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No One Tells You How Bad It Hurts
Much like childbirth, grief is something Western culture rarely talks about — and when it does, it often glosses over the raw, consuming pain. It can only be truly understood through experience.
When my brother Tyler passed away unexpectedly, my world shattered. I let out a primal scream and threw my phone across the room. I don’t remember what happened next. When I came back into my body, I was shaking and sobbing on the floor of my room.
My roommate was there, quietly witnessing me unravel. I was lucky, in a strange way. Three out of my four roommates had also unexpectedly lost a sibling. They new that no words would help me.
The Messy Reality of Grief
I experienced every stage of grief all at once. I was in denial. A part of me clung to the hope that maybe he had faked his death. Maybe someone misidentified the body. It sounds crazy now, but with my whole heart It felt like he was alive somewhere.
Then came the anger. I needed someone to blame for taking my brother away.
I don’t know how I survived those first few months. I couldn’t drink water for days. I lost 30 pounds. I hallucinated during the day and surrendered to vivid, chaotic dreams at night.
They say multiple versions of the self exist at once. I saw all of mine through an intense dream world brought on by the fasting.
In one version, I drank to get close enough to death just to see my brother again.
In another, he survived, but our lives were marred by some other great tragedy. PTSD haunted our days.
Connecting Through the Veil
I started meditating before bed, hoping to meet him in dreams. He always smiled. Once, he told me, “You’re usually my older sister. That’s why this life is funny.”
I saw our past lives together and now understand that we will share many more. He is my soul family.
After he passed, I couldn’t let anyone in. That hollow space in my heart was meant for him and him alone. Anyone who tried to get close felt like a threat to his memory.
I stopped talking to all our mutual friends. His memory became the ghost in the room. Anyone who reminded me of him could no longer be in my life.
I created a bubble of loneliness. It was oddly comforting. Life wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t full. I was running on autopilot.
Slowly, Light Returns
The pain never left. But after about a year, I stopped crying daily. I could sit in the car in silence without spiraling. I began to see the world again.
I dated men who felt as lukewarm toward me as I did toward them. It was safe, held at arm’s length.
Then, one morning, I began a meditation practice where I asked my soul to return to my body. That marked the beginning of remembering why I’m still here.
It wasn’t just a promise to my parents that I would outlive them. It wasn’t to avoid hurting the other people around me. It was deeper. I am here with a purpose, and I’m slowly discovering it.
What Grief Teaches Us
The truth is: grief never goes away. There will always be a part of my heart reserved just for his love. But if you let it, you will remember that you’re here for a reason.
This life is filled with pain and suffering, yes. But that pain can deepen our capacity to feel, to connect, and to love. That’s the journey: to grow into unconditional love for ourselves and others.
Let your heart expand. It’s not about forgetting them, or living in fear of loss. Think about the sound of their laugh. Honor them. Talk to them in the car. Ask for a sign through music. Most of all, feel them — their energy never dies.
You are here for a reason. The fact that you’re reading this may be proof that you’re already on the path to discovering what that reason is.
Resources That Helped Me
- Reddit Thread: Grief Comes in Waves — A Message from an 8-Year-Old
- Books:
Please remember, if you’re struggling, reach out. Call or text 988 or connect with someone you trust. You are never alone.
Spirit Lives 