The Lovestruck Diaries

Offerings from a long-time griever

It’s been almost 20 years since my mom’s murder, which still feels impossible to say out loud sometimes. Grief has changed faces so many times over the years. At first, I ignored it completely. Then I fought it kicking and screaming because I didn’t want this to be my story. Eventually, I got to a place where I could admit that grief wasn’t something I was going to “get over.” It was something I was going to carry. Something I would learn to live beside.

Some seasons are still harder than others.

Lately, grief has been showing up in quieter ways. In transitions. In building a home for myself. In moments where I wish I could call my mom and tell her something small and ordinary. Sometimes it hits me when I’m alone in my apartment at night, or after a hard day, or when I realize how badly I still want a sense of safety and family in this world.

One of the ways I deal with grief right now is by making space for it on purpose.

Usually this happens late at night or early in the morning, before the world gets too loud. I’ve learned that if I don’t allow myself to feel it intentionally, it will come out sideways later. Anxiety. Exhaustion. Crying over something tiny that was never actually tiny.

So when I feel that ache building in my chest, I stop fighting it.

I put on songs that I know will crack me open a little. I let myself cry. I let myself miss her. I let myself feel angry about what was taken from me. Sometimes I’ll replay the same song over and over until I can feel the pressure releasing. There’s something healing about letting grief move through you instead of trying to outrun it.

And then eventually, the wave passes. Not forever, but enough for the moment.

The other thing that’s helping me lately is writing.

Not writing for Instagram or work or trying to sound polished. Just honest writing. Messy writing. Morning pages in a journal with no rules attached to them.

I think part of healing for me has been learning that not every feeling needs to be turned into something beautiful or productive. Some feelings just need somewhere safe to land.

So I write everything down. The ugly parts. The unfair parts. The loneliness. The fear. The anger. The memories I’m scared of losing. The things I wish I could say to her now. Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn’t. But getting it out of my body and onto paper helps more than I can explain.

Grief still changes shape. I think it always will.

But these days, I’m trying less to “fix” it and more to care for myself through it.

Bonus: two songs that still absolutely destroy me emotionally:

• Birds of a Feather — Billie Eilish
• Not — Big Thief

Maybe I’ll finally make that grief playlist for next month’s newsletter.

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