Hi there.
What follows is about a certain kind of grief.
I didn't know how to carry it,
So I went looking for a place that could.
Far from everything,
Deep in nature,
I found a space where nothing needed to be fixed,
Explained,
Or pushed away.
A place that could simply hold it.
And this is what this poem is about.
Some grief arrives with a name,
A date,
A word,
A place to mourn.
Some grief arrives in silence,
For something that was never born.
No ritual,
No one to call,
No language for the weight you bear,
Just the shape of what you wanted dissolving quietly into the air.
I go into the wild with mine,
Not to lose it in the stone,
But to find somewhere wide enough to carry it and not be alone.
The desert doesn't ask me why,
It doesn't try to make it right,
It just opens up around me and holds me in its grasp.
Maybe yours is not a desert.
Maybe yours is a road or sea.
A morning before the world wakes up.
A place where you can just be.
It doesn't have to be the wild.
It just has to give you room.
To set the weight down for a moment.
Then pick it up and carry on through.
Because the grief won't ask permission.
It won't leave you when you want it gone.
You were made to hold hard things and you were made to carry on.
Thank you for sharing this moment with me.
This poem comes from my course,
Grief That Has No Name,
Where I explore this unique kind of grief,
How it reshapes us,
How it touches our identity,
How we learn to navigate the ways other respond to our loss,
And how we can continue to live fully while carrying what can never be replaced.
If you would like to go deeper,
You will find the course on my teacher profile.
Until then,
Be gentle with yourself.
Lots of love.
