As more death—I use that term from the perspective of energetic transition, whether physical, metaphorical, or societal—continues to challenge us all, I have been met with some interesting thought processes by those around me. There is a tendency, I’ve noticed, for people to cling to the idea of positivity, as though maintaining a relentless focus on the “good” will somehow shield them from the chaos. It’s not surprising; we’ve been conditioned to see positivity as a solution, a virtue. But in my experience, and perhaps in yours too, life doesn’t work that way.
Grief, when it comes, is nothing like we expect it to be.
Joan Didion
For me, loss has been a constant teacher. Just prior to achieving what we’re taught is “middle age,” nearly all the foundational people in my life—those who were meant to still be here, shaping my adulthood—were gone. Not only were they “gone,” but I’d watched them “leave,” and their absence wasn’t just a matter of grief: it created ripples in every aspect of my life.
I’ve said it many times, and I will continue to: stepping into a caregiver role for the people I loved, and even disliked (in the case of my mother), the most fundamentally changed how I saw the world, how I structured my days, and how I defined what matters. To outsiders, it may look like I’ve “got it all together.” I haven’t returned to a full-time career outside the home, and my life seems, from a certain angle, enviably simple.
But this version of my life hasn’t come without costs, struggles, and hard-earned wisdom—and this is the side of grief and transformation that people don’t see. It’s not a clean narrative of loss followed by healing, nor is it something that can be summed up with clichés about “resilience” or “finding the silver lining.” Grief doesn’t just shape you emotionally—it permeates every corner of your existence, changing how you move through the world and how the world perceives you.
The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
Rumi
This is the reality that lies beneath the surface, the part that doesn’t fit into easy tropes or tidy storylines. It’s the kind of transformation that defies explanation, one that strips you down to the essentials and forces you to rebuild in ways you never could have anticipated. And yet, it’s also the kind of transformation that most people overlook, dismiss, or misinterpret—because they only see the surface.
What they don’t see is the daily toll. They don’t see the nights spent grappling with the weight of it all, the physical consequences of prolonged stress, or the financial choices shaped by necessity rather than indulgence. They don’t see the sacrifices, the recalibration of priorities, or the quiet determination it takes to keep moving forward. What they see is the edited version, the one that looks “together” because it’s easier for them to process.
But grief isn’t just about loss—it’s about redefinition. It’s about how the absence of one life forces the reshaping of another. It’s about carrying the weight of that absence in a way that doesn’t break you but also never truly leaves you whole. It’s not about bouncing back; it’s about finding a new way to stand, even if your footing is forever altered.
This, perhaps, is the hardest part for others to understand: grief is not a problem to be solved, nor is it a phase to “get through.” It is a process, a teacher, and, at times, an unrelenting companion. It demands acknowledgment, not avoidance; integration, not denial. And it’s through this unflinching acknowledgment that I’ve come to understand not only myself but also the world around me in a profoundly different way.
It’s messy, it’s painful, and it’s not at all what people expect. But it’s real. And that’s what matters.
What happens to us in life is less important than how we respond to it, for it is our response that determines the quality of our existence.
Viktor E. Frankl
Here’s what you wouldn’t know by just looking: every decision I’ve made has been shaped by profound emotional, physical, and financial realities. The emotional weight of grief is heavy, yes, but it doesn’t stop there. The constant strain of loss and stress took root in my body as well.
Not long ago, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that causes widespread pain, fatigue, and cognitive difficulties. Medical research increasingly links fibromyalgia to stress and trauma, suggesting that the body’s nervous system becomes “stuck” in overdrive after prolonged periods of emotional strain. For me, it was as if my grief had become a physical presence, demanding my attention in ways I couldn’t ignore.
Your body keeps the score.
Bessel van der Kolk
Physically, I now navigate my days with care, balancing what I can do against what my body allows. That includes not stepping back into a full-time professional career outside of my writing, at home. While I have the luxury of a supportive partner who has taken on the role of sole breadwinner for our family, financially, luxuries are off the table—my choices center on what’s essential and sustainable. And yet, through all of this, I’ve found clarity. Stripping life down to its essentials, to what truly matters, has brought a clarity I never sought but now deeply value.
What complicates this further is the way people interpret my life from the outside. “You’re so lucky,” some say, assuming that the absence of a traditional 9-to-5 job means freedom and ease. They don’t see the journey it took to get here, the grief I’ve carried, the struggles we face daily. They see the surface, but not the depth. And that’s the point, isn’t it? So much of life is invisible. So much of our reality is shaped by what people can’t see.
Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.
John 7:24
This is where I’ve come to realize the danger of positivity as a sole lens for approaching life. It’s not that positivity itself is bad—it can be a powerful tool—but it becomes dangerous when it’s used to deny the full spectrum of reality. There’s a term for this: toxic positivity. It’s that relentless insistence on “good vibes only,” the dismissal of pain or struggle in favor of forced optimism. Toxic positivity can feel like a rejection of reality itself, leaving no room for the messy, complicated truths that make up a real, human life.
Life is both dreadful and wonderful.
Thich Nhat Hanh
What I’ve learned is that true growth comes not from clinging to positivity, but from embracing life in its fullness. The losses I’ve faced—what I sometimes call the “death curse”—have reshaped not just my circumstances but my understanding of life. They’ve taught me that death, physical or otherwise, isn’t always an ending; it’s a transition. Loss isn’t always destruction; it’s also transformation.
These experiences have forced me to ask hard questions: What do I truly value? How do I rebuild after everything has changed? What do I want my life to stand for?
I’ve come to believe that acceptance is far more powerful than positivity. Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means acknowledging what is, without resistance or denial. It’s about finding the strength to face life as it comes, to navigate both the joys and the sorrows with equal honesty. This approach has changed everything for me. It’s allowed me to see grief not as an enemy but as a teacher, pain not as something to escape but as something to learn from.
Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.
William James
This perspective is something I see echoed in the world around us. On a societal level, we’re facing what feels like collective grief: environmental collapse, political unrest, the crumbling of outdated paradigms. Just as in personal loss, there’s an urge to deny these realities, to distract ourselves with surface-level solutions or false optimism. But just as in personal loss, true transformation requires us to face the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.
The choices I’ve made in the wake of loss haven’t been easy, but they’ve been deliberate. I’ve chosen to create a life that aligns with my values, even if it doesn’t fit the mold of what others expect. I’ve chosen to accept what is, to honor the lessons loss has taught me, and to move forward with intention. To some, this might look like simplicity, even luxury. To me, it looks like freedom—the freedom to live authentically, without denying the depth of what I’ve experienced.
Freedom is the ability to face reality without flinching.
Arthur Miller
So, as you navigate your own life—whether through loss, change, or the uncertainty of these times—I invite you to look deeper. Beneath the surface of appearances, beneath the veneer of positivity, there is a richness waiting to be embraced. It’s not always easy, but it’s real.
And in the end, it is what is real, for better or for worse, that makes life worth living.
The Twin Tree Project 