Grief Is a Kind of Love

 

They say time heals all wounds—but what they often forget to say is that some wounds don’t want to be healed. Not because we enjoy pain, but because that pain is proof that something—or someone—once mattered. Deeply. That’s what grief is. It’s not weakness, and it’s certainly not self-pity. Grief, in its truest form, is simply love that has lost its way.

When someone tells you to "get over it," they’re usually not thinking about you—they're thinking about their discomfort. Grief makes people uneasy. It’s raw. It’s unpredictable. It can’t be tidied up or put on a schedule. And yet, when you're grieving, the world seems to expect you to smile through it, to carry on as though your heart isn't still bleeding.

But here's the truth: Grieving is coping. It’s survival in motion. It’s the soul’s way of processing love that can no longer be returned in the way it once was. Whether it’s the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, or the distance of someone who once felt close—grief is the echo of love trying to find somewhere to go.

No one should ever be told to stop loving. And yet, that’s exactly what people imply when they say, “You should move on.” What they’re really saying is, “Your pain makes me uncomfortable—can you hide it?”

But love isn’t something that disappears on command. You can’t just flick a switch and un-feel everything you once felt. Grief is love in its most painful form—a form that lingers in empty spaces, old messages, places you once laughed together, or the sudden silence where their voice used to be.

To grieve is to honor. It is not weakness. It is not wallowing. And it most certainly is not a sign that you're not healing. Your grief is your way of respecting the connection that shaped you, of holding space for what still matters even if it's no longer here.

If you’ve ever been made to feel guilty for how long it’s taking you to "get over" someone, let this be your reminder: you don’t owe anyone a timeline. There is no deadline on love. There is no expiry date on loss.

Let your grief be loud or quiet. Let it come in waves or hit like a storm. Let it stretch over months or years. Just don’t apologize for it.

Because grief is not the absence of strength.

It’s the presence of love.

And the world could use a little more of that.

Closing Thought:

If someone ever makes you feel like you're grieving "wrong"—just remember: you're not broken, you're just healing from something that mattered.

Take your time. Love never rushed you in, and it won’t rush you out.

For Empress, always.

— Jaes