Grief comes in waves

When I went through my divorce, sudden, traumatic, and completely unexpected, I thought I knew what grief was.

But I learned grief isn’t just about losing someone.

It’s also about losing the future you thought you’d have.

At the time, my oldest child was just 7 months old. I was trying to navigate not just heartbreak and shock, but also single parenthood, logistics, life decisions, and a version of my future that would never exist anymore.

Maybe I’d still have something beautiful again one day.

But not that. Not what I had pictured.

We don’t need to compare grief

Grief is not a contest.

It’s not about whose pain is heavier or whose loss is more “valid”.

People grieve over relationships, over deaths, over pets, over jobs, over dreams that didn’t come true. All of it matters. All of it hurts.

I’ve lost someone I loved deeply. My grandfather.

That grief was different. Expected. Natural, in a way.

Losing a relationship, especially through trauma, brought a different weight. One I didn’t know how to carry.

And in that search for coping, I came across a metaphor that stuck with me:

Grief is like the ocean

At first, the waves hit constantly.

You’re barely able to breathe before the next one crashes over you.

It doesn’t matter if you saw the storm coming or not. It still knocks you down.

In time, the waves become less frequent.

You start to spot them coming.

You learn how to stand your ground, or dive under, or ride it out.

Eventually, the waves grow smaller.

They’re manageable. Predictable.

You start to see the shore again.

But sometimes - when you least expect it - a big wave crashes back in.

Out of nowhere.

One memory, one smell, one photo, and you’re knocked off your feet again.

And you wonder: "Am I back at the beginning?"

You’re not.

You’re just grieving.

Still.

“Getting over it” isn’t the point

I never liked the phrase “I’m over it.”

It feels dismissive. Final.

Grief doesn’t disappear. It becomes part of you.

You learn to live beside it.

You give it a place.

That first year is especially brutal.

Every milestone becomes a reminder:

The first birthday, first holiday, first Christmas, first store visit alone.

It’s all filled with echoes of what once was.

And still, even in the darkest moments, something shifts.

Not overnight. Not in a straight line.

But slowly, you find peace.

And even though it might feel impossible to imagine when you're in the thick of it. You find growth.

Grief doesn’t mean you stay broken.

It means you’ve loved deeply.

And healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed.

It means it no longer controls your life.