May the Grief Have Space

Y’all, I am still in the THIQUE of change…still

And over + over again, I keep learning that change does not just ask us to adapt. It asks us to grieve.

As an achiever, a doer, a driver, + someone who gets real satisfaction from handling things well + getting shift done, stillness does not come naturally to me. Delegating does not come naturally to me either, especially when the thing needs to get done + I know I can do it, + do it well. Even if I do not have the capacity. Even if it’s not actually the best use of me. Even if the season itself is asking something different.

And that is exactly what this season has been doing. Asking something different of me. 🙃

Lately, I have been trying to practice more presence. Real presence. I mean like literally sitting still. Meditating. Noticing what is going on in my body, my mind, my heart, my spirit, my life.

And listen, I have NOT exactly been floating on an enlightenment cushion. 🧘🏾‍♀️

Most of the time, no, like 90% of the time meditation feels like a fight. I sit down for 15 minutes + spend a total of 13.5 minutes thinking about my to-do list, replaying conversations, + wondering if this is doing anything at all. No aforementioned Zen moments. No climactic music at the end of it. Just me, trying to come back to the present.

Again. And again….and again.

But that’s the practice. 🤷🏾‍♀️

And that is also where I have had to redefine success.

Because success, cannot just mean mastery. It cannot only mean streaks, outcomes, perfect execution, or visible wins. Success is that I sat down. I made the space. I came back when I drifted. I did not quit. I did it imperfectly.

That’s true in meditation, in leadership, + in life.

A lot of us have been taught to measure success by outcome alone. The baby slept through the night. The proposal got accepted. The routine worked. The relationship lasted forever. The plan came together exactly the way we wanted.

But life is everything but neat.

So, I keep coming back to this question: What does success look like when I can only control my part?

Maybe success is not the baby sleeping through the night. Maybe success is that I created the bedtime routine. I dimmed the lights. I turned off the TV. I read the book. I did the part that was mine to do.

Maybe success is not that change feels good. Maybe success is that I am meeting it honestly.

And whew. Honesty is humbling AF.

Because as I have practiced more presence, I have also noticed more grief.

Real grief. Complicated grief. The kind that has been sitting quietly in the corners of my life while I kept moving with no awareness or desire to see it + give it space. This grief doesn’t always announce itself with funerals; it comes from endings, shifts, disappointments, unmet dreams, changed relationships, versions of life that did not happen.

For a long time, I thought grief was about death. + since I hadn't experienced the loss of someone close to me, I just thought, "Oh, thank goodness - I haven't yet experienced grief." Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids! 🫧

Grief is divorce.
Grief is the friendship that changed + hasn’t found its way back.
Grief is the family dynamic that will never quite be what it once was.
Grief is the dream you had for your children.
Grief is the version of partnership you hoped would be your story.
Grief is the proposal you were excited about that did not become a “yes”.
Grief is the open mic where you missed the mark.
Grief is the moment you yelled when you wanted to be soft.
Grief is the life you thought you would have by now.

And if I am radically honest (through tears), some of my own grief stayed buried because I thought I had already “dealt with it.” I thought “making a decision” meant I had processed everything that came with it When the decision was made. I thought choosing the end of something meant I had automatically made peace with all the consequences of that ending. Again, I say, silly rabbit!!!

That is NOT how it works, friends.

Sometimes you make the right decision + still must grieve what it cost you.
Sometimes you choose what is necessary + still ache over what it was not.
Sometimes you say “no” to one thing + only later realize all the other things that “no” touched too.

That has been one of the deepest lessons of this season for me.

When there is a yes, there is also a no.
When there is a no, there is also a yes.

Both deserve space.

That is the part I think a lot of us skip. We rush to acceptance. We rush to gratitude. We rush to the lesson. We rush to being strong. We rush to “I’m good.” Meanwhile, grief is standing in the doorway like, “Hey girl hey. Here I am. 👋🏾”

And if we do not make space for it, our bodies will….and do!

So, this season, I am trying to let the grief have the space it deserves.

Not forever. Not so it can run the house or make me bitter. But long enough to be acknowledged. Long enough to move. Long enough for me to tell the truth about what hurts, what changed, what disappointed me, what I miss, what I hoped for, what I am still releasing.

Because Present Continuous Leadership is not about pretending you are above the human experience. It is about being in it. On purpose.

It is about asking:
How do I want to show up while this is hard?
What is mine to do here?
What do I need to release?
What do I need to admit?
What would it look like to define success by my integrity in the process, not just by the outcome?

That is the work for me right now.

Maybe it is for you too.

So here is what I am sitting with, + maybe you need these questions too:

What are you grieving that you have been trying to outrun?
What change in your life needs more honesty from you?
What would success look like if you measured it by presence, not perfection?
What would happen if you gave your grief a little space instead of treating it like a problem to solve?

I do not have this all figured out. I am in it. Fo real. Fo real.

But I know this much: every transition asks something of us. + one of the most human, most necessary things we can do is let ourselves feel what changed.

May the grief have space.
May you have enough presence to notice what is true.
May you have enough grace to meet yourself there.