Aditi Loveridge

Aditi Loveridge Grief & Loss Expert | Speaker | Educator | Advocate | Founder & CEO I will SEE you, without judgement, and honour exactly who you are in the moment.

As your lcoach, I will walk along side of you and support you in discovering your inner strength. I will create a safe and sacred space for you to let your guard down, allow the cracks to open, and let in the light. Together we will realize your strength, and unveil the LIFE you have always envisioned

The world hasn’t felt like a place for celebration lately. Posting about anything that feels frivolous or surface-level ...
02/13/2026

The world hasn’t felt like a place for celebration lately. Posting about anything that feels frivolous or surface-level hasn’t sat right with me, so I’ve been choosing not to post.

Yet today, I’m pausing to acknowledge something quiet and significant.

Seven years ago today, I opened the doors to the Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support Centre.

And forty-five years ago today—without even knowing it at the time—my family immigrated to Canada.

The same day. Two beginnings decades apart, yet somehow deeply connected.

In a moment where immigrants are being spoken about with so much hate, so much cruelty, so much fear, I want this to be a gentle reminder…

Immigrants build.
Immigrants heal.
Immigrants create spaces of care when the world feels careless.

We show up and we do powerful, necessary things. Often quietly and often without asking for recognition.

Yet the work matters. And our presence matters.

So today, I’m not celebrating with confetti or big announcements.

I’m gently acknowledging the doors that opened and the families who walked through them. The grief that was held and the love that built something from nothing.

Seven years of Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support Centre.
Forty-five years of being here 🇨🇦

Thank you for letting this space exist and thank you for trusting it with your stories.

*(Holding all those in Tumbler Ridge BC close🫶🏽🇨🇦)*

We’re taught to expect healing to look calm, tidy, and quietly productive. Like one day you wake up lighter, clearer, gr...
01/22/2026

We’re taught to expect healing to look calm, tidy, and quietly productive. Like one day you wake up lighter, clearer, grateful for the lesson, wrapped in soft music and a decent coping strategy.

Yet real healing doesn’t usually arrive that way.

True healing is often messy and uncomfortable. It can feel downright ugly as the feelings you’ve been holding down for years finally stop waiting their turn and come rushing to the surface all at once. Not simply the easy ones either, rather the rage, the grief, the deep sadness, the tears that show up without warning, the moments where everything cracks open.

Every feeling you were told to manage better or move past faster has something to say.

If this is where you are right now, if things feel louder instead of quieter, heavier instead of lighter, it doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It often means you’ve stopped pushing it down and started telling the truth.

That raw, undone place is where real healing begins, not because it feels good, rather because you’re finally allowing yourself to feel.

I’m curious, when did you know you had entered your true healing season?

It took 12 years to get a diagnosis, and that wasn’t because the pain was subtle or hard to explain. It was because I ke...
01/21/2026

It took 12 years to get a diagnosis, and that wasn’t because the pain was subtle or hard to explain. It was because I kept saying something was wrong, and no one was really listening.

I showed up to appointment after appointment trying to explain how much pain I was in, how much it was affecting my life, my energy, my ability to function. And over and over, the response was the same. Reduce your stress. Try birth control. Push through it. Each time I wasn’t believed, something in me got quieter and more tired.

When the endometriosis diagnosis finally came, there was relief, yet it didn’t feel celebratory the way people imagine. It came tangled with grief and anger, especially when I learned there isn’t a cure, that surgery doesn’t help everyone, and that even medical providers don’t fully understand what they’re treating. You’re left managing something that has already taken so much from you.

What no one warned me about was the realization that endometriosis can be a disability, and that I’ve been living as if my body wasn’t one. I built my life for an able-bodied version of myself, kept showing up like that was still who I was, and now I’m grieving that image while learning how to support the body I actually live in. There’s fear in that, a lot of sadness, and unexpectedly, a sense of clarity too.

I can’t keep forcing myself to fit into a life that was never designed with my needs in mind. Things began to shift when I stopped trying to keep up and started asking what accommodation, compassion, and honesty might look like instead.

This isn’t weakness. It isn’t failure. It’s listening to your body after years of being told not to, and choosing to build a life that holds you instead of hurting you.

Let this be a reminder that your limits deserve care, not judgment. You’re allowed to build a life that works with your body, not against it.

01/15/2026

Grief wasn’t the problem. The way I was taught to approach it was.

I learned early on to power through, stay positive, be resilient, get back to normal. So I did. Or at least I tried, until my body couldn’t anymore. I either shoved grief down until it leaked out sideways, or I let it flood me because no one ever taught me how to be with it safely.

What I know now is that grief needs consent. It needs pacing. It needs space to move without taking over my entire life.

I had to learn how to let it in slowly. On purpose, a few minutes at a time. One feeling, one breath. Enough to stay present without tipping into overwhelm.

There are no big breakthroughs here, no dramatic releases. Simply small, honest moments where I choose to listen instead of push. Where I stop asking grief to hurry up and start asking myself what feels possible today.

This is how I stay in relationship with myself while grieving. Not by forcing healing, rather by choosing gentleness when intensity nearly broke me.

If you’re exhausted, it might not be because you’re doing grief wrong.
It might be because you’ve been carrying too much, all at once.

If the news has been sitting heavy in your chest, if you feel tender, angry, exhausted, or done, you’re not weak or over...
01/14/2026

If the news has been sitting heavy in your chest, if you feel tender, angry, exhausted, or done, you’re not weak or overreacting. You’re paying attention in a world that keeps asking us to move on before harm has stopped.

This space isn’t for arguing people’s humanity. It’s for naming grief.
For honouring what our bodies already know and choosing care over numbness.

You’re allowed to feel this.
You’re allowed to rest.
You’re allowed to protect your energy.

My own journey keeps reminding me of this truth that only we can save ourselves.Not by pushing harder or by keeping up.N...
01/13/2026

My own journey keeps reminding me of this truth that only we can save ourselves.

Not by pushing harder or by keeping up.
Not by becoming someone more palatable to the world.

By turning inward, especially when life gets busy… especially when it feels heavy and unsteady.

When we turn inward and meet ourselves as we are.
The tired parts, the grieving parts, all the parts that don’t yet have the answers.

Don’t rush past your truth.
Don’t be afraid of what you hear when you slow down enough to listen.

When there is nowhere else to turn, turn inward.

This is how we heal.

This year asked me to stop. Not gently, either.After burning out in ways I didn’t fully see coming, I chose to step back...
01/08/2026

This year asked me to stop. Not gently, either.

After burning out in ways I didn’t fully see coming, I chose to step back and listen to what my body and my spirit had been trying to say for a long time. The truth is, grief doesn’t disappear simply because we stay busy or keep showing up. It waits. And eventually, it asks to be tended to.

Moving into this new year, I’m choosing a different relationship with grief. One that leaves room for rest, honesty, connection, and small moments of care instead of constant endurance. Not because something is wrong, rather because so much has been carried for so long.

If you’re noticing grief catching up to you too, you’re not alone. There is another way to move forward that doesn’t require abandoning yourself in the process.

✨

My ‘A New Way to Grieve’ workbook was created to support a gentler, healthier relationship with your grief, one microstep at a time. 🌱

Comment **WORKBOOK** below and I’ll send the details straight to your DMs.

One year without my uncle, and I still feel the quiet shock of his absence in ordinary moments. Anniversaries have a way...
01/05/2026

One year without my uncle, and I still feel the quiet shock of his absence in ordinary moments. Anniversaries have a way of collapsing time, pulling the past right up against the present, and reminding us how final loss really is.

Holding him close today, and letting this be a reminder to love out loud, choose presence, and make space for what matters while we still can.

Miss you and love you always Pankajmama. All ways. 🫶🏽

2025 asked a lot of hard things from me. It stretched me and clarified what I can no longer abandon in order to keep goi...
01/01/2026

2025 asked a lot of hard things from me. It stretched me and clarified what I can no longer abandon in order to keep going.

In 2026, I choose to stay ROOTED, nourishing my inner world so I can bloom, create, and become without rushing or abandoning myself.

This looks like listening to my body. Honouring my values. Trusting the quiet knowing that doesn’t need to prove itself, even when the world asks for more, faster, louder.

I’m choosing depth over speed.
Care over urgency.
Growth that unfolds in its own time.

If you feel it stirring too,
what word is waiting to walk with you into the year ahead?

Saying goodbye to 2025.You saw the highlights. What most people didn’t see was the amount of pain and burnout I was carr...
01/01/2026

Saying goodbye to 2025.

You saw the highlights. What most people didn’t see was the amount of pain and burnout I was carrying underneath all the ways I show up. As a solo parent, working more than full time, living with a debilitating disease, I hit a wall no one could see. It came out as a thoughtful message about stepping back, when in reality I was, and still am in many ways, falling apart.

When I lost my first pregnancy, the thing I kept telling myself was, “you will be different. Perhaps you needed to be.” As I move into this new season, I feel that truth again. Changed, tender, becoming someone new because I had to.

This year stretched me beyond belief.
Here’s to the unseen battles, the quiet courage, and to whatever comes next.

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Calgary, AB
T2Z0G4

Website

https://sogacademy.com/, http://www.pilsc.org/

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