Yesterday, my son—who also serves as my office manager—answered a phone call from a grandmother whose young grandson had recently died and she needed support in her grief. One of the things I admire most about him is his ability to connect with people. From the very first conversation, he has a remarkable gift for helping callers feel heard, understood, and safe enough to take the next step. Normally calls don’t impact him. But this call stayed with him. Later, he told me the

Occupational culture, identity, and the grief of losing the uniform There he was—a young police officer who desperately wanted to return to duty. He had survived the shooting. What he had not survived unchanged were the years of calls that came before it. Call after call. Trauma after trauma. Experiences that had accumulated until his nervous system could no longer carry what was being asked of it. He committed himself to therapy. He worked hard. He wanted to heal. And he wan

Grief is cultural. So is occupational grief. When we talk about multiculturalism in counselor education, we often think about race, ethnicity, religion, nationality, and geographic community. We should. But our understanding of culture cannot stop there. Military members and first responders belong to distinct occupational cultures, and within those cultures are subcultures shaped by branch, department, region, role, and generations of tradition. They have their own language.

Anticipatory grief is when we grieve long before goodbye.

Not all grief begins with tragedy. Sometimes grief arrives wrapped in celebration. A child leaves for college. You retire after a lifetime of work. You accept a new job you’ve worked hard to earn. You get married. You move into your dream home. You welcome a new baby. These are joyful milestones. They are also endings. Retirement means saying goodbye to a career that shaped your identity. Your child leaving for college is exciting… but it also marks the end of an era. The li

Trauma is not measured by the event alone. It is measured by the nervous system’s response to the event. One of the most important things we can understand about psychological trauma is that two people can experience the exact same event and leave with very different outcomes. Why? Because every nervous system is unique. Our genetics, childhood experiences, attachment relationships, previous exposures to adversity, available social support, resilience, and countless other fac

Grief doesn’t end. Yesterday, I had two different clients sit across from me both asking a version of the same question: “Is this normal?” One, a father of a 40 year old young woman, just eight months after the sudden and unexpected death their only child. She was “full of life”, “a doctor”, “their reason for everything” “One moment she was living and the next, gone” The other, a daughter who was the sole care provider for her mother for twelve years. She watched dementia ste

The club no one wants to join.

Most people expect grief to feel like sadness. They imagine tears, longing, and missing someone they love. While sadness is certainly part of grief, it is rarely the whole story. In my work as a grief therapist, I often hear people say: "I don't know what's wrong with me." "One minute I'm crying and the next I'm angry." "I feel relieved they're no longer suffering, and then I feel guilty for feeling relieved." "I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore." "What is wrong with

Sometimes grief doesn’t show up in the big moments. It shows up in the small ones. The song on the radio. The smell that takes you back. Grocery shopping. Folding laundry. Reaching for your phone… then remembering. These are called secondary losses. They are the quiet reminders of what life used to look like. They don’t seem significant to others, but they can feel deafening to the one carrying them. If you find yourself crying over something small, it’s not small at all. It’

Grief fog is real. I often use the term grief fog instead of grief brain. It captures the lived experience more accurately — the heaviness, the haze, the sense that your mind just isn’t working the way it used to. Grief fog happens when both the nervous system and the brain are overwhelmed by loss. The body reacts in ways that closely resemble trauma responses, making everyday functioning feel unexpectedly difficult. You might notice: • Difficulty concentrating • Trouble focu

Growing in awareness of mental health in your corporate organization matters! Mental health challenges directly impact employee absenteeism, performance, co-worker relationships, project management, healthcare expenses, and organizational profitability. What does mental health matter at work? Without organizational awareness and understanding of the implications of depression, anxiety, compassion fatigue, burnout, and vicarious trauma and how to be sensitive to these issues a

Grief never ends. It changes. Stop trying to insist that your loved ones should “be over it by now”. Or that they should stop talking about their loved one who has died. The stories bring comfort to the one who is grieving. The memories make them feel close to the one who has died. If talking about their loved one makes you uncomfortable, that’s on you. Let those who have loved and experienced loss grieve without a timeline. It would take you more than a month, or even a year

Grief is unique to every person. Grief has no time limit and no right or wrong way about it. Grief is raw, unpredictable, and awkward. Grief shows up uninvited and overstays its welcome. It crashes special occasions, holidays, ordinary days, and every day in between. Grief is sacred. Sitting with someone in their grief, holding space for them when they feel empty and broken, is important work. It's about listening, caring, hugging, and crying without ever needing to say a wor

Grief is an uninvited guest at the dinner table. One minute, everything was normal. Life was happening as it always did. Then came the phone call. The moment that the entire world came crashing down and the person on the other end of the call told me you had died. How is that even possible? I was certain a mistake had been made. There is no way my Uncle, my protector, my big brother of sorts, my stand-in dad, my cheerleader, my encourager...my Steve, could be gone. I was wait