There is a kind of grief that doesn’t come with condolences, casseroles, or closure.
It doesn’t come with permission.
It’s the grief of realizing that someone you love—or once loved—can no longer exist in your life the way you needed them to. Not because they passed away, but because something in the relationship made it impossible to stay.
This is the grief of people who are still alive.
I’ve had to grieve people who are still breathing, still walking this earth, still existing in proximity to my life—but no longer safe for my heart, spirit, or growth. People who hurt me. People who couldn’t meet me where I was. People I hoped would change. People I had to release, not out of anger, but out of self-preservation.
This type of grief is quiet and confusing.
Because the world says, “At least they’re still here.”
But emotionally and spiritually, something still ended.
I had to mourn the version of them I believed in.
The relationship I tried to nurture.
The future I imagined.
The love I kept extending even when it wasn’t returned in a healthy way.
And I had to do it without closure.
Grieving someone who is still alive doesn’t mean you hate them.
It doesn’t mean you’re unforgiving.
It means you finally chose to stop abandoning yourself in order to keep the connection alive.
This post is the beginning of a series I’m calling Grieving People Who Are Still Alive.
In the posts that follow, I’ll be sharing personal stories about different relationships I’ve had to grieve while the people themselves are still here. Each story carries its own lessons, wounds, boundaries, and awakenings. Names and details will remain intentional—not to protect harm, but to honor healing.
These stories are not about blame.
They are about truth.
They are about what it means to heal honestly.
They are about the glow up that happens when you choose yourself, even when it hurts.
If you’re reading this and feel a tightness in your chest, a quiet recognition, or a sense of “this sounds like me”—you’re not alone. This grief is real. And it deserves space.
This is where I’m holding that space.
For myself.
And for anyone learning how to let go without hardening their heart.
This is part of my glow up.
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