Grief Changes You… A Therapist’s Perspective
March 4th marks four years since my mom passed away after a brief, but fierce battle with cancer. As the anniversary approaches, I find myself thinking about her more often in quiet moments, ordinary routines, and in the spaces where grief shows up uninvited yet so familiar.
What continues to amaze me is how the body remembers, even when the mind hasn’t caught up yet. My body knew this anniversary was approaching before I consciously realized it. On February 28th, I felt overwhelmed with sadness without understanding why, only to later recognize it was the day we had one of the hardest conversations of my life, deciding to move my mom into hospice care.
Then came March 2nd, a day that felt so light. I found myself feeling happy, almost peaceful, before remembering why. It was the last day my mom was able to have full, meaningful conversations, and my God, we had some of the best ones. I mean, she literally gave me her opinions on future baby names, swore she would never come back as a bird, talked about being with her mom & dad again, and promised me that she would always be our guardian angel. One of the few gifts a terminal diagnosis can offer is the understanding that if there is something you want to say, now is the time to say it.
By March 4th, (every year) alongside sadness, there was also a quiet and complicated sense of relief, deep gratitude knowing she was no longer in pain. How sweet to think about her spending her time with all of the people she loved before she became “mom” to me?
Grief reshapes a person in many stages. There is the version of you before illness enters the story, when time feels abundant and promised. Then there is the version of you during sickness, when time becomes fragile and measured differently. And finally, there is the person you become after loss, learning how to carry love and absence at the same time.
Wildly enough, my personal experience with grief has made me a better therapist.
I sit with clients differently now. I listen differently. I understand not only intellectually but emotionally how grief moves, sometimes forward, sometimes backward, often both at once. Grief has deepened my empathy and expanded my compassion in ways no training or textbook ever could.
In my work, I often meet women grieving a version of themselves. The version who never saw grief coming. The version who felt naive about time. The version who believed there would always be more moments and more ordinary days.
Time is the one thing we can never get enough of. We cannot buy it, store it, or get it back. It is the most universal human experience, yet often the least appreciated until loss makes us acutely aware of it.
Grief has made me intentional about how I spend my time, who I spend it with, and what truly aligns with my values. That awareness has become one of grief’s quiet gifts. Painful, yes, but clarifying.
I guess all of this to say.. Spend your time with the people who bring genuine joy into your life. The people who make you laugh easily, who make you feel seen, who make you nostalgic for the present while you are still living it. The people who remind you how meaningful a full life on earth can be, even while you deeply miss someone incredibly special in heaven.
Grief does not end love. It just transforms it. And sometimes, it helps us live more intentionally than we ever did before.
