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My Nonlinear Dance With Grief And Life Lessons


My Nonlinear Dance With Grief And Ongoing Life Lessons


Grief, my dear friends, is a peculiar beast. It is not a straight path or a winding road.

It is a maze of emotions that you navigate, not linear, but in a dance that twirls, spins, leaps, and falls.

You think you have tamed it and found your way out, only to find yourself standing at the entrance again, a benign trigger pulling you back into its depths.


A scent, a song, a memory, so innocent, so ordinary, yet they hold the power to unravel you. And that, my dear hearts, is perfectly normal.


I had to learn that it doesn't make you weak; it makes you human.

It is a testament to the depth of your love, your emotions' sincerity, and your being's authenticity.


For me, the toughest part was the anger, shame, and sadness I felt toward myself.

The looping question, “How could you not see it? Why did you not see it?”


Vulnerability, you see, is not a weakness. It is a strength, a superpower.

It is the courage to bear your soul, let your wounds breathe, and allow your tears to fall.

It is the audacity to feel, to hurt, to heal. It is the bravery to be you in all your raw, beautiful, broken glory.


Oh, how it hurts!

The sting of betrayal, the burn of deceit, the ache of being used. It feels like a thousand shards of glass piercing your heart, like a storm raging within your soul.

And amidst this upheaval, you realize you still love the person who caused it.

You hate what they did, but you can't extinguish the love that still flickers, stubborn and resilient.

You've been trying to forgive, to let go.

Still, this new trigger, this unexpected reminder, stirs a whirlwind of emotions you're grappling with.


I urge you and myself to remember you are strong. You are a warrior, a survivor. You have weathered storms before, and you will weather this one too.

You will not give up on love or lose faith in humanity.


For grief, in all its torment, is a paradox. It makes you weak, yet it makes you strong. It breaks you, yet it builds you. It takes your breath away, yet it breathes life into you.


There are moments when your heart aches so much that it feels like you're holding your breath like it hurts.

You want to cry, and you want to scream. You want to let the world know you're tired of being strong.

But sometimes, the forest is empty, and no one can hear your screams.


There's just you, the one you believe in, and your faith.

Your faith whispers, "Rest, my child, rest until you gather the strength to rise again."


And then there's your love for your children, your passion for life. They are your anchors, your lighthouses in the storm.

They give you the strength to rest, heal, and rise from where you've fallen.

They remind you that even in the darkest night, the stars still shine and that even after the harshest winter, spring still comes.


So, dears, remember this:

Grief is not a sign of weakness,

but a symbol of love.

It is not a journey of despair,

but a journey of healing.

It is not the end of your story,

but a chapter that makes you who you are.

It is not a battle to be won,

but a dance to be danced,

a song to be sung,

and love to be loved.

And in this dance,

in this song,

in this love,

you will find your strength,

your peace,

your self.


Sajatha



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