Returning Slowly
On grief, resistance and finding my way back to writing
Grief has stripped me of my desire to write these past few months.
My body chose something else…numbness, quiet processing, long stretches of reflection with no need to turn any of it into something consumable. Even picking up my guitar felt like too much, the very thing I love, to strum a few chords and to let my voice sing a song I’ve always loved, felt distant…Heavy. …almost unreachable.
You know what? I already knew it might help, that it could soften something in me, but even that knowing wasn’t enough to move me toward it.
Why is that?
Why is it so hard to reach for the very thing that might bring us back to ourselves?
I’ve been sitting with that question without rushing to answer it, because the truth is, my whole being has been trying to protect me.
What feels like resistance is often just care in another form.
When something feels hard in grief, the instinct is to turn away…to reject…to conserve energy for the quiet, internal work that no one sees.
So ya, that’s what I’ve been doing.
I’ve been sad. I’ve been processing. I’ve been reflecting…and I’m not done.
But somewhere in the middle of all that, there’s been a small, steady nudge.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just present.
A feeling that maybe I’m ready to return to this space… gently.
To write again and not from pressure but from truth.
To create again and not because I “should” but because something in me is beginning to open again.
So this is me, finding my way back.
Not fully formed. Not with neat conclusions…just here.
And if you’re still here with me, reading, witnessing, thank you.
Truly.
