23/12/2025
On Grief
One thing I began to notice over time in my clinical work — something that wasn’t clear when I first started — is that no matter what my clients and I were exploring together, in some fundamental way all therapy is grief therapy in the end.
Healing, the care of the soul, requires a touching and holding of the unlived. Not only a midwifing of what we’ve lost, but a compassionate turning toward all that was unable to be lived, for whatever reason.
The selves that had to recede. The needs that couldn’t be named. The possibilities that never found the conditions to come forward.
This material is often too shadowy to reach on our own. It lives at the edge of tolerance, beneath language, beneath story. And so it asks for something relational — a shared field, a shared window of safety — where conscious, embodied presence can slowly gather around it.
In this way, grief is the body’s prayer.
We tend to think of grief as something that arrives after loss. But in a deeper sense, it lives before and beneath the loss itself. Every moment of beauty, every breath of love, every precious experience carries the shadow of impermanence. The mind forgets this. But the heart knows. The body knows.
The body weeps not only because something ended, but because something was ever possible at all.
In this sense, grief is the twin of gratitude. Both arise from the same source — the recognition of how precious this life really is.