Grief brings a loneliness that’s hard to explain. You can be surrounded by people, answering their questions, nodding along to conversations, yet inside, you feel unseen.

You move through your days, answering the well-meaning “How are you?” with a polite nod, offering small smiles, and reassuring others that you’re “okay.” But the truth is, you feel invisible. The depth of your loss, the weight of your grief, feels unseen, unheard, misunderstood.

Grief is often thought of as sadness, but one of its deepest pains that comes with grief is loneliness. This kind of loneliness is isolating because it isn’t just about missing the person you lost; it’s about missing the version of yourself that they knew so well. They saw you, understood you, held space for you in a way no one else did. And without them, the world feels distant, like you’re standing behind a glass wall, longing for someone to see beyond the surface, to recognize the raw, unspoken ache within you.

You may wonder if you should pretend, if you should shape yourself into something more palatable, just to feel some kind of belonging. But even then, the loneliness lingers. Because what you truly crave is not just companionship, but understanding. To have someone say, I see you. I hear you. I know the depth of your love, your loss, and I’m here.

If you’ve ever felt this way, know that you are not alone. There is strength in holding onto your essence, in keeping your light alive even when it feels dim. Your grief, your love, your story; all of it matters. And while the world may not always understand, there are people who will.

So, don’t fade into the background. Don’t become a shadow of yourself. Keep going. Keep honoring the love that shaped you. Your people-the ones who will truly see you, are out there. And when they find you, the loneliness will begin to fade.

What would it mean to you to feel truly seen and understood in your grief?

When my grief is met with compassion and openness, without the pressure to put on a brave face- that is when I truly feel seen. When someone doesn’t just ask how I’m doing but takes the time to truly listen and hold space for all the layers of my emotions, without rushing me through them.  I hold on to those people who acknowledge that my grief is a part of me, not something to be fixed or avoided, and those who honor that my journey may look different every day.

Being seen in my grief isn’t about needing others to have all the answers or knowing exactly how I feel, but about offering a safe place where I don’t have to hide the rawness of my heart. It’s the comfort of knowing that, even when my words fall short, there’s an unspoken understanding that my pain is real, and it’s okay to carry it.