Holistic Counselling With Kasia

06/12/2025

I am sorry…

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05/12/2025

Grief does not always arrive as tears, sobbing or visible sorrow. Sometimes it arrives as silence. As emptiness. As the strange feeling that nothing reaches you anymore. Many people are frightened when grief begins to look like numbness. They wonder if something has gone wrong inside them, if they have become cold or broken, if they should be feeling more than they do. In truth, numbness is not the absence of grief. It is one of grief’s many languages.

When loss first enters your life, your body and mind often respond with shock. Numbness is the nervous system’s way of protecting you from being overwhelmed. It wraps your senses in emotional cotton wool, softening the sharp edges of what hurts too much to feel all at once. For a while, this can be helpful. It allows you to function when everything inside is collapsing. It lets you get out of bed, go to work, answer messages, and continue with life even though your inner world has been turned upside down.
But when numbness lingers, it can become confusing and distressing. You may find yourself unable to cry, even when you want to. You may feel detached from your surroundings, disconnected from people, even from yourself. Life may begin to feel two-dimensional, like you are watching it through frosted glass. You can see what is happening, but you cannot fully feel it. There is often guilt that accompanies this state. People tell themselves they should miss more, hurt more, react more. They compare their grief to others and judge themselves harshly for not expressing it in the “right” way. But numbness is not failure. It is a sign that your system has been carrying too much for too long.

Grief becomes numb when there is no safe place to land. When emotions are not welcomed, held or understood, they go into hiding. People who have learned early in life that sadness is dangerous, unacceptable or ignored often cope by switching off internally. If you grew up needing to be strong, emotionally independent or invisible, your grief may naturally move inward rather than outward. You may have survived by not feeling too much, and unfortunately, grief does not always come with an instruction manual teaching you how to begin again.
Numbness can also appear when grief has been delayed or postponed. Many people do not allow themselves to grieve when a loss first happens. They go into survival mode. They become caretakers, organisers, problem-solvers. They manage other people’s needs while putting their own on hold. Eventually, the body runs out of energy to keep everything contained, and the emotions shut down entirely. This is not because you did not care. It is because you cared so deeply that your system shut the door to avoid being flooded.
Living with numbed emotions can feel lonely. You may start to wonder if you will ever feel joy again. You may fear that you are permanently damaged. You may attempt to “fix” yourself by forcing feelings, overthinking your emotions or judging your reactions. But numbness cannot be solved by pressure. It requires gentleness. It requires safety. Emotional feeling does not return through force. It returns through being witnessed, supported and allowed to re-enter the body slowly.

Many people come to therapy believing that numbness means something is wrong with them. In reality, numbness is an intelligent response to emotional overload. It has helped you survive. But survival is not the same as living. And at some point, your system begins to ask for something more than just endurance. It asks for healing. But healing numbness is not about suddenly unleashing all your grief. It is about creating conditions where your emotions can safely resurface. This often begins with acknowledging what you lost, without rushing yourself to feel anything in particular. It may involve learning how to soften inside your body, how to breathe differently, and how to notice small emotional shifts instead of expecting dramatic release. Sometimes healing starts with simply recognising that you are tired from holding it together for so long.

As a counsellor, I sit with people who feel ashamed of their numbness, who worry they are not “grieving properly.” What I offer them is permission. Permission to feel slowly. Permission to be incomplete. Permission to not cry. Permission to cry much later. Healing does not obey our timelines. Grief unfolds when the body believes it is finally safe enough to do so.

If you are in a season of numbness, you are not lost. You are resting from pain that was too heavy to hold alone. You are not unfeeling. You are protecting something tender inside you. And with the right support, that tenderness can emerge again. You may not return to who you were before the loss, but you can come back to yourself in a new way — gentler, softer and more honest.

Grief not only hurts. Sometimes it goes quiet. And even then, it is still asking to be seen. If you struggle with this numbness in your grieving, you are invited to connect with. We will explore together what that means for you. Please email me if you need support, counsellingwithkasia@gmail.com

04/12/2025

There Is No Right Way to Grieve

One of the most painful myths about grief is that there is a correct way to experience it. That you should cry in a certain way, heal in a certain timeframe, and eventually “move on.” Many people come into therapy carrying not only their loss but also a quiet shame for how they are grieving. Some feel they are grieving too much. Others fear they are not grieving enough. And beneath both is the same ache: the belief that they are somehow doing grief wrong. But grief is not something to be performed. It is something to be lived through, in your own body, your own rhythm, your own time.

Some people grieve loudly. They cry openly. They talk about their loved one every day. Their pain is visible. Others grieve quietly. They function, they return to work, they smile when they need to. Inside, something is shattered, but on the outside, they appear composed. Neither is wrong. Some people feel waves of emotion rise without warning, while others experience numbness, fatigue or a strange sense of being disconnected from life. Grief does not move in a straight line. It arrives in spirals, in moments, in memories that cut through ordinary days without warning. You may feel “fine” one hour and undone the next. This is not failure. It is the psyche processing loss in the only way it knows how.
Grief does not follow rules, and it does not respect timelines. There is no schedule for missing someone. There is no expiration date for longing. Society often gives us an invisible clock, suggesting we should return to “normal” as soon as possible. But there is no going back to the life that existed before loss. It no longer exists. The work of grief is not to erase love or memory; it is to learn how to live in a world that has changed shape. Healing does not mean forgetting. It means carrying love differently.

You may grieve with tears, or you may grieve with exhaustion. You may grieve through anger, restlessness or silence. You may find comfort in talking, or you may withdraw into yourself. There are people who cannot cry and believe this means they are “cold” or “blocked.” There are others who cry for years and feel defective for not being able to stop. The truth is that grief expresses itself based on your history, your attachment style, your nervous system and your life circumstances. It is deeply personal. And personal does not mean wrong.
Sometimes grief hides. It disguises itself as irritability, panic, perfectionism or emotional detachment. Some people become hyperproductive. Others struggle to get out of bed. You may find yourself forgetting things, feeling disoriented or struggling to focus. Your body is not betraying you. It is carrying loss the way bodies often do — through fatigue, heaviness and overwhelm. We live in a culture that expects people to “recover” quickly, but grief is not an illness to cure. It is a wound to tend.

As a counsellor, I sit with people who are desperately trying to fix their grief instead of allowing it. They want to know what they should do, how long this will last and whether they are normal. I gently remind them that grief is not a task to complete. It is a relationship you learn to hold. You do not get over loss. You learn how to walk with it.
Grief becomes complicated when you start judging your own process. When you say, “I should be better by now,” or “Others have it worse,” or “I shouldn’t feel this way.” These thoughts build a second layer of suffering on top of the pain that already exists. Compassion is not something you earn by suffering correctly. You deserve it because you are hurting. That is enough.

There is no right way to grieve. There is only your way. And your way is worthy of respect. Whether you cry or feel numb, talk or withdraw, fall apart or carry on, your grief makes sense in the context of your life and your loss. Let yourself be human in this. Let your heart be imperfect. Let your healing be quiet, messy, slow, nonlinear or full of longing. Nothing about that is wrong.
Healing does not come from forcing yourself to feel differently. It comes from allowing yourself to feel honestly. And when you are ready, support can meet you not to “fix” you, but to walk beside you while you learn to live again in a world that no longer looks the same.

03/12/2025

Why Grief Feels Worse When You Live Abroad

Grief already feels heavy when you are close to home. When you are far away from it, grief can feel unbearable. Many people who live abroad carry a quieter, lonelier form of grief that is rarely spoken about. You grieve not only the person, situation or chapter that ended, but also the distance that separates you from what once felt safe and familiar. When you live in another country, every loss seems magnified by space. You are not just grieving what happened. You are grieving it without your language, your rituals, your familiar streets and your people around you.
There is a particular pain in needing your family but being on another continent. There is a different kind of heartbreak in watching a funeral through a screen, sending flowers instead of being able to hold someone’s hand, and comforting your mother through a phone call rather than a hug. Distance turns loss into something abstract and cruel. You grieve in time zones. You mourn while the rest of the world carries on. And often, there is no space for that grief in your everyday life abroad because the world around you doesn’t stop when your heart does.

Many immigrants and expats talk about feeling guilty while grieving. Guilty for not being there. Guilty for continuing to live their life while a loved one is suffering back home. Guilty for having moments of peace when others are falling apart. Grief becomes tangled with shame and helplessness. You may feel that you don’t “deserve” to fall apart because you chose to leave. Or that you must stay strong because you are physically absent. But grief does not care about geography. The heart does not follow borders. Loss finds you wherever you are.
Another layer of pain comes from grieving in a culture that does not understand your way of grieving. Different countries hold pain differently. Some cultures talk openly about loss. Others hide it behind politeness and productivity. If you come from a culture where grief is shared relationally, not being able to cry with your people can feel like suffocation. You might find yourself trying to grieve in a language that cannot hold the depth of what you feel. You might struggle to express sorrow in words that don’t feel like yours. Grief itself becomes foreign when you are living in a foreign place.

Grief abroad also reopens old losses you thought you had already processed. Living far from home can awaken the grief of identity, belonging and safety. It may remind you of the you that existed before you left. When a major loss happens, all previous goodbyes resurface. You may suddenly miss your childhood kitchen, the sound of your language, your grandparents’ voices, old neighbours, and familiar shops you once walked past every day. Grief expands and becomes layered. It is no longer about one person or one event. It becomes grief for home itself.
Isolation makes everything louder. When you are grieving abroad, you often don’t have the same support system you might have had at home. Friends may be kind, but they may not understand. There is often no shared history, no shared language of memory, no collective mourning. You may feel invisible in your pain. You go to work. You do your shopping. You smile politely while your insides ache. You become skilled at functioning while grieving. And that kind of survival is exhausting.

As a therapist and immigrant myself, I sit with many clients who describe this particular ache. Not just grieving someone, but grieving far away from everything familiar. They tell me the pain feels suspended, unfinished, unresolved. They feel like they cannot fully grieve because they are not “there”, but they cannot escape grief because it lives inside them. Being between worlds can be a deeply lonely emotional place.
Healing grief while living abroad is not about becoming stronger. It is about becoming kinder toward yourself. It is about allowing grief to exist even when life around you demands productivity. It is about giving yourself permission to miss where you came from while honouring where you are. Grief is not a betrayal of your new life. It is a reflection of love for the old one. Both can exist at the same time.
Therapy offers a place where you do not have to be the strong immigrant, the capable expat, the one who “made it”. You can simply be human. You can speak your grief in the language that feels safe. You can cry without translating your pain. You can remember. You can rage. You can soften. Healing begins when your grief is witnessed instead of endured in silence.

If you are living abroad and carrying loss that feels unseen, you are not alone. Your grief makes sense. Your longing makes sense. Your exhaustion makes sense. Home is not just a country. Home is a place in the heart where you are allowed to feel everything. And you deserve support wherever you are in the world.

An Invitation to Gentle Change
If you are reading this and feel it touches your own story or the story of a loved one, you are invited.
Together, we can explore this from a non-judgmental, non-moralising, and non-prescriptive place.
We will engage in tender, mature work focused on what truly hurts, not just the surface behaviours.
Feel free to reach out; we can start exactly where you are, with truth, without pressure, and with space for relief.
This is not a path of shame; this is the path of returning to yourself.

Kasia
Holistic Counselling With Kasia

02/12/2025

Grief Is Not Only About Death

When we hear the word grief, most of us immediately think of death. We imagine funerals, black clothing, flowers, sympathy cards and quiet tears. And while grieving a loved one is one of the deepest and most painful experiences a human being can face, grief does not begin and end with death. Grief lives in many moments of life that are rarely acknowledged, and often never spoken about. It shows up in quiet losses that no one else sees, in goodbyes that were never properly said, and in life changes that feel too big and too heavy to hold alone. During National Grief Awareness Week, I want to gently widen the space we allow grief to occupy, because so many people are carrying grief without realising that this is what they are feeling.

Grief is the ache that comes after a breakup, even when you were the one who walked away. It is the hollow feeling after divorce. It is the pain of infertility, miscarriage or the loss of a dream of becoming a parent. It is the sadness that follows the loss of health, youth or physical ability. It is the quiet devastation of watching your parents age or realising your childhood will never return. It is the grief of immigration when you leave your home, language, culture and sense of belonging behind in order to build a life somewhere else. For many expats and migrants, grief is never about one single event, but about layers of losses — family closeness, familiarity, identity and community — all happening slowly and often silently. You can be living a successful, busy life abroad and still feel homesick for a version of yourself that no longer exists.

Grief is also about emotional loss. It is about what you hoped life would be, and what it became instead. It is about relationships that never healed, childhoods that were not safe, and parents who were present but not emotionally available. It is about the marriage that dissolved, the friendship that faded, and the person you once loved who is no longer the same. Some clients come into therapy convinced that they “shouldn’t” feel grief because no one died. But grief is not measured by death certificates. It is measured by the depth of attachment and the magnitude of what was lost. If something mattered to you, its loss deserves compassion, not judgment.

Unrecognised grief often disguises itself as anxiety, exhaustion, irritability or emotional numbness. It can look like depression, but also like busyness, perfectionism or emotional withdrawal. When grief is not acknowledged, it doesn’t disappear — it goes underground. It settles into the body. It tightens the chest, dries the tears and steals energy. Many people believe they must “stay strong” and “move on” without realising that grief is not something you move through once and leave behind. It changes shape, but it does not vanish simply because time passes. What we resist emotionally remains stored inside us, waiting to be tended to.

As a person-centred counsellor and holistic therapist, I often sit with clients who are finally allowed to say, sometimes for the first time, “I lost something that mattered.” And in that simple sentence, something loosens. Naming grief creates space for healing. When grief is witnessed rather than silenced, the nervous system begins to soften. Through counselling, mindfulness and holistic support, people slowly learn to give themselves permission to feel — not to collapse, but to move forward more honestly, more gently and with greater self-understanding.

Grief does not mean you are broken. It means you loved, hoped, invested, cared and dreamed. It means you were human. But when grief goes unacknowledged, it can turn inward, shaping your self-esteem, your relationships and even your sense of purpose. You may begin to believe something is wrong with you when, in truth, something simply needs to be mourned. Emotional healing begins when we stop asking ourselves what’s wrong with us and start asking what we have lost.

This National Grief Awareness Week, I invite you to reflect not only on who you have lost, but also on what you have lost. And to treat those losses not as weaknesses, but as proof of your capacity to love. If you are carrying grief that has never been spoken aloud, you do not have to continue holding it alone. Therapy offers a safe place where loss does not need to be rushed, fixed or minimised. It offers space to breathe again. To understand yourself more deeply. To release what the body has been quietly holding for far too long.

Grief is not only about death. It is about every ending that changed you. And healing begins not by pretending nothing happened, but by allowing yourself to feel what truly did.

28/11/2025

FROM VICTIM TO YOUR OWN HERO: 5 PILLARS OF SELF-CARE IN CO-DEPENDENCY

If you are reading this, you likely carry a profound, wearying burden—the weight of caring, controlling, and endlessly trying to fix a situation or a person outside of yourself. Co-dependency is not merely excessive care; it is an exhausting, soul-depleting dance where your well-being becomes inextricably tied to someone else's stability, sobriety, or mood. We often enter this role as loving, compassionate individuals, yet over time, the role of "rescuer," "fixer," or "controller" silently takes over, pushing you out of the centre of your own life story. You are trapped in a narrative where your worth is measured by your utility to another, and your emotional state is dictated by external chaos. The pain and the subsequent feeling of helplessness are real, valid, and profoundly isolating. But I want you to know this truth: you are not destined to remain a supporting character in someone else’s drama. This moment is your permission slip to reclaim the starring role as the hero of your own life. The shift is not selfish; it is essential for survival, and it begins with consciously redirecting your immense, compassionate energy back toward its rightful recipient: you. We will focus here on five core pillars, practical steps designed to help you exit the tireless cycle of external focus and anchor yourself firmly in self-care and self-respect.

The first pillar is Recognizing and Halting the Rescuer Reflex, which is the moment you instinctively reach out to manage, cover up, or solve a consequence that rightfully belongs to another person. This reflex is where your energy leaks most severely. To reclaim your energy, you must practice radical acceptance: accepting that you cannot control another adult's choices, and their consequences are not your responsibility to buffer. Every time you feel that familiar urge to step in—whether it’s making excuses for them, checking their phone, or cleaning up a mess they created—pause. Instead of acting, breathe and mentally state, "This is not mine to fix." This single shift is the gateway to healing, as the energy previously spent on fruitless control is instantly returned to you, ready to be used for genuine self-nourishment.

The second, non-negotiable pillar is The Art of Setting Compassionate Boundaries. Boundaries are not walls built to punish; they are property lines you draw to define what is acceptable to you and what is not. They are acts of self-love. For the co-dependent person, boundaries must be specific, visible, and communicated clearly, focusing on your action, not the other person's. For example, instead of saying, "You need to stop drinking," a boundary is: "If you come home intoxicated, I will not engage with you and will leave the room to protect my peace." The real work is in the follow-through. When the boundary is tested—and it will be—you must hold the line consistently. This demonstrates to your subconscious and to the world that your peace and well-being are paramount, thereby rebuilding trust in yourself, which the co-dependent cycle erodes.

Our third pillar introduces a foundational tool: The "Breath of Co-dependency" Technique. This is a practical, in-the-moment exercise to counter the hyper-vigilance typical of co-dependency. When you feel anxiety spiking, the need to check, or the impulse to argue, stop whatever you are doing. Find a quiet corner. Close your eyes and breathe in slowly for four counts, hold for four, and exhale slowly for six counts. While exhaling, repeat a simple mantra: "I am safe right now," or "I control only me." The key is the accompanying mental visualization: imagine all the emotional threads, ropes, and energy cords that are currently connecting you to the other person—the worry, the anger, the responsibility—and on the long exhale, visualize yourself gently cutting or untying them, pulling your own energy back into your centre. Repeat this until the anxious physical sensation in your chest or stomach begins to subside. This technique actively retrains your nervous system to self-soothe rather than relying on external control to feel safe.

The fourth pillar speaks directly to the core co-dependent habit of reprioritisation: Scheduling Sacred Solitude. If you are accustomed to putting everyone else’s schedule, appointments, and needs before your own, true self-care requires intentional, unwavering planning. You must literally put yourself on the calendar. This is not just "free time"; it is time specifically blocked out for activities that replenish and define you outside of your relationship roles. This might be a thirty-minute walk alone, time dedicated to a forgotten hobby, reading in silence, or attending your own support group meeting (like Al-Anon or CoDA). The activity itself matters less than the commitment to showing up for yourself, consistently, without guilt, apology, or explanation. This dedicated time establishes a tangible boundary around your personal identity and sends a powerful message: "My life, my interests, and my needs are worthy of time and commitment."

Finally, the fifth and perhaps most transformative pillar is Redefining Self-Worth. In co-dependency, worth becomes conditional: I am valuable if I can keep them happy/sober/stable. The goal now is to anchor your worth internally. Detach your intrinsic value from the external state of the person you care for. Your success in life is no longer tied to their failure or success. Practice small affirmations that acknowledge your value simply for being. For example, "I am a person of value, regardless of whether anyone else is well," or "My love is a gift, not a tool for control." This deep, internal reframing frees you from the exhausting cycle of earning your place by constantly performing the role of the rescuer.

Healing from co-dependency is not a quick fix; it is a profound journey of rediscovering and reclaiming yourself. It is a series of brave decisions to choose your own well-being over the familiar chaos. Please remember that this is a heavy lift, and you do not have to do it alone. Seek out the support of a therapist or a specialized support group. Take that first small step today—breathe, cut one thread of worry, and put one small piece of time on your calendar just for you. Your hero’s journey starts now.

Holistic Counselling With Kasia

24/11/2025

Visit my website for a new post in my blog https://www.holisticcounsellingwithkasia.com/post/how-to-recognise-codependency-in-your-relationship

Wersja polska także jest dostępna.

Codependency can be one of the most difficult relationship patterns to recognise because it often develops slowly and quietly, disguised as love, loyalty or caring. Many people who find themselves in codependent dynamics started with the best intentions: they wanted to support their partner, create....

19/11/2025

New clients welcome!
If you’ve been thinking about starting counselling, this might be the right time — I’m here when you’re ready.
Please visit my website to check if I would be suitable for you www.holisticcounsellingwithkasia.com
or email me to arrange a session counsellingwithkasia@gmail.com

Welcome to Holistic Counselling With Kasia – offering person-centred counselling, life coaching, and sound healing for a truly holistic approach. I support clients facing codependency, grief, loss, and immigrant mental health challenges. Sessions are available online and face-to-face in Southend. ...

01/11/2025

Wszystkich Świętych – o pamięci, której nie zatrzymają granice

1 listopada zawsze miał dla mnie szczególne znaczenie. Od najmłodszych lat był dniem, w którym świat na chwilę zwalniał, a codzienne sprawy traciły na znaczeniu. Pamiętam, jak jako dziecko ubierałam się cieplej niż zwykle, bo jesienne powietrze tego dnia miało w sobie coś wyjątkowego – chłód mieszał się z zapachem palących się zniczy i mokrych liści. Razem z rodzicami i dziadkami szliśmy na cmentarz, niosąc w rękach bukiety chryzantem, które zawsze kojarzyły mi się z powagą, ale i spokojem. Wtedy nie do końca rozumiałam sens tego święta. Wiedziałam tylko, że odwiedzamy tych, których już nie ma, i że trzeba zachować ciszę, bo to dzień zadumy. Dopiero z czasem przyszło zrozumienie – że to nie tylko obowiązek, ale potrzeba serca.

Dziś mieszkam daleko od Polski. Granice, samoloty, codzienne obowiązki i odległość sprawiają, że nie mogę już po prostu wsiąść w samochód i pojechać na cmentarz, by zapalić świeczkę na grobie dziadków. Każdego roku, gdy nadchodzi listopad, czuję w sobie lekkie ukłucie tęsknoty. Widzę w myślach te znajome aleje cmentarne, które rozświetlają się tysiącami płomieni. Widzę ludzi idących w ciszy, pochylonych nad grobami, wpatrzonych w tańczące płomyki zniczy. To niezwykły widok – polskie cmentarze w Dzień Wszystkich Świętych wyglądają jak morze świateł, jakby żywi chcieli rozgonić mrok śmierci światłem pamięci. Każdy płomień to czyjeś wspomnienie, czyjeś „pamiętam”, czyjeś „brakuje mi cię”.

Kiedyś nie zastanawiałam się nad tym, jak wyjątkowa jest ta tradycja. Dopiero z perspektywy odległości widzę, jak bardzo zakorzeniona jest w naszej kulturze – w tej potrzebie bliskości, nawet z tymi, których już nie ma. W krajach, w których teraz mieszkam, 1 listopada jest zwykłym dniem pracy. Nikt nie przynosi kwiatów na cmentarze, nie ma tłumów ludzi pod bramą, nie słychać rozmów o tym, kto kiedy odszedł. Tego dnia świat po prostu biegnie dalej, jakby śmierć była tylko marginalną częścią życia, o której lepiej nie mówić. A ja – wychowana w przekonaniu, że pamięć o zmarłych jest przedłużeniem miłości – czuję wtedy pewną pustkę.

Nieobecność na cmentarzu nie oznacza jednak, że zapominam. Wręcz przeciwnie. Może właśnie dlatego, że nie mogę być tam fizycznie, staram się ten dzień przeżywać głębiej, bardziej świadomie. Wieczorem zapalam świeczkę w domu. Czasem jedną, czasem kilka – każda symbolizuje inną osobę, inny etap mojego życia. Siadam przy tym świetle i pozwalam, żeby wspomnienia płynęły. Przypominam sobie głos dziadka, który opowiadał historie z dzieciństwa. Uśmiech babci, gdy stawiała przede mną talerz pierogów. Zapach ich domu, starych książek i drewnianych mebli. Te wspomnienia przychodzą jak ciepły wiatr i choć potrafią wycisnąć łzy, są też źródłem ukojenia.

Czasem idę na spacer po tutejszym parku. Wśród drzew szukam ciszy podobnej do tej, którą pamiętam z polskich cmentarzy. Nie ma zniczy, nie ma gwaru, ale jest to samo niebo i ten sam wiatr, który kiedyś muskał twarze moich bliskich. Wtedy czuję, że dystans nie ma znaczenia. Że pamięć to nie miejsce, tylko uczucie, które nosimy w sobie. Może właśnie o to w tym wszystkim chodzi – żeby zrozumieć, że choć groby są gdzieś daleko, to ci, których kochaliśmy, nie odeszli całkiem. Są w nas.

Kiedyś usłyszałam, że „człowiek żyje tak długo, jak długo ktoś o nim pamięta”. Myślę, że w tym zdaniu jest cała istota 1 listopada. To nie jest tylko święto smutku, ale też miłości, wdzięczności i pamięci. Wspominając zmarłych, mówimy im, że nadal są częścią naszego życia. Że nawet jeśli świat pędzi dalej, my zatrzymujemy się choć na chwilę, żeby powiedzieć: „dziękuję, że byliście”.

W ostatnich latach zauważyłam, że coraz więcej osób, które – tak jak ja – mieszkają poza Polską, tworzy własne rytuały. Jedni zapalają znicz w oknie, inni modlą się w ciszy lub odwiedzają lokalny cmentarz, nawet jeśli nie mają tam bliskich. Niektórzy wspominają zmarłych przy rodzinnym stole, oglądając stare zdjęcia. Każdy z nas na swój sposób próbuje wypełnić tę przestrzeń między „tam” a „tu”. Bo chociaż fizycznie dzieli nas od ojczyzny tysiące kilometrów, emocjonalnie wciąż jesteśmy tam – wśród świateł na cmentarzach, wśród rozmów i wspomnień.

Pamiętam, jak kiedyś z rodzicami i siostrą chodziliśmy od grobu do grobu, zapalając świeczki. Każdy płomień miał znaczenie. Mama zawsze mówiła: „Nie chodzi o to, żeby było dużo świateł, tylko żeby były zapalone z serca”. Dziś te słowa wracają do mnie ze zdwojoną siłą. Bo kiedy zapalam jedną świeczkę w obcym kraju, wiem, że robię to właśnie z serca. Wiem, że ten mały płomień ma moc – łączy mnie z miejscem, z ludźmi, z przeszłością.

Polskie cmentarze 1 listopada mają w sobie coś niezwykłego. Nigdzie indziej nie widziałam takiego połączenia powagi i piękna. Te rzędy świateł, zapach wosku, dźwięk kroków na żwirze – to wszystko tworzy atmosferę, której nie da się opisać słowami. W tej ciszy jest życie, w tym świetle – nadzieja. Kiedyś, jako dziecko, patrzyłam na to z zachwytem. Dziś patrzę z wdzięcznością. Bo choć nie mogę już tam być, te obrazy są we mnie na zawsze.

Może właśnie na tym polega przemijanie – na pogodzeniu się z tym, że wszystko się zmienia, ale nic nie znika naprawdę. Ludzie odchodzą, ale zostawiają po sobie ślady: w naszych wspomnieniach, w sposobie, w jaki patrzymy na świat, w wartościach, które przekazali. I może nie trzeba stać przy grobie, żeby to poczuć. Wystarczy zatrzymać się, pomyśleć o nich ciepło, pozwolić, by serce na chwilę zwolniło.

1 listopada to dla mnie już nie tylko dzień zadumy, ale także dzień wdzięczności. Za tych, którzy byli przede mną. Za to, że mogę pamiętać. Za to, że choć czas płynie, więzi pozostają. I choć czasem żal, że nie mogę zapalić znicza tam, gdzie kiedyś chodziłam z rodziną, wiem, że prawdziwe światło pamięci płonie nie na cmentarzach, ale w nas samych.

Listopad często otwiera w nas to, co ukryte — wspomnienia, tęsknoty, pytania o sens.
Jeśli chcesz przyjrzeć się temu z czułością i spokojem, zapraszam Cię do rozmowy – do wspólnego spotkania w ramach sesji terapeutycznej.

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