I thought I was healed...

and how grief can show its face quite randomly.

This week, I attended a family celebration. Everything seemed fine until something—I don’t even know what—triggered a wave of emotions so strong that I broke down in tears right there at the event.

I thought I had come so far in my healing journey, but this moment reminded me that healing is never linear.

You never know when grief will resurface. A random event, a familiar setting, an unexpected memory—and suddenly, you’re feeling emotions you thought had settled years ago.

I’ve been to plenty of similar celebrations recently, but this one cracked me open. And if you ask me why, I don’t have one specific answer. Maybe it was the setting. Maybe it was a culmination of everything—seeing a series of events unfold, the subconscious memories of that particular date, the body remembering before the mind could, the meditations I am currently doing during my yoga sessions, the buried emotions, or simply my hormones adding their two cents.

Everyone around me was just as surprised as I was, wondering what had happened.

That moment made me realize something: we, as a society, struggle to talk about grief. We don’t have a shared language for sadness, loss, or those emotions we try to tuck away. And even after reading so much about it, I still find it difficult to support someone in grief.

And the safest response society has found? "Time will heal."

But does it really? I don’t think so. Time doesn’t heal. Life just moves forward, and new experiences fill the space—but the grief itself? It lingers. It changes form, but it doesn’t truly disappear.

I asked myself, If I were to support someone in that moment, what would I do?

Not with words. Not with forced optimism. Just being there.

🫱 Holding their hand—firmly.
🤗 Hugging them tightly, letting them cry, without offering a solution.
👀 Looking into their eyes, so they know they are seen.
🚶‍♂️ Taking a walk together, or simply driving around in silence.
☕ Making them something warm to drink.
😴 Helping them get some rest, if possible.

These moments? They feel unbearable. But they also remind me that everything flows. Every feeling is fleeting.

And strangely, there’s a sunny side to this melancholy. It always pushes me inward, fuels my creativity, and makes me write more, sketch more, and express more.

And it leaves me wondering: Can I develop a language for grief?

Take a Little Pause 🌼

What would your language for grief look like? Or, in other words, what would you like someone to do for you to help you move through grief?

If you feel like sharing, reply here or drop a note in the chat! 😊

Nuggets for Your Soul💫

Leaving this space open for you this week. 💛

Is there a quote, thought, or little moment that brought you comfort recently? Share in the comments —I’d love to hear what’s been soothing your soul. 😊✨

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My Moment of Pause/Calm🌿

✍️ Reusing one-sided paper to scribble and jot down thoughts.

What have you heard, seen, or done this week that brought you a moment of calm? I’d love to hear! 💛

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Now?

Sharing what I’m watching, reading, and learning!

📺 Slowly watching: Midnight Diner on Netflix (taking it slow—this could take a while 😂).
📖 Happily reading: Mastery by Robert Greene. (More book recs? Check my list!)
🎨 Doing: 14-Day Yoga Intermediate course by Satvic Movement

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PS: If this newsletter brought you a moment of calm or a spark of inspiration, feel free to share it with a friend! You can also tap the ❤️ button so others can discover it on Substack. No pressure—just love and good vibes. 💛

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Take care! 💛
Rachna