Before I recorded this, I listened to, Salt, then Sour, then Sweet, which plays at the end of Come See Me in the Good Light.

It surprised me when I slid down the wall, feeling the weight of my body too heavy to stand upright. Squatted down, my hand over my heart, I could feel the ache, the beauty, the memory, the love… all of it living in me at once.

Like life, this episode isn’t linear. It weaves and connects through pain, shame, old church doctrines and new kinds of dignity.

I used to despise my weakness, especially the parts of me that didn’t feel smart enough, composed enough, good enough. Becoming a ‘christian’ helped me cover grief with Scripture and performance, to wrap pain in Bible verses and shoulds.

Now, I believe that what love does is notice.

Maybe grief is LOVE, noticing.

Today, I share old stories in new ways – The divorce that felt like failure. My naked body in the mirror, never again to be touched by a lover. Shame when I accidentally posted something too vulnerable and felt stupid and exposed.

How I softened to the despised and rejected in me.

In a world that prizes the hero, the strong, the conqueror, it is so good to feel grief that holds, instead of hides.

Healing is not born on the battlefield, but in the mirror, the backyard, the breath, the body that won’t be ignored anymore.

So, if you feel like you’re too much, or not enough… if you’re tired of trying to outgrow your wounds… if something in you is slowly being smoothed like river stone by years of holding and noticing and being held…

Come listen.

P.S. A few things that held me as I recorded this:

Salt, Then Sour, Then Sweet ~ song.

Come See Me in the Good Light ~ the new doc on Andrea & Megan’s love story.

The Beast in Me on Netflix ~ a living example of that Gospel of Thomas line: “If you do not bring forth what is within you, what is within you will destroy you.”

Wherever you are, however you are, please know that all of it is welcome here.

I just watched The Whole Story with Anderson Cooper and whoa. So timely because it put faces and history to my longing for communal grieving for our collective losses.

I wept, laughed, cried, and its lessons are continuing to grow in me. Please watch it – season 3, the episode on the Simril(l) family, one branch spelled with a single L, the other with two. One side of the family Black, one white.

It started with a man tracing his family roots and discovering that his ancestors enslaved people who share his last name. What unfolds is the story of two families, bound by blood and history, who choose to face the truth together. My heart is contracting like it’s ready to give birth as I remember.

They meet across the lines of race, pain, and time. They gathered side by side in the same church their ancestors once shared – then separated with blacks in the balcony, and slave owners below. Now integrated as family.

They walk through cemeteries, naming what was hidden. Instead of sugarcoating, they name the pain, the privilege, and feel the loss. And ten years in they keep showing up.

This is a picture of communal grief. Losses met with courage and love, transform us. Naming what has been silenced doesn’t divide us. Instead, it roots us deeper in truth, in belonging, in love big enough to hold it all.

I wonder, how many of us are living with inherited silence? Stories of harm, separation, survival. And what happens the moment we tell the truth?

Since I believe we are one, I’m also reflecting on:

What stories in our family lineage are ready to be named?

Where has silence kept us separated from ourselves, others, our communities, our world?

What would it mean to approach our history with love instead of shame?

If you can, watch the Whole Story episode on the Simril(l) family and listen to this week’s Grief Heals conversation. We belong to one another, and the truth, even when it hurts. What now constricts us may not permanently constrain us. What if it has the power to set us free?

Hi love,

The day I recorded this, I got yanked off my feet when Bella ran after another dog. The retractable leash extended, I flew in the air and landed flat in the street with knees, palms, elbows bleeding.

I’d just loaded Garth Brooks' “The Dance”, so while I’m sobbing, this song played in the background. Fitting, since this day would’ve been my wedding anniversary. Chip died five months before we were set to be married.

But that’s not the whole story.

The fall came while I was out looking for Red, a red husky puppy who wandered into our lives with sores on his body and heartworms in his blood,

who chose us, brought comfort, gentleness, and the ache of impermanence. I’d told him just the day before, “Please don’t leave me.” And when he looked up at me I heard, “I’ll always be with you.” And I cried.

This episode of Grief Heals isn't one thing. It’s a spiral. A dog. A song. A fall. A memory. A graduation inside a prison where a man met his baby girl for the first time. And somehow all of it

Grief, love, surrender, uncertainty, presence

Come together.

I didn’t feel Chip when I visited the cemetery. I felt him more inside the prison when a man reached out to tell me about the loss of his wife. We held hands. We cried. And grief moved through us like a friend who doesn’t ask for answers.

I talk about journaling, about dialoguing with grief, about the kind of forgiveness and love that happens after death, and even the complexity of things we find out too late. The things that never got said, but can get said now. Conversations we didn’t have with them, but still get to complete.

If you’re someone who’s navigating love in all its layers, judged yourself for feeling something, or not feeling something, apologized for your tears…

May this episode feel like sitting together for a while with no pressure to be anything other than what you are today.

Please reply with any memories, questions, or tenderness that opens for you because we belong to each other.

P.S. Red came back. He was out wandering free, but he chose to come home.

xoxo