There Is No Shortcut Through Grief (And That’s Not a Bad Thing)

In a world of “quick fixes,” AI automation, and “done-for-you” solutions, I need to say something out loud:

There is no shortcut through grief. 

There is no bypass button on heartbreak.

And I’m not going to sugarcoat it—this summer has sucked.

It started with our beloved service animal and fur family member, Mullen, unexpectedly crossing the rainbow bridge. This was after he survived a major cancer surgery and gave us all hope. His loss hit like a freight train.

Then in July, someone who was part of our chosen family—a soul whose presence was grounding, constant, and deeply loved—took an unexpected turn and transitioned far too soon.

In between those losses were moments I don’t have words for. 

Caregiving that drained me. 

Decisions that felt impossible. 

Stress I didn’t even realize I was carrying until my body said, “Enough.”

And I know I’m not alone. 

Because almost everyone I know is quietly (or not-so-quietly) whispering: 

“What the hell is happening right now?”

From celebrity scandals to political absurdities to the quiet tension in our own homes and inboxes, it seems like every scroll, every conversation, adds one more thing to an already-too-big pile.

So what do we do with all of this?

We don’t turn to AI. Not for this. 

And we definitely don’t pretend it’s not happening.

Because grief isn’t something to manage – it’s something to meet. 

It’s not a bug in the system. 

It’s not a flaw in your motivation. 

It’s an invitation to slow down and feel the truth of your humanity.

And if we want to actually grow from the mess – not just survive it – we have to begin by remembering three things:

1. You are not what is happening to you. Your pain is real, but it is not your identity. You are not defined by what you’ve lost, missed, or had to endure.

2. You are not what the world demands from you. Hustle culture, deadlines, and expectations do not get to decide your worth. You are not a machine.

3. You are what you choose to honor inside of yourself—day by day, truth by truth. The choices you make to care for your spirit, your energy, and your healing are what shape your resilience.

No one can take anything from you that you’re not willing to give away.

Not pressure. Not platitudes. Not forced positivity.

But here’s the kicker: the world we live in doesn’t really honor any of those things. 

And that’s okay. Because you don’t have to heal according to a system that never taught you how.

You can create your own rhythm. You can make room for yourself.

“I can’t be the person you need right now. I’m taking this week to heal and process so I can come back stronger and more grounded.”

Time doesn’t mean checking out forever. It means giving yourself permission to be human before you force yourself to be functional.

“I know these other things need me, but I cannot give them my full focus until I give that attention to myself first. I’ll return on _____ ready to reengage.”

When your inner world is in chaos, no amount of outer-world productivity can make up for what’s being ignored.

“I understand everything feels like a top priority. But right now, I’m making myself the priority. I need space for ___________, and then I’ll return and give this the energy it deserves.”

Grief needs space to breathe, cry, scream, vent, rest, receive. Give yourself that. You’re not abandoning others—you’re rescuing yourself.

Society isn’t built for grief. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t be.

You don’t need to disappear. 

You don’t need to push through. 

You just need to honor what’s real and move with it—truthfully, courageously, and on your own terms.

Because when grief is given space, it doesn’t just take. 

It shows you who you are underneath the roles, the routines, and the noise. 

And it reveals a version of you that is deeper, wiser, and more honest than ever before.

If you need support, ask. 

If you need rest, take it. 

If you need to not be okay, be not okay.

And if you need a reminder that your healing matters, come back to this line:

You are not what hurts. You are what rises.