What Grief Has Taught Me - Emma’s story
When my dad died, life didn’t fall apart indefinitely, but it did change the way I experience life- in a way that will never reverse. Grief didn’t hit me all at once; it settled in gradually, and in many ways, it’s still here. It’s not something you ever really move on from; it just becomes part of the background of who you are. And that’s okay.
For a long time, I thought that one day I’d make peace with it- that I’d somehow reach this place of full acceptance. But I’ve come to realise something quite ironic: acceptance, for me, has meant accepting that I’m never going to fully accept my dad’s death. And strangely, that realisation has brought a sense of calm. It removed any pressure to feel “okay” about something that will never be okay. I never have to feel OK about something that should never have happened. And no amount of inner work or passing of time will change that simple fact. Recognising my own misconceptions about that famous final stage of grief- acceptance- has freed me from unrealistic expectations I didn’t even realise I was placing on myself. And that was the first step for me, in doing everything I could, to help myself.
A therapist once put it to me that, “It’s never really the same, but you just have to get on with it.” That stuck with me. Although perhaps blunt, it’s realistic. It recognises that life keeps moving, even when part of you doesn’t. There’s a quiet strength in that idea: the ability to hold sadness without letting it stop you from living. And that’s why that therapist and I always got on: because she held meaccountable. Over time, I’ve noticed that my self-worth and general outlook often depend on how much I allow myself to engage with life again. I make a conscious effort to keep going, to study, to see people, to take care of myself, even on days when it would be easier to withdraw. I used to worry that by doing that, I was suppressing my emotions or avoiding them.
But in my second year of uni, I came across a concept called the Dual Process Model of Grief, which, unlike most ideas about loss, I actually found helpful. It suggests that healthy grieving means moving between moments of facing the loss and moments of focusing on ordinary life. That made sense to me. It reminded me that setting painful thoughts aside isn’t avoidance; it’s balance. And even now, I try to hold myself accountable the same way that the therapist did. Because even after what I’ve been through, using it as an excuse to give up or stop trying isn’t conducive to the kind of life I want to live. It’s not about denying the pain, but about refusing to let it be the reason my life is on pause.
Grief has been such a constant part of my life that I’ve found myself wanting to understand it better, not out of interest, but out of survival. Learning about it — reading, reflecting, studying, and coming across concepts like the one I just mentioned —has been my way of trying to make living with it a little easier. I’ve realised that grief isn’t something you fix; it’s something you manage. It’s about that same balance I mentioned earlier: allowing yourself to feel emotions when they need to be felt, but also recognising when dwelling on them starts to hold you back. There’s a difference between processing and overindulging. I still get that wrong sometimes, but I try to notice when I’m slipping too far in either direction.
I think, in the end, grief becomes something you live with, not something you overcome. It changes shape, softens around the edges, but it never completely leaves. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe real healing isn’t about closure at all, it’s about finding steadiness within the contradiction of missing someone forever, while still choosing to live.