Grief Guide

Grief Guide is a Brisbane/Ipswich-based grief, loss, and bereavement counselling and supervision service run by Ali Mills.

Ali is a Registered Counsellor and Accredited Supervisor with 10+ years experience working with grieving clients.

30/03/2026

Here are just a few special moments from yesterday's Life's Chapters Expo in Lawnton, QLD. 🪷🐞

What a day.

Professionals and the community coming together to sit with life, death, and everything that falls in between. I had the privilege of being there representing both Grief Guide and Ladybird Care Foundation , and the conversations were everything.

In the background of this video, you'll hear the most beautiful singing from the Brisbane Threshold Singers . A service that offers comfort and ease through song, and my goodness, it was magical. To have that music wash over me throughout the day was something I won't forget.

The video closes with something deeply personal, shared here with permission. A tattoo of a drawing made by a grandson who has recently died. His story was generously offered to me on this day, and I am so grateful for it.

We spoke about the particular intensity of grief when a child dies. About how isolating it can feel. About how even the most well-meaning people can miss the mark when it comes to support. I was grateful to be able to share how Ladybird Care Foundation's Peer Mentors just get it, how they companion people in the rubble of their experience with such quiet, steady care.

I say it often: as a culture, we don't do grief well. But days like this give me hope. Thank you to Kerry from Vita Life & Legacy for creating this space, and for inviting us all to step a little further into these conversations.

Bit by bit, we can make a difference. 🪷🐞

23/03/2026

🪷 This Sunday, I'll be there and I'd love for you to come too. 🪷

If you've ever found yourself wondering about End-of-Life, what it actually involves, what support exists, or how to start the conversation, this is a day worth showing up for.

The Life's Chapters Expo is this Sunday 29th March at Pine Rivers Showgrounds, Lawnton. Entry is just $5, and I'll be there representing both Grief Guide and . Come find me.

Under one roof you'll find Funeral Directors, End-of-Life Doulas, Grief Counselling, Cancer Support Groups, Aged & Senior Support, Life Legacy Stories, Bucket List Adventures and so much more, plus a food truck and the Brisbane Threshold Choir.

These are the conversations that matter. The ones we so often wait too long to have.

$5 in advance | $10 at the door | Kids under 18 FREE

🪷 Ticket link in bio. 🪷

19/03/2026

What a delightful morning meeting with Galia from .org.au and Kathy from at the beautiful Wattle Cottage; a home-like space for respite, emergency care, and family wellness.

They take a holistic and community approach to support, just like Ladybird does and I do across my role at LCF and with Grief Guide.

Grief is universal, and knowing people and services within our community is so important for families to feel less alone in their experiences.

Side note, how beautiful is this mural at the front of the service? A donated piece of art with a deep richness of symbolism and meaning.

🐞🪷

13/03/2026

I shared a couple of weeks ago about my family moving through our own loss.

As anyone who is grieving or has grieved knows, this is a whole body experience, and everyday tasks become more exhausting, more difficult.

My experience is no exception.

Today, between clients, I'm resting. Conserving energy. Tending to my grief as I hold others'. This is the view from my couch as I do so. The sun is shining, the clouds are high. The birds are chirping.

🪷 Grief is here, and so are little glimmers too. 🪷

04/03/2026

What a privilege to be asked into a room of counsellors doing some of the hardest work there is, supporting families bereaved by su***de.

We talked about grief. About how su***de bereavement adds layers of complexity that other deaths might not ask of us; the why, the what if, the guilt that clings, the silence that surrounds.

And we talked about what it means to truly companion someone through that. Not to fix the unfixable. Not to lead or rescue or impose order on someone else's chaos. But to be present. To slow down. To witness without directing. To walk alongside.

Because sometimes, the most powerful thing we can offer isn't an answer. It's presence.

🪷🪷🪷 It was a privilege, truly. 🪷🪷🪷

24/02/2026

This week, my family experienced our own loss; the death of someone we love.

We felt it; that sudden feeling of the rug being pulled from beneath us.
🪷The shock
🪷The heartbreak.
🪷The quiet, disorienting question of what does the world mean now?

It's a strange and tender thing, moving through loss as a grief counsellor. I sit with grief every day in my work. I know the theories. I've heard countless stories. I've carried my own losses before this one.

And yet, I also know that every loss is its own. No two people grieve the same way, and each loss, even for the same person, asks something different of us. I know this in my bones, and right now, I am living it.

I know the words that can help when someone is grieving. And yet I found myself messaging family this week with the same honesty I hear from so many of my clients: words fail me too.

I am okay. And I am also not okay. And both of those things are true at once.

I am a human in this work, and that's not a limitation. It's exactly what makes this work meaningful.

I share this not to worry you, but because I think it matters that you know: I am not a robot navigating grief from a distance. There are times I too sit in the rubble. And I also know how to care for myself so I can continue to show up fully for others.

If you're grieving right now, I see you. I am with you in this.

🪷 Please go gently. 🪷

20/02/2026

I have sat where you are sitting.

In the waiting rooms. The two-week waits. The appointments that blur into one another. Showing up to work while quietly falling apart. Hearing pregnancy announcements and greeting new babies, and feeling completely, utterly alone.

I know what it is to grieve a future you didn't even realise you were already planning. To feel the injustice of what your body is doing, and what it won't do. To feel dramatic in your loss because there is nothing visible to point to. No funeral. No casserole at the door. Just you, and your hope, and the unbearable uncertainty of not knowing how this ends.

Fertility treatment asks so much. Your body. Your relationship. Your finances. Your heart. And somehow, through all of it, you are expected to keep going.

I did keep going. And my story had a particular ending that I am deeply grateful for. But that gratitude doesn't erase what came before it. The heartbreak. The medical intervention and rallying and showing up anyway. The time that passed in a kind of grief I hadn't known before.

That stays with me. It's part of why I do this work.

The losses that don't have names. The grief that sits alongside hope. The exhaustion of holding both at once, this is exactly what I am here for.

🪷 You don't have to carry this quietly. 🪷

13/02/2026

Welcome to my counselling room.

Reaching out, making an appointment, walking up the stairs, sitting in the waiting room, and finally walking in. Every one of these steps takes courage, especially when it is grief that has brought you here.

I find that knowing exactly where you’ll land can help ease the way.

This is my room. That is my chair. Your grief will fill this space, and for our hour, we will hold it together.

If you are bringing a little griever, we’ll likely sit on the fluffy rug or gather around the table. If you are bringing a teen, they might find their place on the couch or even the floor.

Wherever you land, you are welcome here. Thank you for the courage it took just to get through the door.
🪷🪷🪷

05/02/2026

I share these stories not to shock or sadden, but to create space for what's already here. Loss sits among us, every day.

Loss is universal, yet often hidden.

🪷 Someone at work might be navigating another month of fertility treatment that hasn't worked, while being asked to celebrate a colleague's pregnancy announcement.

🪷 Someone in your child's class might be acutely aware of Mother's Day on the horizon, the first time they'll navigate the crafts, the stalls, the day itself, without their own Mum.

🪷 Someone on your team might not have seen their kids in a long while due to a messy separation, sitting in regular therapy with the agony of this while hoping for change on the horizon.

🪷 One of your friends might be the last one living from their family of origin, reckoning with where do I belong now, and who do I belong to?

Grief is real. It's hard, it's messy, and it's often invisible. We all know grief of some form.

My invitation today is to be gentle with ourselves and others. To get curious about what another might be holding. To be someone who names the loss, who sits in the rubble of that experience and makes another feel just a tiny bit less alone.

30/01/2026

🪷The 90 second rule 🪷

When a big wave of emotion hits, it can feel like it will never end, but one perspective from neurobiology offers another way to look at it.

Research suggests that the physical surge of an emotion, the chemicals that flood your body during a spike of grief or anger, actually only lasts for about 90 seconds.

If that intensity lingers, it may be because the mind has stepped in. We might start to worry about the feeling or replay the story behind it, which may trigger a brand new 90 second loop.

🪷 Of course, grief is rarely that simple. 🪷

It is a heavy, complex experience that doesn't follow a clock, and these loops often happen automatically.

But I wonder if you can consider this research as one tool to keep in mind when the waves feel especially rocky.

A way to ground yourself when the wave comes.

The video today is a gentle reminder to try and sit with the physical surge, without judging it or trying to fix it. It isn’t about rushing your grief, just giving yourself a window to breathe while the wave does its thing.

🪷🪷🪷

Post informed by Taylor, J. B. (2006). My stroke of insight: A brain scientist's personal journey. Viking.

27/01/2026

Motherhood is complex.

It brings joy and wonder, yes. But it also brings losses that are hard to name. The birth you hoped for. The person you were before. The friendships that couldn't stretch. The version of motherhood you imagined.

🪷 These losses are real. And they deserve to be witnessed. 🪷

You don't have to wait until you're at breaking point to reach out. You don't have to have it all figured out. You're allowed to ask for support simply because something is hard. That's reason enough.

If you're carrying grief that feels invisible or ambiguous, I'm here. This is what I do.

Read more about navigating the hidden grief of motherhood over at

[link in bio]

16/01/2026

Continuing Bonds is me keeping this exact hairspray in my house at all times, even though I never use it on my hair.

🪷 This was my Nanna's scent. 🪷

She wore this particular brand, this exact variation, always. She died when I was 18, and yet this smell still holds everything: the love, the loss, the ache of missing her, the doorway into my grief.

Just now, as I took this photo, I spritzed my room with it. For a moment, I was closer to her.

This is continuing bonds, staying connected to someone who's died, keeping the relationship alive in a different form. Through ritual, through scent, through saying their name, through remembering.

This one is small, simple, and mine.

What do you do to stay close to your people who've died? I'd love to hear. 🪷🪷🪷

Address

22 Boron Street
Brisbane, QLD
4074

Website

http://www.griefguide.com.au/

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