The One Thing I Wish People Understood About Grief and Loss

Grief doesn’t have a clear start and end date

Grief is an experience that we will all face at some point, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood aspects of the human condition. People approach it with good intentions but often fall short of truly comprehending its weight, its unpredictability, and its profound impact.

The one thing I wish people understood about grief and loss is this: grief doesn’t follow a timeline.

Too often, we place grief in a box, expecting it to fit into some neat, predefined progression. We’ve all heard the phases: shock, anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

While these stages can be helpful for some, they are not a clear-cut path that everyone follows. The idea that you should "move on" or that "time heals all wounds" is not only oversimplified, but it can also be damaging. Grief is not a linear journey; it’s a winding road that goes up, down, and circles back in ways we don’t expect.

I remember after losing my fifth pregnancy, people would often say things like, "You’ll get through this" or "At least you know you can get pregnant." While their words were well-intentioned, they left me feeling more isolated.

The truth was, I wasn’t simply grieving the loss of a baby; I was grieving the loss of my hopes, the loss of the future I had envisioned, and the painful question of whether I’d ever be able to carry a pregnancy to term. I was also grieving the way society expected me to heal; quickly, quietly, and without complaint.

I’ve learned that grief isn’t something that "just happens" and then "goes away." It doesn’t have a clear start and end date. For me, it has ebbed and flowed like the tides.

Sometimes, I’m reminded of my losses in the most unexpected ways; seeing a pregnant woman in the store or hearing a song that reminds me of a loved one. Other times, months or even years can pass, and I feel like I’ve made peace with it, only for it to resurface unexpectedly, with the same rawness as the first time.

Grief is not bound by time, and neither are the emotions that accompany it. In my personal journey, I have realized that loss is not something you "get over" but something you learn to carry.

There’s a quiet, constant presence of grief that accompanies me, even in moments of joy. This isn’t something that needs to be fixed or erased, but rather, something that becomes part of the narrative of my life. It’s integrated into who I am now, just as much as my joys and triumphs are.

When people expect grief to have an end, they unintentionally add more pressure to an already overwhelming experience. The pressure to “move on” can sometimes feel like an invisible burden, as if your grief is inconvenient or misplaced.

Yet, grief is not something we "finish" or "outgrow." It doesn’t vanish after a certain amount of time has passed. It may fade in intensity, but it remains, a part of who we are, woven into the fabric of our stories.

I’ve also learned that grief is deeply personal. No two people experience loss in the same way. Just because someone else might seem to "get over it" quickly or "handle it better" doesn’t mean they are healing or that your grief is any less valid.

People need to understand that grief looks different for everyone—it can be loud and messy, quiet and reflective, or a mixture of both. There’s no "right" way to grieve.

One of the most healing things people can do for those grieving is simply to allow space for them to feel what they feel, without judgment or the need to fix anything. Sometimes, it’s just about showing up, sitting in silence, or acknowledging the depth of the loss. It’s about saying, I see you, and your grief matters.

I wish that we, as a society, could embrace this truth: grief doesn’t need to be rushed, contained, or fixed. It just needs to be. And when we allow people to grieve in their own time and their own way, we give them the freedom to heal at their own pace, without the burden of expectations.

In the end, grief is not something that diminishes your strength; it reveals it. It’s the quiet resilience of showing up each day, despite the heaviness. It’s learning to live with a loss while still allowing room for joy, for laughter, for life to go on.

This is the one thing I wish people understood about grief and loss: it isn’t about an endpoint; it’s about navigating the journey and allowing yourself the grace to feel, heal, and grow at your own pace.

About Eva

Eva Nabunya is a Grief Recovery and Trauma Specialist and an author of Tears Of A Mother: Where Love Triumphs Over Loss, shining a light on the grief of child loss and how love can triumph over such loss. You can learn more about Eva here.