The Stages of Grief: My Personal Experience With Loss and How I Cope

Welcome to Sacred Musings, a space where I share reflections from the heart on love, life, caregiving, and the lessons that shape us into who we are. My hope is that these words bring comfort, perspective, and inspiration to anyone walking their own path of healing and growth.

As a hospice nurse, I have walked alongside many people who were grieving. I have seen grief at the bedside, in family meetings, in silence, in tears, in anger, and sometimes in the strange calm that comes when words are no longer enough. Grief is not foreign to me professionally. But grief has also been my own companion. What I know now is that grief is not just about death. It is about loss in all its forms. It is about the ending of what you thought would be. It is about the version of life you were counting on. It is about the relationship that did not hold, the diagnosis you never wanted, the betrayal you did not deserve, the innocence you cannot get back, the years you wish had gone differently, and the parts of yourself you had to leave behind just to survive.

I have grieved many things in my life.

I have grieved people. I have grieved disappointment. I have grieved being misunderstood. I have grieved the pain of having to be strong when I really wanted to be held. I have grieved the weight of responsibility. I have grieved what illness takes from the body, from a woman’s confidence, from her sense of safety, and from the plans she quietly made for herself. I have grieved old identities and old dreams. I have even grieved while still showing up for work, still caring for others, still paying bills, still trying to function. That is something people do not talk about enough. Sometimes grief does not happen in a dramatic collapse. Sometimes it happens while you are still getting dressed, still answering emails, still making phone calls, still taking care of everybody else. Sometimes grief is quiet. Sometimes it is private. Sometimes it looks like fatigue. Sometimes it looks like numbness. Sometimes it looks like trying to make sense of your life when what you really need is rest.

The stages of grief are real, but they are not neat.

Most people have heard of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Those stages can be helpful because they give language to something that often feels overwhelming and shapeless. But in my experience, grief does not move in a straight line. It circles. It revisits. It surprises you. You can feel acceptance one day and deep sadness the next. You can think you have made peace with something, only to feel anger rise up again when you least expect it. That does not mean you are failing. It means you are grieving.

Denial

Denial, to me, has felt like shock. Like the part of me that simply could not take in the full truth all at once. I think denial is mercy sometimes. It protects us from being emotionally crushed in a single moment.

Anger

Anger in grief is real. I have felt anger at what was unfair. Anger at what was taken. Anger at people who caused pain. Anger at life for asking too much. Anger at myself for not knowing sooner, doing more, choosing differently, or seeing clearly enough. Beneath that anger, though, was always hurt.

Bargaining

Bargaining is exhausting. It is the mind trying to rewrite the story. It is replaying events, looking for the exact place where things could have gone differently. It is asking, “What if?” over and over again. I know that place well. It is painful because it makes you believe you can negotiate with reality after the fact.

Depression

This stage feels heavy. It is when the loss settles in and your spirit gets quiet. This is not laziness. This is not weakness. This is the soul acknowledging that something mattered deeply and is now gone or changed. I have had moments where grief made everything feel slower, duller, heavier. I have learned not to shame myself there.

Acceptance

Acceptance is often misunderstood. It is not saying, “This was fine.” It is not pretending you are over it. Acceptance is when you stop arguing with what is true. It is when you begin to live with reality instead of fighting it every minute. It is humble. It is painful. It is freeing.

My personal experience with grief

My own grief has changed me. There were times in my life when I thought strength meant pushing through, staying productive, and keeping my emotions under control. I know now that real strength is more honest than that. Real strength is telling the truth. Real strength is admitting that something hurt you. Real strength is letting yourself mourn what was lost instead of pretending it did not matter. One of the deepest lessons grief has taught me is that it strips away illusion. It shows you who is really there. It shows you what you have been tolerating. It shows you where you abandoned yourself. It shows you where you kept hoping for something that was never truly being offered. It also shows you what is sacred. Because we do not grieve deeply over what meant nothing to us. In my own life, grief has made me come face to face with my limits, my needs, my disappointments, and my humanity. It has made me softer in some ways and stronger in others. It has made me less interested in performance and more interested in truth. It has made me cherish peace. It has made me understand that healing is not about becoming untouched by life. It is about becoming more rooted in yourself through what life has done.

How I cope

I cope by being honest. I no longer believe in pretending I am fine when I am not. That does not help me. It only delays healing. I have learned that grief asks for honesty first. I cope by writing. Writing gives shape to what I feel. It slows me down enough to hear myself. Sometimes what I need most is not advice. Sometimes I need expression. I cope by praying and reflecting. I need a place to bring what I cannot fix. I need somewhere for my sorrow to go. Prayer does not erase grief for me, but it does help me feel held inside it. I cope by moving my body. Walking, breathing, resting, stretching, jogging, drinking water, and caring for myself physically all matter. Grief lives in the body too. Sometimes my body is carrying more than my mouth can say. I cope by allowing waves. I do not expect myself to be over things on a schedule anymore. Some days are lighter. Some days are unexpectedly tender. I have learned not to make that mean something is wrong with me. It just means I am still healing. I cope by giving myself permission to protect my peace. Grief has made me more discerning. I do not want unnecessary chaos. I do not want confusion dressed up as love. I do not want to betray myself to keep other people comfortable. Loss has a way of clarifying what matters and what does not.

What grief has taught me

Grief has taught me that love and pain are often close together. It has taught me that surviving something does not mean it did not wound you. It has taught me that there is no shame in mourning. It has taught me that acceptance is sacred. It has taught me that even when life breaks your heart, there is still life to be lived. There is still beauty. There is still purpose. There is still meaning. There is still something in you that can rise and keep going, not in denial, but in truth. As a nurse, I have seen how precious life is because it ends. As a woman, I have learned how precious peace is because it can be so hard won. As a human being, I have learned that grief is not something to conquer. It is something to move through with tenderness.

Closing

My grief is part of my story, but it is not the end of my story. I carry loss, yes. I carry disappointment, yes. I carry memories, aches, and truths that changed me. But I also carry wisdom now. I carry discernment. I carry compassion. I carry a deeper reverence for life. I carry a greater commitment to honoring myself. That is how I cope. I tell the truth. I feel what I feel. I pray. I write. I rest. I keep going. Not because grief is small, but because life is still sacred.

— Kimberly Johnson, RN

Sacred Musings | Sacred Heart Nursing