When Grief Hits Like a Wave: How to Honor the Ache and Stay Afloat

There you were—making tea, folding laundry, driving down the road, scrolling your phone—and suddenly, you’re underwater.

A wave of grief crashes in, unannounced.

A memory. A smell. A song. A silence.

It doesn’t matter how much time has passed.

It doesn’t matter how “fine” you’ve been lately.

It doesn’t matter that no one else seems to be thinking about it anymore.

Grief arrives anyway.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Heavy in the chest.

Hot behind the eyes.

Or dull like a gray sky you didn’t know rolled in.

And it hits you:“Oh. I’m still hurting.”

The Moment It All Changed

Grief begins in a moment. One that rewrites the map of your life.

Sometimes it’s loud and obvious:

An accident.

A goodbye.

A betrayal.

A diagnosis.

A death.

Other times it’s quiet.

Soft and slow.

A text that never comes.

A door that closes.

A truth that clicks into place—and breaks your heart.

That moment splits you into before and after.

We’ve seen this on a collective level, too—before 9/11, after COVID.

Moments that leave a cultural scar, even in those who didn’t live the front lines of it.

Whether personal or global, that shift creates a rupture.

A moment when the world stops feeling familiar.

And from that rupture, the waves begin.

For the Ones with Deep Grief and Complex Histories

Not all grief is public. Not all grief is linear.

Some grief is complex—layered with trauma, confusion, or shame.

It can live in the body long after the story has been buried.

If you have C-PTSD or a trauma-wired nervous system, your grief may show up in ways others don’t understand:

• You grieve a childhood you were never given.

• You grieve people who hurt you, but whom you still loved.

• You grieve the version of yourself you had to abandon to survive.

• You grieve what could’ve been—what never got to happen.

  
  

This is valid grief.

Even if no one sees it.

Even if it feels inconvenient or hard to name.

You are not dramatic. You are not broken.

You are deeply human—and your grief is a sign that you dared to care.

 What to Do When the Wave Hits

The wave may feel like it’s going to consume you.

But you can float inside it. You can breathe through it. You can be with it without losing yourself.

Here’s how:

1. Let It Rise

Don’t fight it. Don’t scold yourself for “still” feeling this.

Let the tears fall. Let the ache be witnessed.

You do not have to be tidy here. You just have to be true.

But don’t build your home in the wave.

Feel it—then let it pass through.

Grief is not a weakness—it’s a release.

2. Name What’s Real

Say it. Write it. Whisper it. Cry it.

“This isn’t fair.”

“I miss them.”

“That version of my life is gone.”

Naming your pain makes it less abstract. It transforms a flood of emotion into something you can witness, tend to, and survive.

3. Return to Your Body

When the mind spirals, return to the present:

• Hold a mug of tea or warm water.

• Breathe deeply.

• Wrap a soft blanket around your shoulders.

• Press one hand to your chest, the other to your belly.

  
  

Touch something solid. Let the body remind you: You are here. You are safe. This is now.

4. Don’t Force Meaning Too Soon

You may be tempted to make sense of it—why now, what does this mean, what’s still broken—but you don’t have to.

Healing doesn’t always start with understanding.

Sometimes it starts with just being allowed to feel.

There is no timeline.

There is no “done.”

There is only this moment—and your willingness to meet it with compassion.

This Is Still Healing

You may cry for something you thought you already grieved.

You may feel angry or numb or exhausted.

You may not want to get out of bed.

You may feel confused by how much it still hurts.

Let this be your reminder:

You are not behind.

You are not starting over.

You are cycling deeper into your healing—not farther from it.

Grief does not ask for perfection. It asks for presence.

And presence, even shaky and tearful, is holy.

You Don’t Have to Be Okay to Be Worthy of Love

You can grieve and still be growing.

You can break down and still be brave.

You can feel lost and still be on your way.

You don’t have to explain your pain.

You don’t have to get over it on anyone else’s timeline.

You don’t have to hold it alone.

This wave will pass.

You were never meant to stay stuck in the wave.

You were made to feel it, honor it—and move through it.

Not by force, but by staying present, breath by breath.

For now—exhale.

Let yourself be human.

You are not the grief.

You are the shore it reaches for.

You are the heart learning to love itself even here.

A gentle note:

This post is not intended as medical or psychological advice. It’s a reflection offered through the lens of trauma-informed wellness, somatic care, and lived experience. If you are navigating overwhelming grief or trauma, consider reaching out to a licensed mental health professional.

You are not alone. Support is always available.