The death of a loved one can be one of the most challenging and most profound experiences we have. Few things can full-throttle a person into a reckoning with god, science, life itself, than standing face-to-face with a new and incomprehensible absence, and your own mortality to boot.
And death is only one path down which we find grief. We may also be mourning the loss of a relationship, a job, the future we imagined.
Individual & Collective Grief
Grief in a heavy, lonely world.
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We live in a time of constant endings. Every day, we scroll through images and stories that confront us with how fragile life is, how little control we actually have. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we carry that collective ache in our bodies and it has a say in what we do next.
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​For many, the weight of this grief feels both personal and universal, as if we’re mourning our own lives and the world itself. This might rise up as exhaustion, numbness, quiet despair, and it can isolate you quickly.
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When we let ourselves feel into the collective heartache, we also strengthen our connection to its aliveness. But this openness requires balance.
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Working with grief in therapy means tracing its contours;
what you’ve lost,
what it meant,
what remains.
Grief helps you learn how to hold complexity without collapsing into it. Some days that means crying. Other days it means laughing at how absurd it all feels. Often it’s both.
Softening Grief
In our work, we might explore how your individual grief intersects with the collective; how personal losses awaken larger questions about meaning, belonging, and love in impossible times.
This is slow, tender work. It’s not about fixing grief, but about allowing it to reveal what still matters most to you.
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Over time, something changes. The sharpness of grief softens. It doesn’t disappear, but it becomes less of a wound and more of a scar — still part of you, but not all of you. Many people find that grief, when tended to, eventually becomes a form of wisdom. It makes you more attuned, more discerning, more capable of holding both beauty and pain at once.
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That’s the paradox of grief: it’s isolating, but it’s also universal.
Everyone you meet is carrying some version of it. In that way, grief can be a bridge.
When shared honestly, it connects rather than separates. Therapy can be one of few places where falling apart into that kind of honesty feels possible.
Alchemizing Grief
We are not meant to absorb so much heartbreak alone. Yet in a culture that prioritizes productivity, speed, and self-sufficiency, most of us have learned to tuck our pain neatly out of sight. We keep going, doing, scrolling. We say, “I’m fine,” when what we really mean is, “I’m still trying to find where to put all this.”
Grief is not simply an emotion to get through; it is a process that reshapes who we are. When loss breaks something open inside us, the task is not to seal it quickly but to understand what that opening might be asking for. In therapy, we make room for that conversation. Together, we listen for what your grief is pointing toward—the love that still wants to be expressed, the meaning that wants to be remembered, the stories that have not yet been told.
When loss breaks something open inside us, the task is not to seal it quickly but to understand what that opening might be asking for.
The quieter truth is that grief is love that has nowhere to go; love with the object missing. You still feel the urge to reach, to tend, to protect, to search, to hope, even though the person or the dream is gone. In therapy, we look at what that love might become now. Sometimes it becomes art or service or a deeper gentleness toward yourself. Sometimes it’s simply carried forward, no longer breaking you open every day, but walking beside you as something wiser.
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Collective grief is complicated by macro-level worldview shifts; the erosion of faith in the apparatus, maybe even fellow human, the awareness that the world our parents described doesn’t quite exist anymore. Many people try to cope by tuning out, but avoidance has its cost. When we numb the pain, we also numb the tenderness that connects us to life and our own humanity. Therapy can help you find a balance: how to stay awake without being flooded, how to care and still keep your center.
Grief and Therapy
Therapy can be a place to begin setting that burden down — not to “get over it,” but to learn how to live alongside it with gentleness. Together, we can make space for your sorrow to be witnessed, held, and slowly metabolized.
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In our work, we might explore how your individual grief intersects with the collective — how personal losses awaken larger questions about meaning, belonging, and love in difficult times. This is slow, tender work. It’s not about fixing grief, but about allowing it to reveal what still matters most to you.
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Sometimes we worry that if we truly let grief in, it will never leave. Grief doesn’t work that way. When ignored, it hardens. When welcomed, it changes shape. You begin to notice moments of relief: laughter sneaking in at unexpected times, a memory that brings warmth instead of just ache. Grief becomes less of a shadow and more of a companion who knows the road.
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You don’t have to carry it alone. There’s room here for your heartbreak, and for the quiet hope that grief, when tended to, can become a form of love.
