Let´s talk about Grief and Loss.

I MET GRIEF TOO SOON.

I remember a day in my childhood, when I was 5 years old.
My Aunt was carrying me, and as I looked over her shoulder, I could see everyone sobbing. Their faces were heavy with sadness. I remember hearing my Mom wailing so deeply, as if she had just lost a huge piece of her heart. I saw grief in everyone’s eyes, but I didn’t cry.

I didn’t understand why they were all doing it, as I watched my father’s coffin being pushed into the tomb.
All I knew was the intensity, the heaviness of it all and I didn’t know what to do except shut down.
I think that was when the dark pit began to appear. A deep void opened in my heart.

I didn’t understand anything, what was happening, or why my Dad never appeared again in my life after that moment. I thought it was like all the other times he had gone away to work as a seafarer, only coming home for a few months each year.

For those five short years, when he was present, I remember feeling safe. Protected.
I could relax into the softness of being a little girl in a man´s presence.
I was loved, spoiled, and treated like a princess.
But it never happened again. Never again.

But I didn’t break. I held myself together, so high and strong.

As the years passed, family dramas and unhealthy dynamics piled up day by day.
I was given authority too young, seen too bright too early. I became the fixer.
My presence mattered so much but not in the way a child should matter.
I was the savior I never asked to be.

THE TEMPORARY ANTIDOTE

And so, came the temporary anesthetics to fill the void:
External validation. Academic results. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Parties. Codependency.

All of it entered my life when I started spending more time with people. I loved my solitude, but through my school years I also attracted amazing people who knew how to balance studies and fun. Good grades but hangover the next days. Bright with a hint of cheekiness.

I found my worth by being a hero in someone else’s life. I overlooked the real and healthy connections with people who needed me. I craved the challenge, the chase of fixing someone, of trying to change them, to save them, just to feel good about myself.

Then came the dumping, and me playing the “tough one” in relationships. I didn’t like the attachments I formed, so I brushed them off. In return, I was dumped twice.

That was when I broke a little.

For the first time, I cried in front of my family without guilt or shame.

I tried to give love another chance, but someone else had already taken my place.

My Dad treated me like a gem before, and that gave me a sense of worth, showing me what I deserve. Thank you, Pa.
And in that moment, I chose myself. I knew my value as a woman.
So I did the only thing I could: I left.

I traveled 1,550 miles away from everyone I loved, including my family, to escape it all.
I went beyond my box, into the unknown.

THE VOID GREW STRONGER

Have you seen the movie "Fathers and Daughters?"

This scene:

THERAPIST: But you have loved.

Katie: Yeah, a long time ago once.

So you know that you can love?

I'm... There's nothing in here. There's nothing. It's like... It's an empty well. It's... just dry and barren.

Is that why you sleep with all these men?

No. So what is it you want?

I don't want anything.

THERAPIST: Well, you must want something, you continue to do it.
So how does it make you feel?

Happy? No.

No! So what?

Katie: It makes me feel... It makes me feel... something, because most of the time I feel nothing.

And these are men that you don't even like.

So what would you do if you met a man that you actually did like?

Katie: I don't know. Probably make him regret the day he laid eyes on me.

I stopped trying to save others because I was already carrying the heavy baggage of my family. I chose not to care anymore. I just wanted to feel good.

I stopped saving and started spending my young adulthood trying to fill it with external band-aids and fleeting pleasures. I played with it. I noticed my power over others who were also seeking. I used my grit and wit, along with my authenticity, to capture someone’s attention. Yet, I never please anyone to get that, I stood strong in my stance. That’s how I felt something; something exhilarating in my heart. A momentary escape valve, yes, but never healing, never filling. Just the feeling of being wanted, the validation.

I explored so much on my own. I was tough, guarded, emotionally unavailable.
Even when I attracted good people, I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t let anyone in. It felt too unsafe to even slightly open.

That same void carried me from Singapore to Copenhagen, to Oslo, and across parts of Europe. Along the way, I met many demons wearing different faces. Same voids, different appearances. After all, we are all the same, different colors, different features, but often carrying the same dark pits in our hearts. Some voids run deeper, some are shallow. Some are neglected and hastily patched, while others are tended with love and care. Some are even masked as kindness, just to fill that loneliness.

And through all of this, I played well the role of a man. Strong and so Detached.

MEETING THE MIRROR

Then came the funniest, most magical turn in my story: I decided to stop playing. And that’s when I met my mirror.

He was seven years older than me. Tall. Handsome, wise. Eyes as blue as the ocean, carrying depth within them. I sensed strong masculinity in him, but also a quiet insecurity, sadness, but strong sense of Self. In his presence, I felt safety and protection again for a long time since I shutdown. I tapped in into my softness and I was amazed by the depth of our conversations. He understood me so deeply. We connected instantly. He was so loving and open, I was just receiving, closed and frozen. The turning tables came.

Our very first conversation went like this:

Him: “Do you think there’s another universe existing outside of Earth?”

We were staring at the sky, in the middle of a small island in Copenhagen.

Little did I know, it was time to face that grief and finally allow myself to open my heart. It took over two years of push-and-pull dynamics in a long-distance relationship me chasing, then numbing, over and over again, until I heard the hardcore “NO” I had been expecting all along.

But even then, I never truly let go of control. I kept my barriers strong, holding him at arm’s length, never allowing myself to fully explore the depths of my heart and troubles.
The door was only slightly open, just enough to glimpse how beautiful it could feel to love again.

From that moment, I chose to keep opening my heart, but this time with caution. I began to see how many people needed and longed to be loved. The more I fill my own void, the more I see clearly those who plays the role I used to be in before. So I decided: to give love from an open heart, but with limits. Not to fix. Not to save. Just to give.

So, I held myself back. I observed. I set boundaries. I stopped rushing. And for the first time, I was the one choosing, not out of need to fill.

It was the first time for me to experience love rooted in freedom and depth.
So spacious and wide. The trust and reverence.
The feeling of being chosen no matter the distance. The freedom in love without possession.
The respect and acceptance of all of you.

Grief taught me strength.
Love taught me surrender.

Together, they showed me that opening my heart again was not betrayal of the past, but an honoring of it.
Because to grieve deeply is to have loved deeply. And to love again is proof that the heart knows how to heal. I trusted love again.

GOING THROUGH IT

So now, the lesson revealed itself: grief had been there the whole time.
Patient. Silent. Waiting for me to stop running. Love didn’t erase her, it held her hand. It showed me that grief is not something to conquer, but a doorway to deeper connection.
A reminder that even in loss, my heart can stay open.

Imagine this: you’re sitting alone in a small room, waking in the middle of the night with no one around. All you have is yourself, the darkness, and the grief inside you.
No one can hear you. No one can see you.

It feels so intense, so consuming, that you finally choose to surrender, tapping into it, letting it move through you. You feel the void. You cry like a baby curled up in bed, wailing, letting the grief and pain pour out. You cry until you almost choke yourself out of breath, you shout coming from that void.

Sobbing. Shaking. Emptying the bottomless pit.
You finally chose to fall into the darkness without the need to know what´s going to happen.
You just let it pass through you,

You didnt had a choice but brave up.
Yes, it’s painful.
But it’s also freeing.

You cried your heart out. You were alone, yet fully present.
You chose to sit with grief, and on the other side of it, you felt lighter. Freer. You woke up holding yourself with so much love and presence.
You will start to co-exist with it, you will begin to accept your darkness and never fear it again when it resurfaces.

Okay! Maybe I sound too dramatic. But I write this as a reminder: in the presence of grief, we discover the very depths from which we can rise in love.

WHAT GRIEF TEACHES US?

Grief sounds simple, but it’s layered, complex, and deeply human. It is love with nowhere to land. A response to loss. A void that nothing external can ever fill. The ache of love with nowhere to go. A cycle, sometimes quiet and numb, other times raw and overwhelming. It knocks you over when you least expect it.

Grief is the teacher we never asked for, yet it keeps showing us how deep our love runs, and how much space our heart can actually hold. But first, we must own it. We must acknowledge the void, sit with it, and embrace it with self-love and presence.

We’ve been taught to fear the darkness. But here’s the truth:
within the darkness lies the brightest light imaginable, and it exists within you.

All you need to do is freefall into it, and feel the depth of your being.

Be free. And in your own journey with grief, remember, you’re not alone in it. How has grief shaped your heart? What has it revealed for you? Share your story with me via social networks or reach out directly. We rise when we share.