Why Healing Feels Like Losing Yourself Too

Grief is not just about losing someone you love - it’s also about losing the version of you who existed when they were still here.

It’s the quiet that follows the chaos.The stillness that feels deafening.
The moments you catch yourself reaching for your phone to call them, only to realise - you can’t.

We often think grief looks like tears and heartbreak.
But truthfully? It's shock. Numbness. Guilt. Anger. Confusion. A strange sense that the world keeps turning while yours has stopped.

Society rushes people to “move on,” to “get over it.”
But grief doesn’t work that way.
It lingers, transforms, and reshapes who we are.

In this article, we’ll walk through the stages of grief, not as tidy boxes to tick, but as emotional landscapes we move through again and again and we’ll explore how to reconnect with the parts of yourself that loss has taken with it.

When Grief Feels Like Losing More Than a Person

Grief is layered. It’s never just about the person we’ve lost - it’s about the connection, the role, the identity that went with them.

When someone dies, leaves, or changes, we also lose:

• The safety of knowing who we were in that relationship
  

• The version of life we imagined, or had together
  

• The sense of belonging or purpose they gave us

You don’t just lose them. You lose the you who laughed with them, depended on them, or felt loved because of them.

That’s why grief feels so disorienting - because it shakes the foundation of who you are.
And before healing begins, there’s the stage that everyone knows but few understand: Shock and Denial.

Stage One

Shock & Denial: The Body’s First Defence

I still remember the phone call that changed everything. The voice on the other end was calm - almost too calm - as if saying the words gently could somehow make them less real.

For a moment, time folded in on itself. The hum of the fridge. The ticking of the clock. The ordinary sounds of life carried on - as mine quietly shattered.

And yet, I didn’t cry.
I stood up, boiled the kettle, made a cup of tea. I answered an email.
I remember thinking, I must be fine.

But I wasn’t fine. I was in shock and denial had taken the wheel.

It’s strange how grief first disguises itself. You go into autopilot - calm, functional, maybe even efficient - and people might call you strong.
But inside, there’s a numbness. A fog. You’re not ready to let the truth in because the truth would break you wide open.

Denial is the mind’s way of cushioning unbearable pain. It isn’t avoidance - it’s protection.
Your nervous system simply can’t absorb the full impact all at once, so it doses reality in fragments, allowing you to stay upright long enough to survive the initial storm.

🌀 In denial, you might:

• Feel detached from reality, like you’re watching your life play out from a distance
  

• Go through the motions automatically, doing the washing, driving to work, replying to messages - all while feeling miles away
  

• Forget for a moment… and then be hit with the truth again like a wave that knocks the air out of you
  

• Wonder what’s wrong with you for feeling nothing when you’re “supposed” to feel everything

But there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not heartless. You’re human.

Denial gives you space to breathe before the pain arrives in full. It’s the mind’s way of saying, “Not yet. Let’s take this one heartbeat at a time.”

So if you’re here - caught in that surreal calm where nothing feels quite real - please, be gentle with yourself. You’re not broken.
You’re simply protecting your heart until it’s safe enough to feel again.

Stage Two

Anger: The Fire Beneath the Pain

Anger is grief’s armour. It arrives when the numbness starts to crack, when the fog begins to lift just enough for the ache to make itself known.

I remember the first time it hit me. It wasn’t gentle. It came out of nowhere - sharp, hot, and loud. I felt savage, consumed by something wild and uncontrollable. The questions came thick and fast, flooding my mind with nowhere to land. So I did the only thing I could, I laced up my trainers and ran!

Half the run, I cried. The other half, I argued with the universe. Each question screamed in my head as if shouting loud enough might finally bring an answer:

“How could they leave me?”
“Why didn’t anyone do something?”
“They must have a cure for cancer - it’s all bullshit.”
And then came the one that cut the deepest..
“Why didn’t I see the illness sooner? Why didn’t I intervene?”

That’s the thing about anger. It doesn’t always make sense. It flares at the wrong people, the wrong moments, sometimes even at yourself. But underneath the rage is helplessness and beneath that, love.

Anger gives us a sense of control when everything else feels uncontrollable.
It’s your body’s way of saying, “I need this pain to move somehow.”

You might find yourself snapping at small things, crying mid-sentence, or feeling energy rush through you that has nowhere to go. It’s not weakness. It’s the emotional thaw after the freeze.

Anger is not the opposite of love - it’s love’s defender.
It’s the echo of your heart saying, “This mattered. They mattered.”

So when the fury rises, instead of silencing it, let it speak. But let it speak safely.

🕊️ Try this when anger takes hold:

• Move your body - run, hit a punching bag, scream into a pillow, dance until you’re breathless. Let the energy find an exit.
  

• Write an unsent letter - say everything you wish you’d said. No filters, no edits. Then burn or rip it when you’re done.
  

• Speak it aloud to someone who can hold space without judging or trying to fix it.

Anger means you’re starting to feel again. It’s not regression - it’s a milestone.
Because for the first time since the loss, your heart is waking back up.

Stage Three

Bargaining: The Desperate Search for Control

At some point, we all reach for the what ifs.

What if I’d called earlier?
If only I’d noticed the signs.
Maybe if I’d done more, they’d still be here.

Those thoughts loop endlessly - haunting, relentless, almost obsessive. You replay the story in your mind, rewriting scenes, imagining different endings. Because deep down, you’re trying to make sense of something that will never make sense.

This is the bargaining stage - grief’s attempt to negotiate with reality.
It’s not logic. It’s longing. It’s love trying to find a loophole.

Bargaining whispers, “Maybe there’s still something I can do to make this right.” It gives us the illusion of control when everything else feels impossible to grasp.

But the painful truth is this: no amount of “if only” can undo what has already happened.
And that truth is excruciating.

The way through it isn’t to silence those thoughts - it’s to meet them with compassion. Because beneath the bargaining lies love. The kind of love that would have done anything to change the outcome. Forgiveness becomes the bridge - forgiving them for passing/leaving, forgiving yourself, forgiving life for not following your plan.

And one day, when the “what ifs” grow quieter, you’ll see that your love was never wasted. It just didn’t get the ending it deserved.

Stage Four

Depression: The Still Point of Grief

Then comes the quiet. The visitors stop calling as often. The “How are you?” texts become less frequent. Everyone else seems to have gone back to their lives - but you’re still here, frozen in the aftermath.

You wake up heavy. The mornings feel thick, like moving through water. The bed feels safer than the day. You scroll your phone, not really reading anything, just trying to fill the space where their voice used to be.

There’s washing to do, bills to pay, emails waiting - but you stare at them blankly.
Even the simplest things feel impossible. You forget what you’ve said mid-sentence. You make a cup of tea and leave it untouched.

You might look fine to others - even crack a joke or post something cheerful - but inside, there’s a hollow quiet. A silence that feels louder than anything you’ve ever heard.

And that’s when it lands: They’re not coming back.

This is where reality settles in - not as a sudden realisation, but as a slow, aching truth that wraps itself around everything.

But here’s what most people don’t understand:
Depression in grief isn’t a disorder. It’s not something to fix or rush.
It’s the body and the heart saying, “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay.”

🕊️ You might:

• Lose motivation or interest in daily life - even things you used to love
  

• Feel waves of sadness that arrive without warning, triggered by songs, smells, or passing faces
  

• Struggle to find meaning in work, relationships, or routines that once gave you purpose
  

• Withdraw from people because you can’t bear the small talk or the silence after “I’m fine”

But there’s no need to fix this stage. It’s not a problem to solve - it’s a truth to honour.

Depression isn’t the absence of love. It’s the proof of it.
It’s love with nowhere to go, trapped inside a heart still learning to live with loss.

So be gentle with yourself. Rest when you need to. Cry when you must. Speak their name when it feels right. You don’t need to rush back to “normal.” Because the truth is - normal doesn’t exist anymore.

Stage Five

Acceptance: Living With, Not Without

Acceptance doesn’t arrive with fanfare.
There’s no grand realisation, no moment when the pain suddenly disappears.
It comes quietly - almost unnoticed - like the first warm day after a long, bitter winter.

You catch yourself laughing at something on TV, and for a split second, you forget.
Then guilt creeps in. How can you laugh when they’re gone?
It’s moments like that - the in-between that mark the beginning of acceptance.

Acceptance isn’t about moving on. It’s about moving forward with.
You still think of them every day, but it’s not always with tears. Sometimes, it’s with warmth.

It’s the moment you look at an old photograph and smile before you cry.
It’s walking past their favourite café without having to cross the street.
It’s remembering them not just in pain, but in love.

🕊️ Acceptance looks like:

• Saying their name without flinching
  

• Finding comfort in the memories instead of only pain
  

• Beginning to rebuild your routines and relationships
  

• Allowing new experiences into your life without feeling like you’re betraying their memory

When I reached this stage myself, I knew it because the heaviness had shifted into something I didn’t recognise at first - gratitude.
Gratitude for having loved them. Gratitude for having shared a chapter of my life with them.

And in that moment, I felt both tears and dare I say - joy. A quiet happiness that they existed, that we existed. It’s a strange feeling, acceptance. Because right on its heels comes guilt that small, cruel voice whispering, “You can’t be grateful for this. They’re gone.”

But I learned that voice was simply my mind playing tricks - grief’s echo trying to pull me back into despair. The truth is, gratitude doesn’t diminish love or sadness.
It honours it. It says, “Even though I’ve lost you, I will forever be thankful that I had you.”

Acceptance is the space where love and loss coexist. Where pain softens into tenderness.
Where the story of your life begins to expand again - not around what you’ve lost, but around what remains.

You’ll never be who you were before. But you’ll start to see that the person you’re becoming, the one shaped by loss, softened by compassion, strengthened by survival which is what carries you forward in every step.

Growth: The Rebirth After the Storm

When you reach acceptance, something shifts inside you.
The gratitude that begins there - fragile at first - starts to take root.
You find yourself whispering thank you instead of why.
Thank you for their love.
Thank you for the lessons.
Thank you for the time - however short, that you were lucky enough to share this life together.

That gratitude slowly becomes the soil from which growth blooms. You begin to notice that the world feels sharper, more precious. A sunrise, a shared laugh, the feel of someone’s hand in yours - they all hold more weight now.

You’ve learned the hardest truth there is: tomorrow is never guaranteed.
And because of that, you start to live differently. You find yourself connecting with people on a deeper level - seeing their pain, their joy, their humanity - because you’ve been there.
You understand that grief changes you in ways no book or advice ever could. It carves empathy into your bones. It’s not that the pain is gone - it’s that it’s evolved.
It’s become part of your wisdom.

🕊️ Growth after grief often looks like:

• Feeling gratitude more deeply and often, even in unexpected moments
  

• Becoming naturally more mindful, present, and appreciative of life’s simple joys
  

• Having an increased capacity for compassion and understanding toward others
  

• Living with a quiet strength - no longer untouched by pain, but no longer defined by it either

Grief doesn’t just take from us; it refines us. It strips away the noise and leaves only what’s real.

You stop chasing perfection and start cherishing presence. You stop waiting for “someday” and begin to live today.

And that’s the quiet miracle of growth - it’s not forgetting or “moving on.”
It’s remembering differently. It’s learning to carry both love and loss in the same heart, and realising that the weight of one is what gives the other its depth.

The Forgotten Grief: Losing Yourself Too

There’s a part of grief people rarely talk about - the grief of losing yourself.

When we lose someone close, we also lose:

• The version of ourselves who existed in that relationship
  

• The rhythm and routines that made life familiar
  

• The mirror that reflected who we were through their eyes

You might feel like a stranger to yourself. Even your voice, your laughter, your interests may feel foreign. This is normal. Because when we love deeply, our identity becomes entwined with theirs. When they go, untangling yourself hurts just as much as saying goodbye to them.

A Final Note from Me

Grief is something none of us can escape. It’s part of being human - part of loving deeply and living fully.

At different points in life, we’ll all meet it in some form.
Through the loss of loved ones or pets. Through the end of a relationship we weren’t ready to let go of.
Through losing a job, a dream, or even a sense of who we once were.

Each loss reshapes us. Each one asks us to meet ourselves, and life with a little more grace, a little more understanding, and a little more compassion.

If you’re struggling with grief right now, please know you don’t have to navigate it alone.
Getting support can help you make sense of it, and help you find yourself again.

If you’d like to talk through what you’re experiencing, I invite you to book a consultation call with me. Together, we can explore where you are in your grief journey and begin finding a way to move forward.

With much love,

Rebecca