Many of us have experienced loss since the beginning of the year. We lost a high school classmate. A friend lost her dad. Some of us lost jobs. Others lost relationships. The year has been rough so far. How are we processing it all?

Life doesn’t always unfold the way we imagined. Plans change. A dream family or relationship falls apart. A friend dies suddenly. The job we once prayed for becomes a burden, or we walk away from it. The support we need feels distant. We lose people, homes, stability, and sometimes hope. It can feel like we’re drowning in a sea of problems.

So what do we do with all of this?

Some of us become irritable or withdrawn. Others grow overly talkative, distracted, or bitter. Some blame themselves. Others blame God or everyone around them. Many slip into unhealthy habits. Beneath all of it is a deep longing we can’t always name.

Are We Grieving and Don’t Know It?

We often associate grief only with the death of a loved one, but grief is a natural response to any significant loss—a relationship, a dream, a job, or a sense of identity. When these are stripped away, we ache, and that pain can be deeply destabilizing.

Many of us were never taught how to grieve—not at home and not at school. So we say things like:

• “Everything happens for a reason.”
• “Relationships just don’t work.”
• “We all have to go someday.”
• “We all have something to be grateful for.”

Gratitude matters—but are we sometimes using positivity to bypass our pain?

Or we generalize:

• “I’ll never trust again.”
• “Nobody really cares.”
• “It is what it is.”

Some of us dismiss the pain entirely and “just keep it moving.” But unresolved grief doesn’t disappear—it waits. And eventually, our bodies, minds, and hearts remember what we tried to ignore.

How Do We Begin to Grieve and Heal?

Grieving is not weakness. It is courage. Healing isn’t linear, but it becomes more possible when we practice kindness, forgiveness, compassion, and grow within community.

Here are some ways we can begin:

Cry. Let it out.
Tears aren’t failure; they’re release. I cry often. As a child—and even now—people made fun of me for it. But I’ve learned that with my tears comes clarity and strength. Scripture reminds us that God is near to the brokenhearted. In moments of weakness, I listen—and He gives me strength and direction. As the Apostle Paul wrote, God’s power is made perfect in weakness.

Pray and read Scripture.
The Psalms reflect the full range of human emotion. In seasons when I couldn’t find words to pray, I read them aloud. Many were written by King David—a warrior who wasn’t afraid to lament, grieve, or ask hard questions.

Talk to someone.
A therapist, coach, or trusted friend can hold space for your story. This was hard for me. Past experiences taught me not to trust people I once depended on. Over time, I’ve asked God for discernment and learned who I can confide in—and who I can’t. That shift has been transformational.

Fellowship.
Healing thrives in community. I’m deeply thankful for the groups in my life who walk with me through both grief and growth.

Journal.
Writing helped me as a child when I didn’t have language for my pain. It became a safe place to process fear and shame. Today, writing still helps me make sense of what I’m carrying.

Practice compassion—starting with yourself.
Give yourself grace. Take breaks when needed. Hustle culture glorifies exhaustion and shames rest. As a single person, I planned beach trips, movie nights, and time with friends. As a mom, my rhythms look different—but I still make space to nourish my soul.

Why Don’t We Grieve Well?

Often, the roots are unforgiveness and fear.

We want someone to blame—our partner, our boss, our parents, our children, even God. Blame feels easier than sitting with disappointment. But blame keeps us stuck. It blinds us to our own growth and distracts us from the inner healing God is inviting us into.

Unforgiveness acts like a silent thief. It steals peace, joy, and forward movement. It keeps us rehearsing pain instead of releasing it.

After breakups, I often hear blame wrapped in hurt:
“If he had just supported me more…”
“If she hadn’t betrayed me…”

But beneath the words is often fear—especially fear of rejection. Many build emotional walls so high that love can’t reach them. Healing begins when we name the fear and extend forgiveness, not only to others, but also to ourselves.

Fear pushes us into self-protection. We abandon dreams before we begin. Some walk away from love, ministry, or calling not because they aren’t ready, but because they’re afraid of being seen, making mistakes, or falling short.

Fear convinces us that grieving is dangerous because it makes us feel out of control. But the truth is—we were never in control. Avoiding grief only delays healing and can eventually lead to self-sabotage.

We cannot fully recognize or receive our true dreams until we forgive, face our fears, and allow ourselves to heal.

When Unforgiveness Goes Undetected

There was a season when I was easily offended—by comments, silences, everything. I didn’t realize how much pain and unforgiveness I had buried. On the outside, I looked successful: traveling, working, building. On the inside, I was weary and lost.

It wasn’t until I began dreaming again—especially about the family I desired—that I realized I was stuck. I had unmet needs I didn’t know how to express because I didn’t want to offend anyone.

Since then, I’ve learned to listen for the pain underneath conversations—especially when people are loud, irritable, and rude. When discussions become heated, it’s often not about the surface issue, but unresolved emotions and a lack of self-awareness. Healing began when I gently named the grief, invited forgiveness, and extended compassion. That’s when clarity returned—and the dream began to take shape.

I share more of this journey in my book, Fulfill the Dream.

What Do We Do Now?

Ask yourself:

• What am I still grieving?
• Who do I need to forgive—including myself?
• What fears are holding me back?
• What do I need to release to move forward?
• Where can I find, or create, a healing community?

Healing takes time. It begins with honesty, deepens through kindness, sustained by compassion and community.

Our dreams are still possible. But first, we must release the pain weighing us down.

Grieve.
Forgive.
Be kind to yourself.
Practice self-compassion.
Lean into community.
Grow.

We grieve our friend Narada and extend compassion to all who have lost loved ones, jobs, and relationships.

We are not alone.
And our stories are not over.

With love and growth,
Sanchia and team.