Grief is a shadow we try to outrun. It’s the unwanted companion that lingers in the silence, creeping into moments when we think we’ve escaped its grip. If you’ve ever experienced profound loss, you know the peculiar fear that comes with facing it. It feels like standing before a heavy, unmarked door. You don’t want to open it. Everything inside you screams to turn away, to pretend it doesn’t exist, to convince yourself that you can heal without going through.
But the truth is, grief is not a door we can sidestep. It’s a passage we must walk through if we ever hope to reach the other side.
The fear of stepping into grief often comes from the uncertainty of what lies beyond that door. Will the pain overwhelm me? Will I find myself consumed by it, unable to return? These are valid fears, and they’re why so many of us avoid confronting grief. We bury ourselves in work, in distractions, in anything that keeps us from standing still long enough to acknowledge the weight pressing on our hearts.
I know this fear intimately. I have stood before that door, trembling. The losses I’ve carried—lives entrusted to my leadership—have carved scars deep into my soul. I’ve tried to hold it together, to keep moving, to remain strong. But grief has a way of waiting, patient and persistent. No matter how far or fast we run, it waits for us to turn back and face it.
Opening that door is terrifying because it feels like relinquishing control. It’s the ultimate surrender, a free fall into the unknown. And yet, what lies beyond is not just pain. It’s also healing. It’s release. It’s the quiet understanding that we don’t have to carry everything alone.
Grief teaches us this: there is no healing without feeling. The emotions we fear most—anger, sadness, guilt, even despair—are not enemies but guides. They point us toward what we value, what we’ve lost, and what we still carry. Each tear shed, each moment of raw vulnerability, is a step forward.
This journey is not linear, nor is it easy. Some days the door feels impossibly heavy, and the thought of pushing through is exhausting. But even small steps matter. A quiet moment of reflection, an honest conversation, or simply allowing yourself to feel without judgment—all of these are acts of courage.
Grief transforms us, but it doesn’t have to define us. On the other side of that door is not a resolution but a new way of being. We learn to carry the memory of what we’ve lost with tenderness rather than resistance. We discover strength in our vulnerability and find that joy and sorrow can coexist.
If you’re standing before the door right now, afraid to open it, know that you’re not alone. Many of us have stood there, too, and we’re here to tell you that the fear doesn’t last forever. The pain doesn’t last forever. What remains is the profound resilience you discover within yourself, the ability to keep going, to keep living, to keep loving.
You are braver than you think. The door you fear is the same door that leads to healing. And though you may feel like you’re walking through it alone, there’s a community of us here, waiting to welcome you on the other side.
Photo by Kyle Bushnell
