Where Grief Meets Grace

I didn't just lose energy or mobility when I got sick. I lost a version of myself. The body I used to trust. The life I thought I was building.

That kind of loss doesn't happen all at once. It sneaks in when I can't make plans. When I cancel, again. When I see someone running up a hill like it costs them nothing.

For a while, I tried to outrun the grief. Tried to "stay positive," tried to power through, like that might somehow bring the old me back.

But it doesn't work that way.

At some point, I had to let go.
Not just of expectations, but of the belief that healing meant returning to who I was before.

And that's when something else showed up.
Grace.
Quiet, unannounced.

The grace to say:
This version of me is still worthy.
Still alive.
Still here, even if nothing looks the same.

And when I finally stopped fighting the grief, when I let it move through me, something unexpected opened up.

A kind of peace I hadn't felt in years.

Not because I was cured. Not because things got easier.
But because I quit demanding the impossible from myself.

That peace made room for quiet in my mind and slowly, my body started to follow.

Not healed. Not restored. But capable in ways I didn't see coming.

Less about going back. More about becoming.

The forest helped with that.
Standing still among trees older than my pain taught me how to carry both things at once:
Grief for what's gone.
Gratitude for what's still possible.

They can coexist.
And through them, I'm still growing.

→ Previous: 1.6 - Silence is a Form of Saftey
→ Next: 1.8 - Becoming / Returning

→ Back: Series One Landing Page

*Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*