
As I stepped lightly into 2026, I was asked what I’d gained through 2025. I thought briefly and answered that I didn’t feel I’d gained so much as I had lost. Then, thinking a little longer, I added… that through those losses, I was actually carrying a much lighter load. So, in essence, I had gained.
I’d gained a sense of spaciousness — and freedom from situations, roles, and relationships that had become heavy, exhausting, suffocating, and unfulfilling.
In my work, I’ve seen how loss can either soften us into truth — or harden us into survival.
Both personally and professionally, I’ve learned that grief needs space — not solutions.
I’m sharing this because loss is so common — and yet it can feel incredibly lonely when the world expects you to “be fine.”
Grieve the losses, but don’t live in the grief
Losing something invites us to grieve what we have lost. Transforming grief demands that we embody the experience, because if we don’t let ourselves feel it, we’re only bypassing it.
Over time, emotional bypassing tends to make us either explode or implode.
According to Candace B. Pert, PhD, in Molecules of Emotion, every emotion has a chemical signature that affects our entire physiology. Processing difficult emotions is vital to our physical health, as much as it is to our mental and emotional wellbeing.
Forms of grief
Grief arrives in many forms, and it can be utterly — breathtakingly — excruciating.
Sometimes it’s an aching emptiness that seems to sit deep in our very bones. Other times, it can poison us in the form of seething rage, bitterness, or resentment we can’t find an antidote for. It can also show up as paralysing helplessness, or consuming self-pity.
When we’re in victimhood, we’ve often outsourced our inner authority — casting blame outward because it feels too painful (or too powerless) to come back home to ourselves.
Exhaustion, apathy, depression, and anhedonia are other costumes grief can wear.
Here is an excellent description of grief vs depression from Artie Wu:
“Grief is when you have a loss, and willingly go down into the pain, and sit with it, and even hold hands with it, not trying to ‘cure’ it or stop it. And in this holding of space, it transforms into a deeper part of you, that nourishes you, protects you and makes you whole again.
Depression is when you have a loss, and run from the pain, numbing it and suppressing it, trying to ‘pull yourself together and just move on’ and to ‘get over it’ — and then a hand comes up from deep within you, grabs you, and pulls you down, anyway.”
This differentiation matters because it highlights the self-love that fuels the courage to willingly enter internal pain — so it can transform.
Sharing grief and loss
When we share grief and loss, the challenge can be finding the right person to process it with.
Profound grief shared with well-meaning but ill-equipped family or friends can actually compound our grief and sense of loss — not because they don’t care, but because they don’t have the capacity to hold the magnitude of what may be happening. Many people cannot bear to sit with their own pain, let alone hold space for someone else’s.
That’s why it matters to share only with those who truly have the capacity.
Not everyone can hold this — and that’s why finding the right support matters.
In some historic experiences, sharing a profound grief with someone who didn’t have capacity ended with the words: “Get over it.” The underlying message landed as you’re too much, layering shame over anguish that was already hard to carry.
It’s not someone else’s fault if they don’t have the capacity to hold space — but at the wrong moment, it can feel like being pushed underwater when all we’re trying to do is stay afloat.
What I learned about carrying weight
In hindsight, what made 2025 so heavy wasn’t only what happened — it was what kept being carried long after it stopped being ours to hold.
So often, the weight comes from over-functioning, over-explaining, and over-tolerating. Grief doesn’t just ask us to feel. It asks us to choose.
And some of the choices are quiet, unglamorous, and lifesaving: fewer justifications, cleaner no’s, and a deeper loyalty to inner authority.
How grief moves through the body
Grief can feel like bone-deep fatigue. It can also feel like tightness in the chest that makes the simplest tasks feel enormous.
What helps isn’t forcing “positive thinking,” but giving the nervous system evidence of safety: slow walks, warm showers, longer exhales, honest tears, and the kind of presence that doesn’t rush the process.
Little by little, emotion does what it’s designed to do — it moves.
Spaciousness is the new wealth
Some of the greatest gifts don’t arrive wrapped — they arrive as endings.
In the wake of loss, more room appears: room to breathe, to simplify, to stop negotiating with what drains. Spaciousness is not emptiness. It’s clarity.
And in 2026, the choice is to protect what creates that clarity — conversations that are honest, relationships that are reciprocal, and a life that doesn’t require self-abandonment in order to belong.
Closing
If you’re entering this year carrying loss, I hope you don’t rush grief — and I hope you don’t set up camp inside it either.
What might become possible if the weight teaches you what you’re no longer available for?
And if you’re moving through grief, change, or a dark-night season and you’d like steady, compassionate support, you’re welcome to reach out. I’ve seen again and again — in life and in my practice — that grief moves when it’s met. You don’t have to do the heavy lifting alone.
Wishing you all the very best,
Chrissy















