Opening Reflection
The house filled with casseroles, flowers, and whispers. Some people wanted silence. Others wanted tears. I found myself walking around, smiling politely, performing grief the way they seemed to expect it. People would squeeze my shoulder and tell me she is in a better place, there is no more pain, I was “so strong.” Inside, I was neither strong nor composed. I was just… absent. I was ticking boxes for other people’s comfort.
One day, I caught my own reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw someone I didn’t recognize. I was nowhere to be found in my own mourning. The pain was still there — deep, aching, raw — but I was wrapped in someone else’s idea of how I should carry it.
That was the day I stopped trying to mourn their way — and started finding my own path through the pain.
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Introduction: The Pressure to Mourn Correctly
Grief comes with unspoken rules.
Cry at the right times.
Be brave when others are watching.
Don’t fall apart too much.
Or — on the opposite end — fall apart dramatically, or people might think you didn’t love them enough.
From family, friends, culture, religion, even social media, there’s a constant hum of expectation: This is how you should grieve.
Some of these expectations are subtle. A glance when you laugh at a joke too soon after the funeral. A relative hinting that you “need to get out more.” A friend suggesting that “closure” is just one retreat or one talk away. Others are blunt — “You should be over it by now” or “They wouldn’t want you to be sad.”or “go live your life’’
The truth?
Those rules are rarely about you. They are about them — their comfort zones, their beliefs, their coping mechanisms. And if you try to shape yourself to fit those rules, you risk losing your voice, your space, and your truth.
Mourning isn’t a stage performance. It’s not an audition for the role of “model mourner.” It’s a sacred, personal journey that only you can walk.
You do not owe anyone an explanation for the way you grieve.
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1. The Grief Masks We Wear
We learn quickly to put on the “right” face for the situation.
• In public, we smile politely and say we’re “doing okay.”
• At memorials, we let tears slide down our cheeks at the appropriate moments.
• Online, we post heartfelt tributes with photos, quotes, and gentle words.
• Behind closed doors, we may rage into a pillow, crumble into exhaustion, or sit staring into space for hours.
These masks can serve a purpose — for a while. They can protect us from unwanted questions or give us the space to survive social obligations. They can help us keep our jobs, parent our children, or get through a family gathering without collapsing.
But masks have a cost.
When the mask becomes permanent, when it becomes your default, you start to lose touch with what you actually need. You forget how to cry when you need to cry. You forget how to speak the truth about how lonely you are. You start living for the approval of others rather than the comfort of yourself.
You don’t have to wear the mask forever. You’re allowed to take it off. You’re allowed to say:
“This is where I really am today — whether it’s smiling, sobbing, silent, or laughing.”
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2. Their Grief Isn’t Your Template
Everyone grieves differently.
Some throw themselves into work, keeping busy every hour of the day.
Others retreat into nature, taking long walks and speaking to no one.
Some want to process every memory in conversation.
Others need quiet.
Some keep their loved one’s room exactly the same — toothbrush still by the sink, clothes still in the wardrobe.
Others find comfort in packing things away, creating new spaces to live in.
If you try to grieve the way someone else grieves, it’s like wearing shoes that don’t fit — they might look fine from the outside, but the blisters will eventually bleed.
You might hear:
• “You should come to the support group.”
• “You need to keep busy.”
• “It’s time to clear their things.”
• “It’s time to stop talking about them so much.”
They may mean well. But meaning well is not the same as knowing what’s right for you.
You have the right to say, “That’s not how I need to grieve.”
And you have the right to say it without feeling guilty.
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3. Cultural and Family Expectations
In some families, grief is silent and stoic. You keep a stiff upper lip and carry on.
In others, it’s loud and open — tears, wailing, and long nights of storytelling.
Some cultures have rituals that dictate every step — mourning clothes for a set period, specific prayers, prescribed meals. Others avoid public mourning altogether.
If your personal mourning style doesn’t align with your family’s traditions, the clash can feel isolating. You might be told you’re “too emotional” or “not emotional enough.” You might be excluded from certain moments because you don’t participate “the right way.”
Here’s the thing: rituals should serve re modelling your life, not suppress it.
Tradition can be grounding — a way to connect with history and community. But it becomes harmful when it erases individuality.
You can respect tradition without losing yourself in it.
You can wear black — and also go for a hike the next morning because it clears your head.
You can attend the memorial service — and still write a private letter to your loved one that you never share.
You can light candles — and also cry alone in your car where no one can hear you.
Your grief, your language.
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4. The Risk of Losing Yourself
When grief is shaped entirely by others, you risk becoming a shadow of yourself.
You might stop doing the things that once brought you joy because someone says it’s “too soon.”
You might stop mentioning their name because others avoid eye contact when you do.
You might silence your own memories because “people don’t want to hear it anymore.”
But grieving someone you loved means remembering them — in your own way. It means telling the stories, looking at the photos, listening to the music that mattered to both of you.
It also means continuing the parts of you that make you feel alive. Losing them is already devastating. Don’t lose yourself too.
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5. Reclaiming Your Grief
Reclaiming your grief is about giving yourself permission to mourn in the way your heart understands.
• If you need to journal every day for a year, do it.
• If you want to go hiking in silence, go.
• If you want to paint, sing, pray, or plant flowers, those are valid forms of mourning.
• If you need to scream into the wind, do that too.
Reclaim your mornings.
Reclaim your silence.
Reclaim your tears — and your laughter.
You are not betraying your loved one by smiling again.
And you are not “stuck” because you still ache long after others have moved on.
Choose who you share your mourning with.
Protect your space from people who need you to “be okay” to make themselves comfortable.
Surround yourself with people who can sit with your truth without trying to edit it.
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6. The Comfort of Ritual — Without the Cage
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is that ritual can be a comfort in mourning — but it can also become a cage if it’s someone else’s ritual, not your own.
Rituals are powerful because they give structure to something chaotic. Lighting a candle each evening, visiting a gravesite on anniversaries, playing a certain song on their birthday — these can anchor you in love and memory.
But if the ritual is imposed, it loses its healing power.
If you attend a yearly ceremony because “that’s what we do” but it leaves you feeling empty or resentful, it’s worth asking: Whose grief am I carrying here?
Create your own mourning rituals:
• Write them a letter every month.
• Carry a keepsake when you travel.
• Cook their favorite meal on a random Tuesday.
• Plant a tree and watch it grow.
The ritual should serve your love and your mourning — not just the expectations of others.
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7. When Independence Feels Like Rebellion
Sometimes, doing grief your own way will be seen as rebellion.
If you skip a memorial gathering to take a solo walk, someone will raise an eyebrow.
If you laugh and dance at a wedding weeks after your loss, someone will whisper.
If you keep their belongings years later, someone will wonder if you’re “still not over it.”
It’s important to understand that you are not rebelling against love — you are protecting your own way of carrying it.
Early in mourning, you may choose to conform more than you’d like, simply because you need the safety net of community. That’s okay. But as time goes on, give yourself permission to step into independence — without apology.
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Conclusion: Grieve Like You Live — Authentically
This chapter isn’t about rejecting family, culture, or support systems. It’s about holding onto your own voice in the midst of them.
Don’t lose your voice in a crowd of whispers.
Don’t lose your truth in the face of well-meaning scripts.
Don’t hand your grief to someone else to rewrite.
Grief is not a script.
It is a song your heart writes in real time.
Let it be messy.
Let it be beautiful.
Let it be strange, wild, sacred — and most of all, let it be yours.
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Reflection & Action Steps
1. Identify External Pressures:
What parts of your mourning feel like they belong to others, not you?
2. Name the Pressure Points:
Have you felt pressure to behave a certain way in your grief? Why?
3. List Your Natural Grief Language:
If there were no expectations, how would you express your grief? List three ways.
4. Make One Change:
What one change could you make today to reclaim your own mourning voice?
5. Choose Your Witnesses:
Who are the people you trust to witness your real grief without judgment? Reach out to one of them.
Because of Ange
Ange always said each person is unique. Everyone has the right to be their own person. Ange fought hard to be Ange she was always making sure that she never lost herself. She was always just Ange in everything she did. So I will mourn her my way. I will not let others tell me how.
