*By Mo Iluebbey*
Grief has a language of its own. It whispers in the quiet hours when no one is watching. It hides in the questions you never ask out loud: Will this ache ever end? Will I ever feel whole again?
The world often expects you to “move on,” but healing is not about moving on it’s about moving with. Moving with the memories, the love, the scars, the pieces of your story that will always matter. You don’t erase grief; you learn to carry it differently.
*The Myth of Time*
They say time heals all wounds, but the truth is time only creates space. What you do with that space is what brings healing. Time alone does not mend a shattered heart. It is what you fill the hours with — the prayers whispered in the dark, the walks you take even when you don’t want to, the small moments of kindness you offer yourself. Healing is not found in the clock, but in the choices you make while the clock keeps ticking.
*That Weight You Carry*
Grief feels heavy because love was heavy. The depth of your sorrow is proof that you loved deeply and were loved in return. Don’t despise the weight; it is evidence that your life has held meaning, connection, and beauty. Carry it slowly, gently, and know that over time, your muscles — both heart and spirit — will grow stronger beneath the weight.
*Finding God in the Cracks*
Pain has a way of making you believe God has turned His face away. But sometimes, it is in the very cracks of your heart that His light sneaks in. The scriptures remind us that _He is “close to the brokenhearted”_ (Psalm 34:18). Maybe you don’t feel Him in the roar of Sunday worship or the strength of your prayers. Maybe He is in the quiet — the breath you didn’t think you’d take, the tear you let fall, the unexpected comfort of a friend’s message. God hides His presence in ordinary mercies.
*Permission to Feel*
You are allowed to laugh without guilt. You are allowed to cry without shame. You are allowed to rest when the world demands productivity. You are allowed to carry both joy and sorrow in the same hands. Healing is not linear; it is a mosaic of moments, some days breaking, some days building. Allow yourself the full spectrum of humanity.
*Write to Your Future Self*
To the you who will one day read this when the heaviness is not quite as suffocating:
You will smile again. You will discover joy that doesn’t feel like betrayal. You will carry memories not as burdens, but as blessings. You will live in a way that honors the one you lost — by becoming a fuller, softer, truer version of yourself.
*A Gentle Benediction*
May you learn to see grief not as an enemy, but as a companion — a reminder of love that was real.
May you find courage in small steps and comfort in stillness.
May your wounds turn into wells of compassion for others who walk this road.
And may you, in time, hear the music of your soul return, softly at first, then louder — until it fills the room again.
You are not just surviving.
You are sowing seeds of tomorrow in the soil of today’s pain.
One day, those seeds will bloom into something new — not the life you had, but a life still worth living.
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