I’ve been trying to find the right words to explain what I’ve been experiencing these past few days, but every time I sit down to write, I realize just how difficult it is to put something into words when you haven’t fully processed it yourself. I’ve always believed that writing is one of the ways I can make sense of my emotions, especially when life becomes overwhelming, but this time feels different. This time, I’m not just dealing with sadness or the heartbreak of losing someone. I’m dealing with an overwhelming amount of anxiety that has slowly started affecting the way I think, the way I feel, and how I go about my everyday life. As much as I wish I could say I’m handling everything well, the truth is that I’m struggling more than I’ve allowed myself to admit.
For those who read my previous post, I recently learned that someone I was once in a relationship with has passed away last Thursday. We separated four years ago, and although life continued for both of us, hearing about his death brought back emotions and memories I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Finding out through social media was something I never expected, and I don’t think I fully understood how much that moment would affect me until the days that followed. One minute, I was going about my day, and the next, I was staring at something on my phone that I desperately wished wasn’t true. There was no opportunity to prepare myself, no conversation to soften the news, and certainly no way to make sense of the fact that someone who once played such a significant role in my life was suddenly gone.
Since then, I’ve noticed that my grief has started manifesting itself in ways I wasn’t prepared for. I’ve been experiencing intense anxiety, and there have been moments when my thoughts become so overwhelming that I struggle to calm myself down. My mind constantly wanders toward the uncertainty of life, the possibility of losing other people I care about, and the uncomfortable realization that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Things that normally wouldn’t bother me have started weighing heavily on my mind, and I’ve found myself feeling uneasy even during moments when everything around me seems perfectly fine. It’s exhausting trying to explain an emotion when you don’t always understand where it’s coming from, especially when you’re doing everything you can to continue functioning normally.
I think what makes this especially difficult is that I’ve experienced loss before, and I know what it feels like to have your entire world change because someone you love is no longer here. I’ve experienced grief that has brought me to my knees, grief that has challenged my faith, and grief that has forced me to continue living when all I wanted was for life to stop moving long enough for me to understand what had happened. I thought those experiences would somehow make me better prepared to handle another loss, but I’m beginning to understand that grief doesn’t work that way. Every loss carries its own emotions, its own unanswered questions, and its own impact on the person experiencing it. Sometimes a new loss doesn’t just hurt because of the person you’ve lost; it also brings you face-to-face with pain you’ve spent years trying to understand.
One thing I’ve been struggling with is the guilt that seems to accompany my sadness. I’ve questioned whether I have the right to be grieving this deeply when our relationship ended years ago and I’m in a different relationship now. I’ve wondered whether people would misunderstand my emotions or assume that grieving someone from my past means I’m holding onto something I should have let go of. But the truth is that I’m not grieving a relationship I wish I could have back. I’m grieving a human being who once mattered to me, someone I shared memories with, someone I laughed with, and someone who was part of my life during a chapter that helped shape the person I am today. Four years of separation doesn’t erase the fact that those memories existed, and moving forward with my life doesn’t mean I suddenly become incapable of feeling sadness when someone from my past dies.
What I haven’t spoken about much is how frightening the anxiety is becoming. There are moments when I feel like I can’t completely relax because my mind is constantly preparing itself for something else to go wrong. I’ve found myself thinking about how quickly someone can be here one day and gone the next, and that realization has made me more fearful of losing the people who are still here. Sometimes I’ll be doing something completely ordinary when a thought crosses my mind, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed by emotions I wasn’t expecting. Other times, I’ll find myself replaying the news of his passing, wondering why it happened, and wishing there were answers to questions I may never have answered. I know that none of these thoughts will change what happened, but that hasn’t made them any easier to manage.
And perhaps the most frustrating part is that life doesn’t stop just because you’re grieving. I still have responsibilities, people who depend on me, schoolwork that needs to be completed, and everyday obligations that don’t disappear simply because I’m having a difficult time emotionally. I still have to get up, show up, and find ways to keep moving forward, even on days when my mind feels like it’s somewhere completely different. There is a strange loneliness that comes with trying to maintain your normal routine while silently carrying something that feels anything but normal. People can see you smiling, having conversations, and continuing with your day without realizing how much effort it sometimes takes just to remain present.
Over the past few days, I’ve had to acknowledge something that isn’t always easy for me to admit: I don’t think this is something I should continue trying to navigate entirely on my own.
I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be strong through situations that have left me emotionally exhausted. I’ve convinced myself countless times that if I could just get through another day, keep myself busy, or give my emotions enough time to settle, eventually everything would become easier. And while time can help us adjust to painful experiences, I;m realizing that there are moments when time alone isn’t enough. Sometimes we need someone who can help us understand what we’re feeling, why certain experiences affect us so deeply, and how to process those emotions without allowing them to consume every part of our lives.
That’s why I’ve decided to start looking for a grief counselor.
Even writing that sentence feels emotional because it means acknowledging that I’m not doing as well as I would like to be. It means admitting that this recent loss has affected me more than I anticipated and that the anxiety I’ve been experiencing deserves attention rather than being pushed aside. I want to understand why my mind has been responding this way, why certain thoughts have become so difficult to control, and how I can begin finding some sense of peace without feeling guilty for moving forward. I don’t expect counseling to erase the sadness or make me forget the person I’ve lost, because that’s not what I’m looking for. I simply want to learn how to carry this grief in a way that doesn’t leave me feeling constantly overwhelmed.
I want to be able to remember him without immediately feeling consumed by anxiety. I want to think about the memories we shared, the music he loved, his smile, his laugh, the concerts we attended, and those late-night FaceTime conversations before we lived together, without feeling like every memory has to be followed by the painful reminder that he’s gone. I want to appreciate the fact that our paths crossed and that we shared a part of our lives, even if our story ended long before his life did. Most importantly, I want to reach a point where remembering someone who has passed brings me more gratitude for having known them than fear about everyone else I could potentially lose.
I also want to be honest about something I think many people struggle with: asking for professional help can feel incredibly vulnerable. It’s one thing to tell someone you’re having a difficult time, but it’s another to acknowledge that your emotions have reached a point where you need guidance in understanding them. For someone who has spent years trying to handle difficult situations independently, that realization can be uncomfortable. But I’m beginning to recognize that constantly forcing myself to be strong isn’t necessarily helping me heal. Sometimes it’s simply teaching me how to hide the things that are hurting me.
If there’s one thing I hope someone takes away from today’s post, it’s that you don’t have to wait until you’re completely falling apart before deciding that you deserve support. You don’t need to justify your grief by explaining how long you knew someone, what your relationship looked like, or whether other people believe your sadness is appropriate. You don’t need to compare your pain to someone else’s to determine whether it’s significant enough to seek help. And you certainly don’t need to convince yourself that because you’ve survived difficult experiences before, you should automatically know how to handle every painful thing that happens afterward.
Grief is complicated, and sometimes the emotions surrounding it are even more complicated than the loss itself. It can bring sadness, guilt, anger, confusion, fear, and anxiety into the same space, leaving you wondering how you’re supposed to make sense of everything at once. There isn’t a perfect timeline for processing those feelings, and there isn’t a rule that says you should be doing better simply because a certain amount of time has passed or because your relationship with the person had changed.
As for me, I’m still figuring things out. I’m still having difficult moments, still trying to manage the anxiety, and still learning how to accept that this loss has affected me in ways I didn’t expect. I’m not going to pretend that making the decision to seek counseling has suddenly made everything easier, because it hasn’t. I haven’t found a grief counselor yet, and know that when I do, healing will take patience, honesty, and a willingness to confront emotions I’ve spent a lot of time trying to keep under control.
But I think making that decision is a beginning.
And to the person whose passing has brought me to this place emotionally, I hope you know that the sadness I’m experiencing doesn’t come from wishing our lives had turned out differently. It comes from knowing that someone I once cared about is no longer somewhere in this world, living a life of their own. I never needed us to remain together to want good things for you, and I never imagined that one day I would be trying to understand how to say goodbye to you permanently. I hope that, eventually, I’ll be able to look back on our memories with a smile instead of feeling my heart sink at the realization that there won’t be any more chapters added to your story.
For now, I’m allowing myself to grieve, admitting that I’m struggling, and choosing to seek help rather than continuing to suffer quietly.
Maybe healing doesn’t always begin when the tears stop or when the anxiety finally settles. Maybe sometimes it begins in the middle of the hardest moments, when you realize that you deserve to feel better even though something heartbreaking has happened.
I can’t change the news I received. and I can’t bring back the person I’ve lost. But I can choose how I care for myself in the aftermath, and I can acknowledge that my mental health matters just as much as the responsibilities I’ve been trying so hard to keep up with.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being so afraid of losing people that I forget how to enjoy the time I still have with them.
And if finding a grief counselor is what helps me begin living with a little less fear and a little more peace, then that’s a step I’m willing to take.
Until next time, thank you for allowing me to share the things that are sometimes hardest to say out loud.
Between the Words
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