Grief Guide

A little about me.

I can't tell you the joy this new mug brings me.

Really, any patterned, brightly coloured, perfectly shaped mug will do it for me.

But this one,

🪷 It's my favourite colour
🪷 It's patterned
🪷 It's holding a warm cuppa
🪷 It was gifted by a loved one for my upcoming birthday

👌👌👌👌

In grief work, we sometimes call these glimmers, the small, ordinary moments that offer a flicker of ease or warmth. They don't erase what's hard. They don't mean you're "over it" or moving on. They just sit alongside the grief, quietly, reminding us that good can still exist in the same world as loss.

Sometimes it's the little things that ground us. That give us a moment to breathe.

I wonder what your version of this mug, your glimmer, might be?

I'd love to hear. 🪷🪷

11 courageous souls joined me this morning, bringing the love and the loss of their people into the room at Mourning Tea.

Some had a child who had died. Some a partner, or a parent. Some carried more than one loss at once. Some losses were recent, some from years ago. And still, there was a richness of understanding and compassion between them. The group held each other in their grief.

There were tears. There were laughs. There were names spoken aloud, names of people whose absence is felt so deeply, and will be, always.

I'm grateful to .au for the .au Grant that made this gathering possible. 

🪷 Grieving people need community.

🪷 Grieving people need spaces where they can be honest about their grief, without feeling too much, or like they're doing it wrong.

🪷 And sometimes, grieving people need a hug from a stranger who gets it, which is exactly what happened between so many, at the end of this gathering.

This work is sacred. Thank you, Proveda, for supporting it.

When you leave a full private practice day (especially in grief!), more energized than you started it.

I'm very grateful to my courageous clients, who allow me to sit in the rubble of their grief with them.

It's a privilege, truly. 🪷

A few thoughts following a conversation with a bereaved Mum on the social isolation of grief.

Grief is messy, it's raw, it's relentless, and there are no right words to say. But please stay, and bear witness. It means more than you know.

🪷🪷

Grief is cumulative.

Over our lifetime, we face many losses, of many different types. Loss of relationships, loss of parts of ourselves, loss of jobs, the death of people we love.

Some of these can feel like they're happening in isolation, but they have a cumulative effect on our minds and our bodies, and they each form part of our story, part of how we make sense of the world.

Have you ever noticed that when something bad happens, when we're thrust into grief again, how past experiences tend to come back roaring? Memories, reflections, ways of navigating grief, for better or for worse. We build a template over a lifetime to help us find our way through.

It's part of why grief can be so difficult for children, who don't yet have their own template. They look to us to fill in the gaps.

It's also why, when we add another loss to an already heavy load, it can feel even more impossible to bear.

Grief doesn't happen in isolation. Each loss doesn't happen in isolation. We bring them all with us.

My invitation to you today is to tend to your grief collection, whether you're navigating something difficult right now, reflecting on times you have, or thinking about the grief ahead.

🪷 Welcome to Grief Guide. All of your grief is welcome here. 🪷

Something new!

I've been hosting Death Cafés for a while now, informal gatherings where we eat cake, drink tea, and talk about death and dying. Death Cafés have no agenda, no themes, and the facilitator doesn't direct the conversation, that's part of their beauty. They've been consistently full and powerful.

But I've also noticed something. While that open, participant-led nature works beautifully for many people, others are looking for something with more structure. A space where there's gentle guidance through the harder parts of grief, with prompts and facilitation.

So I'm introducing Mourning Tea.

The same spirit as a Death Café; the openness, the tea, the permission to speak honestly. But with facilitated discussion, thoughtful prompts, and sessions designed for specific groups navigating loss.

The first one is for adults whose loved one has died. Recent loss or years past, doesn't matter. This is space to talk about what it's really like after someone dies; the bits that don't fit into polite conversation.

Grief isn't something you get over. But let's come together to carry it together.

🪷 Friday 19th June, 9:30-10:30am
🪷 Flow State Psychology, Sumner
🪷 FREE (morning tea provided)
🪷 Limited spaces - RSVP essential

👉 Link in bio or contact me: 0466 059 111 / [email protected]

More sessions coming for different grief experiences. Watch this space.

Supported by Dying to Know Day grant 

You don't have to do grief alone.

Mother's Day is coming.

And I just want to say, gently, before it arrives, this day lands differently for so many people.

🪷 Those whose Mum has died, and will feel her absence loudly this Sunday.

🪷 Those who are yearning to be a Mum, and for whom this day is a reminder of that ache.

🪷 Those who have or are experiencing fertility struggles or perinatal loss, carrying a grief that so often goes unseen.

🪷 Those navigating a strained or complicated relationships with their Mum, where the card aisle doesn't fit the experience.

🪷 Those whose Mum is still here, but has changed, maybe because of illness, or distance, or some other reason. Grieving a version of her you once knew.

🪷 Those whose child has died, or whose child is unwell. The mothers who will sit quietly with that this Sunday, or rage loudly at the absolute unfairness of it.

🪷 Those in the thick of postpartum, where the day might feel more heavy than celebrated.

🪷 And those who hold their own grief quietly, even while the people around them are enjoying the day.

This is not a small number of people. This is a lot of us.

So in these days leading up, I want to offer this: What does this day mean for you? And, how might you go gently through it?

Sometimes that looks like having a plan. To do something intentional. To do nothing at all. To lean on a person who gets it. To have a quiet exit from a family gathering if you need one. Sometimes it's just letting yourself know in advance: this might be hard, and that's okay.

If you're supporting someone who's grieving this Mother's Day, your presence, your acknowledgement, your willingness to just say "I know this one's not easy", can mean more than you realise.

However Sunday lands for you, you're allowed to feel all of it, and please know that I'm thinking of you 🪷

A few reflections on the losses that have shown up recently at Grief Guide. What a privilege it is to do this work with you, no matter the loss 🙏🪷🌞

We hear it all the time: grief is the price we pay for love, or grief is love with nowhere to go.

For many, absolutely, this is true. But not always.

Grief can be about losing the opportunity to repair a relationship before someone died. About the messiness of a situation that never got resolved. About regret, and pain, and a deep yearning for things to have been different.

Grief can also be about finding yourself in something completely outside your control, and the despair and anger that comes with that.

That's why I'm more likely to say: grief is about something that mattered.

🪷 Even when it's painful.
🪷 Even when it's complicated.
🪷 Even when it feels unfair or unwanted.

We grieve things that were significant to us. And sometimes, yes, we tap into love in that process. But sometimes what we really need is to tap into some love for ourselves as we navigate the hard.

🪷 You are allowed to grieve all of it. 🪷