Have you ever been swimming in the ocean when out of nowhere, the violent crash of an unsuspecting wave knocks the air from your lungs?

You catch your breath just long enough for another surge to thrust you beneath the surface.

You fight to regain balance, saltwater burning with every inhale.

Eventually, the panting will subdue and the physical pain will subside.

Then as you regain yourself, a heavy swell catches you off guard.

That’s what grief is like.

One minute, you’re going about the day, then without warning, the air is ripped from your lungs, and you’re left reeling, surprised by the rapid onset.

Pain comes and goes in these waves. Will it ever stop? I don’t know. Does the ocean ever stop crashing into the shoreline?

No, but every now and again, it doesn’t hit so hard.

Perhaps that’s how we heal—in the moments where the ocean calmly meets the shore, we find ourselves better able to prepare for the next collision.

After a while, we meet the waves head-on and strong enough to withstand the impact.

Healing is never linear. 

Rather than respond in opposition, what if we move with the current, letting the pain momentarily wash over us? Could we sit with the experience? Listen to it maybe? Understand the purpose? Notice the physical sensations accompanying it?

Accepting pain is as important as accepting love, and healing begins where the hurt still resides.

When we hold space for these feelings, we slowly release them. This doesn’t mean the emotions won’t reemerge, rather the magnitude of their impact lessons with time.

Be gentle with yourself.

Honor the sensations with nonattachment.

Thank your grief for being with you; then set it free.

Most importantly, love and acknowledge your path.

Have grace in the moments when the seas are choppy.

You are healing.

You are moving.

You are growing.

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