Grief Didn't Break Me- It Grew Me!

NO ONE warns you that grief can feel like breathing underwater.

Some days you’re steady. Functioning. Even smiling.

And then—without warning—you’re reaching for a voice you can no longer call…

Or replaying a moment you wish you could press “pause” on just one more time.

If that’s you, sis, come closer. You don’t have to be strong for me.

Let’s sit in this together.

The Truth I Had to Learn:

Grief isn’t just for funerals.

Yes, there’s the grief of death.

Like when I lost my brother and best friend — the one who doubled as a father figure when life demanded that role be filled.

Or when my bonus father, PawPaw, transitioned recently, and the title “He’s gone” didn’t feel real, even when I heard it out loud.

But there’s also grief for those still living.

People who didn’t die, but changed.

Conversations that used to flow but now feel foreign.

Those quiet “I miss who we used to be” moments.

And then there’s the grief we rarely talk about…

The grief of dreams delayed.

The business plans that stayed in notebooks.

The book we said we’d write “one day.”

The version of ourselves we never gave a chance to live.

What God Whispered to Me in My Grief

People love to tell us, “Be strong.”

But God never asked me to be stronger than I feel.

He said:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4

Notice He didn’t say, “Blessed are those who hide it… distract from it… or pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

He blessed the mourners.

Which means feeling it is not failure.

Even Jesus wept (John 11:35). Not because He didn’t believe in resurrection — but because love feels the absence of what it once held.

So Here’s What I Know Now:

Grief didn’t break me.

It softened me.

It humbled me.

It made me slower to judge and quicker to hug.

It made me realize that tears are not a sign of weakness — they are evidence that love once lived here.

And If You’re Grieving Too…

Let me speak life into you:

You are not behind because you’re still healing.

You are not weak because your strength looks different today.

You are not faithless because you cry.

You are human.

You are loving.

You are becoming.

🌿 Reflection Moment

Take a moment. Breathe deeply.

Now ask yourself:

1. Who or what am I still grieving that I haven’t given myself permission to name out loud?

2. What do I miss most about what (or who) was lost — and how can I honor it instead of suppressing it?

3. What fruit has grief grown in me? (Compassion? Strength? Patience? Faith?)

Write it down. Whisper it to God. Let it be seen — if only between you and Him.

Closing Prayer

Father,

You are near to the brokenhearted and You bind up every wound.

Today, I place every silent ache in Your hands — the loud grief and the quiet kind.

Teach me not to rush through pain, but to walk through it with You.

When the memories come, let them carry comfort instead of confusion.

When the tears fall, let them water my growth instead of drowning my hope.

Turn my mourning into meaning.

Turn my sorrow into strength.

Let my story be proof that grief didn’t break me — it grew me.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.