There is a part of healing that almost no one prepares you for. Grief. Not just grief for what was lost—but grief for what changed. Many people assume grief belongs only to decline, diagnosis, or bad news. But grief often arrives right in the middle of improvement. Sometimes because improvement is happening. That can be confusing.
As the body stabilizes, the nervous system relaxes just enough for emotions that were postponed to finally surface. Losses that were too overwhelming to feel during survival mode begin asking for acknowledgment.
You may grieve time.
You may grieve missed versions of yourself.
You may grieve relationships that didn’t survive your illness.
You may grieve how hard you had to become just to make it through.
This does not mean something is wrong.
It means something is safe enough now to be felt.
I have watched people panic when grief shows up during healing. They say things like, “I thought I was doing better—why do I feel sad?” Or, “If I’m healing, shouldn’t I feel happier?”
Not necessarily.
Healing does not erase what happened. It creates the capacity to process it.
Grief is not a regression. It is often a sign that the body no longer needs to stay armored.
When survival is the priority, emotions are triaged. Only what is necessary to get through the day is allowed. When survival loosens its grip, the rest comes forward.
This is especially true for people who stayed strong for others, minimized their own pain, or kept going long after their reserves were depleted.
Grief is not weakness.
It is completion.
It is the body saying, “Now that I’m not fighting for my life, I can finally feel what this cost me.”
That honesty matters.
Trying to bypass grief with gratitude or positivity can stall healing just as much as fear. Gratitude is meaningful—but it cannot replace mourning what was lost.
Both can exist.
You can be thankful you are improving and still mourn what you went through. You can feel relief and sadness in the same breath.
The body is capable of holding both—when allowed.
Grief moves in waves. It does not ask to be fixed. It asks to be witnessed. To be felt without judgment or urgency.
When grief is allowed space, it often softens on its own. Not because it was forced away—but because it was finally welcomed.
I want to say this gently: if you find yourself grieving as you heal, you are not backsliding.
You are integrating.
You are allowing the experience to land, instead of carrying it forever in your tissues.
That integration frees energy. It clears space. It makes room for a future that is not defined solely by what you survived.
Healing does not mean forgetting.
It means remembering without being overwhelmed.
If grief is part of your healing right now, let it be there.
It is not pulling you backward.
It is helping you move forward—lighter, more honest, and more whole than before.
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