Grief Wasn’t the Enemy. My Resistance to It Was.

What Ten Years of Grief Finally Revealed to Me

Grief controlled me for more than a decade.

It almost killed me more than once.

It was unpredictable. Relentless. Heavy in ways I did not have words for. Hope would show up briefly, then disappear under the weight of what I was carrying. Grief was not gentle. It took over my brain and refused to give it back.

Until one day I realized I was never meant to return to who I was before.

I was meant to become someone else.

Where Do You Put Grief When It Does Not Leave?

I spent years trying to figure out where to put my grief. Just where it belonged.

Carrying it everywhere drained me. Setting it down felt like betrayal. I kept asking myself the same quiet question. If grief does not leave, where does it go?

After Maddie died, I searched for places to hold it. Therapy. Work. Purpose. Helping others. Staying busy. Some of it helped. Some of it kept me upright. None of it answered the deeper uncertainty that followed me into every room.

I watched other people move forward, or at least appear to. I wanted that. I also felt stuck. Heavy. Behind. I wondered if I was doing grief wrong. I wondered if everyone else had figured out something I had missed.

Learning to Control Grief Nearly Broke Me

So I tried to manage it.

I learned how to speak about grief calmly. I learned how to show up. I learned how to keep going. From the outside, it looked like progress. Inside, it felt like holding my breath.

There was a fear underneath it all. If I loosened my grip, grief might take over. So I kept it controlled. Contained. Carefully managed.

That control came at a cost I did not fully understand at the time.

The Realization That Changed It

The shift came slowly.

Grief changed shape. Some days it felt sharp. Other days it was quieter. Sometimes it arrived without warning. It never left. And eventually, that started to make sense.

Love does not disappear. Grief reflects that.

I kept waiting for relief. For the day it would soften enough to feel manageable. What finally landed was simpler and harder at the same time.

Grief was not the problem.
My resistance to it was.

When I stopped asking grief to leave, I started asking ‘what it needed.’ That question altered its direction .

What Shifted When I Stopped Resisting Grief

When I stopped resisting grief, something unexpected happened.

My focus shifted. Tasks felt lighter. Calm returned in small, quiet ways. Distraction loosened its grip. My sense of purpose began to move forward again, slowly at first, then with momentum.

And something else changed.

My memories of Maddie softened.

They moved from sharp sadness to something steadier. Gratitude. Joy. Presence.

This was also the point where Maddie became my guiding light.

Not in a surreal way. Not in anything mystical.

She became my copilot.

I feel her beside me every day. She steadies me when I feel stuck or frustrated. She helps me choose direction when I reach a fork in the road. That relationship did not exist when I was fighting grief. It only became possible when I stopped resisting it.

It is meaningful. It is grounding. And I could not access it without grief.

Learning to Live With Grief Instead of Against It

I let sadness show up without turning it into something useful. I said Maddie’s name without bracing myself. I allowed moments of happiness without guilt following close behind. I stopped explaining my grief. I stopped apologizing for it.

Something surprised me.

Grief did not overwhelm me.
It helped to steady me.

That is when the idea of grief as a superpower began to take shape. Not in a dramatic way, but in a lived one.

How Grief Became My Quiet Strength

Grief sharpened my awareness. I notice pain faster now. In parents. In teens. In conversations where something feels unsaid. I listen more. I interrupt less. I feel no urgency to rush people toward answers.

I know what it feels like to be pushed before you are ready.

In my work, grief has become a quiet guide. It reminds me to slow down. To lead with safety. To sit with discomfort without trying to clean it up.

Grief did not make me exceptional.
It made me present.

What Grief Gave Me That Comfort Never Could

Grief stripped away things that never mattered. It clarified what does. It gave me courage to speak honestly, even when honesty creates tension. It deepened my compassion in ways ease never could.

Over the years, many people have asked me the same question.

“When does grief get easier?”

For a long time, I did not know how to answer.

Now I do.

It gets easier when we stop resisting grief and start respecting it for what it is.

An Honest Ending

If you are reading this and you feel worn down, I see you. If you are trying to contain your grief or outrun it, you are not failing. You are coping the only way you know how.

There is no correct place to put grief. There is only honesty with it.

Grief does not weaken your life.
The struggle against it does.

When you stop fighting grief, it can begin to carry you. Not away from what you lost, but toward a life that still holds meaning, connection, and love.