Grief needs witnesses more than it needs managers
Stacy Bremner, MA, RP
The other day, I sat with a group of colleagues, all psychotherapists, and the conversation turned toward grief.
One woman is preparing to lose someone she loves dearly. As the loss draws closer, her grief deepens. It reminded me that grief does not begin when someone dies. If we know we will soon lose someone, grief naturally begins long before.
We call this anticipatory grief. It arrives while someone is still here. We begin mourning the changes, the uncertainty, and the approaching absence.
Anticipatory grief may show up as tears, but it can also appear as numbness, anxiety, anger, irritability, sadness, confusion, or even moments of gratitude and relief. Many different emotions are part of the grieving process.
As we talked, it occurred to me that grief itself is not nearly as complicated as our relationship with grief.
The messages we’ve learned, the beliefs we hold, and the ways others respond to us often shape our experience as much as the loss itself.
Grief Is Natural
One of the things I have learned over the years is that feelings are not dangerous.
I have a comfort level with tears. I can move in and out of sadness and various other feelings without becoming frightened by them. But that comfort did not happen automatically. It came from learning to make space for my feelings rather than fighting them.
Grief asks us to do just that.
Rather than judging our emotions or trying to rush past them, grief invites us to notice what is happening inside us with curiosity and kindness.
What am I feeling right now?
What is this emotion trying to tell me?
What might I need in this moment?
One of the most comforting phrases I learned decades ago was:
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you feel.”
I still believe that.
Our feelings are not problems to solve. They are experiences to move through. Like waves, they naturally ebb and flow when we allow them room to do so.
The Messages We Learn About Grief
I should add that my comfort with feelings did not come from how I was raised. If anything, it developed in spite of it.
In my family, we did not speak openly about loss. We did not cry together. We did not hug. Emotional pain was largely handled in private.
The unspoken lesson seemed to be: Grieve alone.
Many people grow up with similar messages:
- Be strong.
- Don’t burden others.
- Keep it together.
- Move on.
- Don’t make people uncomfortable.
- Don’t talk about it too much.
These beliefs can make grief lonelier than it needs to be.
Sometimes the grief itself is not what isolates us.
It is the belief that we should carry it by ourselves.
Over the years, both personally and professionally, I learned that feelings are not dangerous and that sadness does not have to be feared.
I also learned that vulnerability requires discernment. There are times to grieve privately, times to grieve with trusted people, and times when it is wise to protect tender parts of ourselves in less supportive environments.
What We Believe About Death Matters
Another thing that shapes grief is what we believe happens when someone dies.
For me, the soul’s continuation is not something I hope for or simply believe. It is something I know. And that knowing shapes the way I experience loss.
Others believe death is a final ending.
Many people find themselves somewhere in between. They are not entirely sure what they believe, yet they still talk to their deceased loved ones, sense their presence, or feel connected to them in ways they cannot explain.
I am not interested in convincing anyone what to believe.
But I do think our beliefs matter, and that there is value in exploring those beliefs in regards to loss, as that shapes the process.
And regardless of our personal beliefs, i.e. believing that someone continues in spirit, does not mean we do not grieve.
We Grieve Regardless of Our Beliefs About Death
While I know and understand that those who cross over live on in spirit and are still with us in ways we may not fully understand, I also know that we, as humans, need to grieve loss.
I try to honour my own grief when it arises.
Grief has value.
It helps us acknowledge what mattered.
It reflects the depth of our love and connection.
In many ways, grief is the part of love that continues when a person’s physical presence is gone.
We may grieve what we shared, what we did not receive, what was left unsaid, or the future moments that will never unfold as we imagined.
We may also feel gratitude for what we were able to share.
And often grief holds all of it at once.
The sorrow.
The love.
The longing.
The appreciation.
Everything in between.
To me, honoring grief is part of living with an open heart.
An open heart does not avoid loss. It allows love, and therefore it allows grief.
Grief Invites Us to Slow Down
I noticed the other day how easy it can be to miss an invitation into someone’s grief.
A friend was sharing a memory about a loved one who had recently died. She was not crying. She was not asking for support. She was simply sharing a memory.
Without really thinking about it, I pivoted and told a story of my own that was related to where we were driving at the time.
The conversation moved on naturally.
Later, I found myself wondering if I had missed something.
I wondered whether she might have shared more had I simply stayed with her memory a little longer.
Perhaps not.
But perhaps she was opening a small door into her grief.
The experience reminded me how quickly we can move away from grief, even when we care deeply about someone.
We tell a story of our own, or change the subject.
We offer a solution, or try to make things better.
Often without realizing it, we begin managing the grief instead of witnessing it.
Looking back, that was what I wondered about in that moment with my friend. Not whether I should have said the perfect thing, but whether I could have been a witness for a little longer.
Sometimes what is most needed is much simpler:
“Tell me more about that.”
“What was she like?”
“I’d love to hear another memory.”
Or simply:
“That sounds really special.”
Grief often reveals itself in small moments rather than dramatic ones.
When we slow down enough to notice, we create space for whatever wants to emerge.
Supporting Someone Who Is Grieving
Most people genuinely want to help.
Yet many of us become uncomfortable when we encounter someone else’s pain.
When discomfort arises, we often move toward fixing, reassuring, advising, explaining, or comparing.
We try to make the grief go away.
The problem is that grief is not something to fix.
No one knows exactly what another person is going through.
Often the greatest gift we can offer is our presence.
We can ask gentle questions.
We can listen.
We can allow the grieving person to lead the way.
And we can become aware of our own discomfort when we feel the urge to rescue, distract, advise, or shut down the conversation.
Grief Needs Witnesses
The older I get, the more I believe that grief needs witnesses more than it needs managers.
It needs space, kindness, and permission.
It needs people who can sit nearby without trying to take the sadness away.
It needs people who trust that feelings are not dangerous, and that tears serve a purpose, and that grief has its own wisdom and timing.
Journaling may help.
Prayer may help.
Walking outside may help.
Time alone may help.
Time with trusted people may help.
There is no single path.
There is only the invitation to honor what is true.
And perhaps that is what I have come to understand over the years. Authentic grief is different from isolated grief.
Sometimes we grieve alone.
Sometimes we grieve with others.
What matters is that we don’t have to carry it alone if we don’t want to.
A Final Thought
What I noticed the other day is that grief itself may not be the hardest part.
Often, the hardest part is our fear of grief.
Our fear that it will overwhelm us, that others will judge us, and therefore we need to carry it alone.
Yet grief has been part of the human experience for as long as humans have loved one another.
When we stop judging it, when we stop trying to fix it, and when we allow ourselves and others to feel what is true, something begins to soften.
Not because the loss disappears.
But because we no longer have to carry the grief and the resistance to grief at the same time.
When we allow ourselves to grieve, we make room not only for sorrow, but also for gratitude.
We remember what was precious.
We remember what was shared.
We remember that love leaves an imprint.
Perhaps healing begins when we stop trying to manage grief and start learning how to witness it.
In ourselves.
In the people we love.
And in the tender spaces where love continues, even after loss.
Because grief needs witnesses more than it needs managers.
A Few Gentle Questions to Consider
What messages did you learn about grief growing up?
When loss touches your life, what is your natural style of grieving, and where do you think that style came from?
Is there a grief, past or present, that may be asking for a little more witnessing and a little less managing?
❤️