The Hidden Exhaustion in Grief

Nobody prepares you for how much energy grief can require in completely everyday situations. There is a hidden exhaustion in grief that others may never see or understand.

Going to the grocery store.

Filling out a form that asks how many children you have.

Hearing someone complain about something you would give anything to have back.

Seeing a familiar car in traffic.

Attending a wedding.

Walking through the card aisle.

Trying to concentrate on something that once required no thought.

These are the things no one tells you about grief.

Grief can leave us bone tired—even after a full night's sleep. It's a tired that rest doesn't always fix because so much energy is being spent simply navigating a life that has changed.

And often it's the most routine moments that take more out of us than we expect.

Seeing their favorite food on a grocery store shelf.

Hearing a song you weren't prepared to hear.

Driving down the road and, for just a split second, thinking the car in front of you is theirs.

Someone asking a simple question that now has a complicated answer.

Grief asks us to live in a world that looks exactly the same when our world no longer feels the same.

The mail still arrives. The laundry piles up. People go to work, make dinner reservations, plan vacations, and complain about long lines.

Life keeps moving at the same pace even when something inside of us has profoundly changed.

Most people will never know what it took to walk into that room, answer that question, sit through that song, or simply show up.

From the outside, it may look like any other day. But you know how much it required of you. And I think we need to give ourselves permission to acknowledge that.

Not every difficult moment needs to become a lesson.

Not every tear needs to mean something.

Sometimes something is simply hard because we miss someone we love.

So, if a familiar moment catches you off guard today, you don't have to explain it or minimize it.

Sometimes, simply getting through the day requires more of us than anyone else will ever know. And that’s okay.