There is a heaviness in grieving the collective dreams we once held

Grief is not always about losing what we’ve had; sometimes, it’s about losing what we thought we might have. The future we imagined—bright, open, a little softer around the edges—feels impossibly distant now, fractured by the weight of events that seem to come one after another, with no time to breathe.

There is a heaviness in grieving the collective dreams we once held, and it sits differently than personal loss. It’s a sorrow too big for one person to carry and too quiet to notice until it’s become a part of us, like a stone tucked into the folds of our souls.

This kind of grief doesn’t resolve quickly. It can’t be fixed with a good night’s sleep or a weekend of distractions. It lingers, not because we’re unwilling to let go, but because what we’re grieving is still unfolding. It’s hard to heal from something that hasn’t ended. When you look out at the world and see the same struggles repeated day after day, it’s natural to feel the sharp pang of despair. And yet, the pressure to carry on—to show up, to produce, to keep smiling—remains relentless.

This pressure to pretend nothing happened, to return to “normal,” compounds the pain. What does normal even mean when the foundation we once stood on feels irreparably cracked? To grieve, truly grieve, is an act of defiance in a culture that values productivity over humanity. But grief has its own timetable. It is stubborn, refusing to be rushed, and it will not be denied.

If you are not "back to normal," it’s because you are honoring a process that is sacred and deeply human. That in and of itself is normal.

There’s a collective wound we are all carrying right now, whether we name it or not. We’ve lost faith in systems we were told to trust. We’ve watched opportunities narrow, futures dim, and the world grow harsher for so many. And yet, there’s so little room for this kind of grief to be expressed. It is easier to act as though we’re fine, to force a smile and push through. But the grief remains, pooling in the cracks, quietly shaping us in ways we don’t yet understand.

To feel this grief is to remain connected to our humanity. It’s an acknowledgment of how deeply we care—about each other, about the world, about what could have been. But it is also exhausting. Holding space for this kind of pain requires an immense amount of courage, and often, that courage goes unnoticed, even by ourselves. It’s easy to feel as though we’re failing when we can’t move past it quickly enough. But grief is not a failure; it is a sign that we are alive and paying attention.

If there is any balm for this kind of sorrow, it is compassion. Compassion for ourselves as we navigate the weight of emotions we don’t always have words for. Compassion for others who may be grieving in ways we can’t see.

This is not a process that can be hurried, and it is not a burden that can be lifted by force of will alone. The only way through is to allow space for the feelings to come and to soften, over time, in their own way.

So if you feel like you’re not okay right now, remember: you’re not alone. The grief of a world in flux is a shared experience, even if it feels isolating. Give yourself permission to grieve without a deadline, without needing to explain why. This is how we honor the past, the future we dreamed of, and the fragile beauty of being human. It takes time—more time than we’d like—but it is time worth taking.

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If you need help processing this with compassion for yourself or you need help finding your path back to a sense of safety hit me up.  I want to chat about the things you obsess over when you lie awake at night. I want to unpack your dreams and your nightmares. I want to talk about who you were before all that shit dimmed your shine and how to get her back. 



I’m not here to fix you because I don't think you're broken—I’m here to help you fall in love with yourself and your life again. No mood shaming, no gaslighting, just real, transformative coaching from someone with three decades of experience. Ready to reclaim your fire? Let’s set some sparks flying. DM me.

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