappointment, grief, uncertainty, peace, hope, and fear. The goal isn't to stop feeling. The goal is to keep trusting God even while we feel.

To acknowledge

that grief can be the end of one thing, but the beginning of another. To accept that grieving requires us to sit still in moments of discomfort. To obey and allow God to be close to us, comfort us, and transform us. To continue growing, obeying, and embracing, even when grief tries to convince us to stop living. Because if we're honest, grief can be loud. But God's voice is still louder.

Today, grief still feels heavy.

And yet...

So does God's presence.

So does His grace.

So does His faithfulness.

So I'll keep choosing stillness, not because it makes the grief disappear, but because it's in the stillness that I remember I don't have to carry it alone.

Maybe that's what this season has been teaching me all along:

Grief may feel like the end.

But in God's hands, it can become the beginning of something new.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

With Love,

Qwanquita T. Wright

CEO, Focusing on Self

LCSW, BCD