What Would It Be Like To Not Wipe Away Your Tears?
Weird Yet Powerful?
I’ll never forget sitting in my therapist’s office, wiping away tears for what felt like the millionth time. I’m a crier. I shed tears easily, and it’s something I’ve historically been slightly embarrassed at. I cry when I’m sad, mad, anxious, joyful.
Not only does it make arguing with my husband difficult, but I have also been aware that tears tend to make others (in my experience) feel as though they need to comfort me and do something to fix it.
My therapist gently interrupted my reach for another tissue and asked, “What would it be like to let your tears just exist? What does it feel like to resist the automatic urge to wipe them away?”
And her question startled me. I paused to really think about what she was proposing and was surprised at my own thoughts in response. I told her that it felt indulgent somehow, to leave tears just running down my face. It felt uncomfortable. It felt dramatic, like I was asking for attention. It felt like I was asking her to do something.
All thoughts that I have not once had about another person’s tears, but had clearly internalized from external messaging.
And then she said, “Isn’t it interesting that you’re here exactly because you want support, yet unconsciously you’re making sure you don’t need too much of it?”
It was interesting, yes. And unsurprisingly, it wasn’t surprising.
It’s something I see echoed in my own work with grieving clients all of the time- the ways we hold back from asking for what we need, often without even realizing it.
Grief is enormous, and ever-changing and always shifting. We need so much support, especially in early days and years after devastating loss. Yet that support feels really hard to ask for.
There are a myriad of reasons it can feel impossible to ask for help when you’re grieving:
Not even knowing what kind of help would make a difference
Feeling shame or embarrassment for needing any help at all
Comparing your grief to others’ and thinking, “they had it worse”
Feeling pressure to be “okay” because it’s been a certain amount of time
Feeling like you have to hold it together for others who need you to be “strong”
Coming from a family, culture, or religion that expects grief to be private
Worrying that friends will get tired of you being “a downer”
Getting comments from others about “focusing on the positive”
Feeling misunderstood and wondering if anyone can truly hold this with you
Avoiding conversations because they all feel tense or awkward
Never needing this kind of support from others before and not knowing how to ask
It’s not shocking that we hide our tears, or water down our true feelings, or dismiss our natural pull towards vulnerability and togetherness.
In a culture that doesn’t make space for the honest experience of grief, letting our grief take up space can feel indulgent, or selfish, or even like we’re being “too much”.
But grief needs a lot of room. It needs permission. It needs safe spaces to be without society or friends or family rushing to wipe the evidence of it from your face. We need to allow ourselves to be comforted without shame, and the freedom to say, “I’m not okay”.
Asking for help is not a weakness. In fact, I think it’s one of the hardest things some of us could ever do. Asking for and receiving help is an incredible strength, and it’s a gift to your entire being.
When we’re grieving, our nervous system is often in a heightened state, as if it’s constantly bracing for impact. This “fight-or-flight” response might look like tension in the body, racing thoughts, anxiety, or an underlying sense of unease. When we try to carry it all alone, we’re telling our system that we have to stay on high alert, that we can’t afford to let down our guard. When we allow ourselves to be helped, it isn’t just relief we feel, it signals to our nervous system that it’s finally safe to rest.
But it’s not just the body that feels this relief. Allowing ourselves to grieve openly and ask for help reinforces something essential in our psyche: the understanding that we are not actually alone. Grief can feel like it builds walls around us, shutting out the world. And those walls are strengthened by toxic cultural messages about what grief “should” look like, by the idea that we should be able to handle it on our own, or that asking for help means we’re weak.
In a culture that pushes us to keep moving, to “stay strong,” and to make grief a quiet, private affair- choosing to accept help, ask for support, or lean on tools that ease the load feels almost rebellious. But this rebellion isn’t weakness. It’s survival. It’s taking back our power and our right to exist as whole beings- complex and interconnected.
Accepting help isn’t about asking others to fix us or make the pain disappear. That’s not possible or a helpful goal. Our grief is ours to carry, and it belongs here.
But giving ourselves permission to lean on others or seek what we need honors our humanity. It’s a way to recognize that, in allowing ourselves to need and receive, we’re stepping toward healing in a way that honors both what we’ve lost and the life we’re still here to live.
This is why I created a space that’s easy to step into. A place where you can let go of the worry of burdening others or feeling like “too much.” It’s a refuge of compassion, intention, and love- a haven of information, tools, and support, built specifically to hold you in this season of your grief.
It’s the space I wish I’d had.
If you believe in signs- this is your sign to take the help that’s right here, waiting for you. Structured, solid, flexible, and steady.
In the Grief Anxiety & The Holidays Program you’ll have five weeks of tools, support, and a community that understands so you don’t have to keep putting yourself on the back-burner. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re okay when the holidays feel unbearable. You can show up exhausted and walk away feeling more centered. You can breathe here. Big, deep, nourishing breaths.
I created this space because I needed it once, too- a place to land when I was tired of being strong, a place where my grief could breathe without judgment. If you feel this way too, this is your invitation. Let this be the moment you let yourself receive what you need.
What’s Different About This Group
I created this group with deep intention, drawing from years of helping people navigate loss and grief anxiety during this season. I’ve witnessed clients go from feeling completely untethered and unsure of how they’re going to white-knuckle their way through this time, to feeling peace, feeling empowered, and ending the year with a sense of calm and connectedness.
But more than that, I’ve walked through this season myself, feeling the emptiness when everyone else seems joyful, and I’ve learned that relief comes not from ignoring that void but from having a safe space to face it.
In this group, you’re not only getting support; you’re getting guidance from someone who understands grief from both sides—as a therapist and a fellow griever. We’ll explore how to:
Understand and Calm Grief Anxiety: You’ll learn how grief affects your body, how to calm that anxiety, and how to stay grounded when grief feels overwhelming. Knowing what’s happening inside helps you take back a sense of control and steadiness.
Set Boundaries That Truly Serve You: We’ll work together on finding ways to communicate your needs and protect your energy. Setting boundaries isn’t selfish; it’s essential, especially in a season that pushes you to “show up” even when it feels impossible.
Honor Their Presence in Your Own Way: Finding a way to include your loved one’s memory—whether through quiet moments, personal rituals, or small changes to old traditions—helps ease the pressure to “move on” or do things in a certain way. This group is about making that connection feel right for you.
If this sounds like the space you’ve been needing, please don’t wait to join. Our first call is Thursday, Nov. 21st.