Loving, Losing, and Letting Go: Navigating Grief

Hi Friends,

Grief is such an odd emotion. My experience with grief through death has been limited, but each loss has left a lasting imprint. I lost my maternal grandmother at 13, my uncle at 26, and my maternal grandfather at 33. Each relationship was different, but the love I had for them was profound, and their absence is still felt.

I have also known grief in another form—the loss of two babies. My miscarriages happened early in my first trimester, but those babies were so deeply loved. This kind of grief is unlike any other—it’s mourning a life you never got to know, grieving not just a person but the dreams, the milestones, and the future that was already taking shape in your heart. It’s the ache of wondering who they would have been, what their laugh might have sounded like, whose eyes they would have had. It’s grieving the excitement of sharing the news, the plans for the nursery, the first kicks, and all the ordinary yet extraordinary moments that parenthood brings. It’s a silent, isolating sorrow, one that often feels invisible to the outside world but lingers in the spaces only a mother’s heart can hold. It’s a grief intertwined with love—a love so strong that it existed before they did and continues long after they were gone.

The grief that has shaped me most though is the grief from the end of relationships. I’m a lover and a fighter—I love deeply and fight fiercely for what I love. So, when relationships end—whether platonic or romantic—it’s always hit me hard.

For those who don’t know, I was previously married. My ex-husband and I were together for 10 years, married for five. We met when I was just 19, and he became a pivotal part of my formative years. Our relationship was intense—filled with extreme highs and devastating lows. After years of mutual hurt and pain, we decided to end our marriage in 2018.

Without diving too deep into details that don’t need rehashing, my relationship with him was a profoundly difficult period in my life—the kind of difficulty that eventually required therapy two to three times a week. Before confronting my grief head-on, how did I handle it? I ignored it. I threw myself into distractions: work, friendships, church activities, books, movies, a six-month coding boot camp, a rebound relationship that lacked boundaries and respect, and a façade of being “just fine.” But the truth was, I wasn’t fine.

Avoiding grief didn’t make it disappear. It compounded. Years later, when my relationship with that rebound boyfriend ended, I found myself grieving not just him, but finally confronting the lingering grief over my marriage. Looking back, I see how disrespectful I was to both of them—and, in many ways, to myself. I didn’t allow myself to feel or process the pain I carried. Instead, I masked it. Friends and family struggled to understand the depth of my heartbreak, but the truth was, I wasn’t just grieving one loss—I was confronting years of unresolved pain.

Therapy taught me that my default coping mechanism is avoidance—focusing on “fake problems” to avoid real ones. Even as a teenager, I was labeled “overly dramatic” or “easily emotional,” and I carried that criticism for far too long. Loving my inner child has meant rejecting that narrative and embracing the truth: feeling my emotions is okay. Crying is okay. Expressing those feelings, no matter how small or big, is necessary.

So, why am I sharing all of this now? Because my ex-husband, Danny, recently passed away at just 45 years old. Danny was the life of the party—the kind of person who spread joy to everyone he encountered. His laugh was contagious, and he had a vibrant energy that lit up any room. But Danny also carried complexities and struggles that not everyone saw.

Although our marriage ended, I always prayed for Danny to find happiness, health, and self-love. I hoped he’d find the peace and love he longed for. His worldly life was heavy, and while I don’t know what his journey looked like after we parted ways, I do know that Danny believed in Jesus. I find solace in knowing he is now at peace, reunited with his parents and enveloped in the love he always yearned for.

Grief, once again, feels strange. I grieved our marriage and relationship years ago. But losing someone you once loved—someone who shaped so much of your life—brings a unique kind of sadness. Divorce doesn’t prepare you for the grief that comes when an ex-spouse dies at such a young age. It has been a bit surreal.

I’m heartbroken for Danny and his loved ones, but I also find comfort in knowing his pain has ended and he is finally at peace.

Grief is a lifelong journey—one of learning, growing, and uncovering new depths of healing.,I am so grateful for Ian—his unwavering support, patience, and deep understanding of what I need, often before I even realize it myself. He lifts me up when I’m struggling, stands beside me through every high and low, and loves me completely. His presence is a constant reminder that who you choose to walk through life with matters, and I couldn’t have chosen a better partner.

Grief is complex. It doesn’t follow a timeline or a predictable path. But with every layer I’ve faced, I’ve learned more about myself, my capacity to heal, and the importance of honoring every emotion along the way.

Have you ever experienced a type of grief that caught you off guard? How did you navigate it? What lessons has grief taught you about yourself or the way you process emotions? I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories in the comments or through a message.

As always, thank you for being here. Sharing these moments with you means so much to me, and I’m grateful for this community. I look forward to continuing to share this journey with you.

With love,

Britt