The Stages of Grief (My Way)

They say grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But when you’re living it — really living it — you learn that those stages aren’t steps you climb and finish. They loop. They collide. They show up on random Wednesday morning when you thought you were okay.

As a therapist, I’ve helped so many people through loss. I’ve walked clients through anger, guilt, and acceptance. I’ve held space for their tears, their questions, their “why me’s.” But losing my mom… that was different. It taught me that no amount of training, education, or professional experience can prepare you for the personal side of grief.

Because when it’s your loss the textbooks stop making sense.

Denial — The Illusion of Strength

When my mom passed in 2022, I told myself I’d be fine. I stayed busy — work, clients, responsibilities — convincing myself I was strong enough to “handle it.” But denial isn’t pretending they’re alive. It’s pretending you’re okay when you’re not. It’s smiling through sessions, supporting others, while quietly breaking inside. It’s your professional self showing up for others when your personal self is running on fumes.

I thought I was coping. But really, I was surviving.

Anger — The Blame That Covered My Pain

Then came the anger. I was mad at everyone — and myself. I was furious that we didn’t get closure, that nobody made it happen, that I never got to say goodbye. And beneath that rage was something even deeper — regret. Because truthfully, some of that anger belonged to me.

I had held grudges against my mother. I was afraid to be honest with her. I let fear keep me quiet when I should’ve spoken from my heart. As a therapist, I always encourage my clients to express their truth — but I didn’t do that for myself. That realization cut deep.

Grief forced me to see that sometimes the people we need to forgive the most are the ones who can no longer hear it.

And sometimes, that person is ourselves.

Bargaining — Living in the “What Ifs”

The bargaining stage is a loop of questions that never end. What if I’d called more? What if I hadn’t waited? What if I’d told her how I really felt? Those thoughts haunted me.

I’d listen to her old voicemails — just to hear her voice again. I’d reread her texts, over and over, as if her words could fill the space her absence left. Each message felt like a tiny piece of her I could still hold on to.

In therapy, we call this continuing bonds — the idea that connection doesn’t end with death. But living it personally made me understand that concept in my soul.

Because sometimes, healing isn’t about letting go — it’s about holding on differently.

Depression — The Stillness of Missing Her

Depression came quietly. The holidays didn’t feel like holidays. My birthday didn’t feel worth celebrating. The world kept moving, but I didn’t want to.

Even as a therapist, I had to remind myself: it’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to not have the energy to smile. I used to think grief had an expiration date — that one day I’d just “feel better.” Now I know that healing means giving yourself grace for the days you don’t.

I still have moments when the sadness hits hard. When I think of pancakes or when I go home to our family house.

But now, instead of fighting those moments, I let them be. I let the tears come, because they mean love is still here.

Acceptance — Learning to Carry Both

Acceptance didn’t come as peace — it came as surrender. Not the kind that gives up, but the kind that says, “This pain is part of me now.”

I’ll never get to say the goodbye I needed. I’ll never know if she heard me that day in the hospital. But I know this: love is louder than last moments. And she knew I loved her — even through the silence, even through the distance. Now, I choose to remember the good days. The laughter. The small talks that mattered. The lessons she left behind. When I listen to her voicemails, I don’t just hear her voice — I hear reminders of her strength, her stubbornness, her love that still lives through me.

As a therapist, I now understand that grief doesn’t make us weak — it makes us human. It reminds me, every time I sit across from a client, that healing isn’t about perfection. It’s about honesty. It’s about learning to live with both joy and pain in the same breath.

Reflection

The stages of grief are not steps to finish. They’re spaces we revisit, depending on the day, the memory, the song. I still have days when I feel angry. Days when I feel peace. Days when I listen to her voice just to remember that she was real.

Grief taught me that even as a therapist — even as someone who helps others heal — I am still learning what it means to forgive, to accept, and to love through the ache. And I think that’s the point: grief doesn’t end. It transforms. It grows with you, shaping you into someone softer, stronger, and more real than before.

💛🌻“You are not what happened to you. You are the strength that rose from it.”

With love,

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