Someone told me I should be “finding happiness” three months after my loss. Like happiness was a missing sock that had fallen behind the dryer and I just needed to look harder. Like grief came with an expiration date and mine was apparently up.
But they didn’t even know what I was grieving. The relationship that turned out to be a lie. The career that evaporated. The health that won’t come back. The version of myself I can never be again. The future I’d planned in painful detail that’s now impossible. People only recognize grief when someone dies, but we’re all walking around mourning things nobody sends flowers for.
Here’s what actually happens: you’re sobbing in the cereal aisle because you saw the brand you used to buy when you were still that person, in that life, with those possibilities. And then an hour later you’re laugh-crying at some stupid video because your brain can’t hold this much feeling without short-circuiting. Both things are true. Neither cancels the other out.
The weird part about grief is how unpredictable happiness feels when it shows up. Maybe it feels like betrayal. Maybe it feels like freedom. Maybe you’re laughing for the first time in months and thinking “fucking finally.” Maybe you feel guilty, maybe you feel nothing, maybe you feel more like yourself than you have in years. There’s no correct emotional response to your life changing shape.
I’ve watched people feel liberated after divorce and then feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I’ve seen people grieve relationships that everyone else could see were toxic. I’ve known people who felt nothing when they “should” have felt everything, and everything when they “should” have been relieved. Your grief doesn’t have to make sense to anyone, including you..
Everyone wants to tell you about the stages of grief like it only applies to death. But you go through the same shit when your marriage ends, when the diagnosis comes back, when you realize you’ll never be who you thought you’d be. Denial, anger, bargaining – it’s all there when you’re grieving the life you’re not going to get to live.
Whether you’re not ready to hear this or you are, some losses don’t make you stronger. They just make you different. Losing your health doesn’t make you wise. Losing your relationship doesn’t make you better at love. Losing your dream doesn’t give you a better dream. Sometimes you just become a person who knows what that specific loss feels like.
I’ve noticed that people get deeply uncomfortable when you’re grieving something that’s not death. They want you to be over your divorce by now. To have accepted your limitations. To have found a new dream. To be grateful it wasn’t worse. They need your grief to follow a redemption arc because your unresolved pain reminds them that loss comes in many forms and most of them don’t come with casseroles or sympathy cards.
The pressure to “move on” from non-death grief is even more intense because people don’t think it counts. You lost your home? At least you’re alive. Your body doesn’t work like it used to? Could be worse. Your five-year plan is now impossible? Make a new plan. They want you to be okay so they can stop being reminded that everything – health, love, identity, possibility – can be lost.
But here’s what I’ve learned about happiness after any kind of loss – it’s not something you find, it’s something that finds you. Usually when you’re not looking. Usually when you’ve stopped trying to heal properly. It shows up in weird moments: a song that doesn’t hurt to hear anymore, realizing you went a whole hour without thinking about it, laughing at something that has nothing to do with before.
What’s real is this: you’ll have days where grief and joy sit so close together you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. You’ll mourn the person you were before this happened while also occasionally liking who you’re becoming. You’ll miss your old life and sometimes feel relief that it’s over. You’ll grieve possibilities while discovering new ones you couldn’t have imagined before.
The people who get it won’t ask if you’re better yet. They won’t remind you that “at least” something. They’ll understand that you’re grieving something real even if there’s no obituary, no memorial service, no socially acceptable way to mourn it. They’ll let you be happy without calling it progress and sad without calling it wallowing.
Whether you don’t notice it yet or you do, happiness after loss – any loss – isn’t about finding light at the end of the tunnel. It’s about realizing you can carry both the grief for what’s gone and occasional moments of okay-ness without needing them to cancel each other out. You’re allowed to grieve the life you lost, the person you were, the future that’s not coming, even while building something new.
And if people don’t understand what you’re grieving, that’s their limitation, not yours.
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
Healing through Loss
We’re in this together—every step, every breath, every heartbeat.
DISCLAIMER: The materials and the information contained on the Julia Delaney website are provided for general and educational purposes only and do not constitute any legal, medical, or other professional advice on any subject matter. None of the information on our videos is a substitute for a diagnosis and treatment by your health professional. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health providers prior to starting any new diet or treatment and with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. If you have or suspect that you have a medical problem, promptly contact your health care provider.
