Grief Doesn't Check My Calendar
Why does grief always seem to come when I least expect it?
Why can’t it come on a quiet Saturday morning, when I have space for it?
When I’ve cleared my schedule and feel emotionally available for a visit?
Instead, it shows up on a Monday afternoon.
Right in the middle of everything.
I have so much to do.
I’m building businesses. I’m working. I’m parenting.
And in about twelve minutes, I have to wrap all of this up and go pick up my daughter from school.
There’s a small window in between (maybe ninety minutes) before dance drop-off.
In that time I’ll probably be making snacks, cleaning out lunchboxes, throwing in a load of laundry, and starting dinner.
Also, side note, are anyone else’s kids coming home absolutely famished?
I feel like I’m making four full meals a day for two teenagers.
Am I overdoing it? Should they be cooking for themselves?
Honestly, it’s kind of all they ask of me these days.
Food. Money. Rides.
Check, check, check.
And today… I am tired
But not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
I slept well. I rested this weekend.
And yet, out of nowhere, this heaviness has come in and taken me down.
I don’t want it, but the tears are coming anyway.
So I let them.
Because I know, at this point, that this is how it moves. It needs somewhere to go.
And at the same time, I still have to be available.
For my daughter.
For her grief, or her emotions, or whatever is moving through her today.
Grief doesn’t wait until it’s convenient.
It doesn’t ask if you have time.
It doesn’t check your calendar.
It just arrives.
And the truth is… grief is never finished.
I don’t believe we ever fully “complete” grief.
Not the grief of losing a person.
It changes. It softens. It shifts shape.
But it doesn’t disappear.
And beyond the big losses, there are all the quieter ones we carry too.
The life we thought we’d have.
The versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown.
The choices we make, and the paths we don’t take.
There is grief in all of it.
In a strange way, every choice holds a little grief. Every ending (even the right ones) does.
It’s woven into being human.
I even tried to plan for it this weekend. I cleared space. I thought, okay, maybe I’ll feel it then.
But grief didn’t come on Saturday.
It came on Monday, like a wave I didn’t see building.
Like a quiet buildup that suddenly hit all at once.
We all move through grief differently.
Some of us write.
Some of us talk and share memories.
Some of us return to the places or the things our loved ones loved.
Some of us avoid it completely.
And most of us… move in and out of all of those.
Today, for me, it looks like this:
Writing in between responsibilities.
Crying while the laundry runs.
Feeling it move through my body while still showing up for my life.
Not perfectly, but honestly.
Because maybe grief isn’t something we schedule or control.
Maybe it’s something we learn to live alongside. To make space for, even when space doesn’t seem to exist.
Even on a Monday.
If you’re moving through a wave of grief or heaviness today, you’re not alone in that experience.
I recently shared a short video where I walk through a simple way to check in with your body in moments like this, even when you only have a minute or two.
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