finding peace

You Have to Learn to Grieve with Hope

Grief is something we don’t like to talk about. It feels heavy, uncomfortable, and sometimes unbearable. We’re taught to either rush past it, hide it, or drown in it—but rarely to sit with it. And yet, grief is not something we can outrun.

At some point in life, loss comes for all of us. It may be the death of someone we love, the end of a relationship, the fading of a dream, or even the loss of who we once thought we would be. Grief is not reserved for funerals—it shows up whenever life shifts in ways that take something from us.

But here’s the truth: while grief is inevitable, despair is optional. To heal, we must learn to grieve with hope.

Why Hope Matters in Grief

When you’re deep in grief, hope can feel like a foreign concept. It’s easy to believe that the sadness will never lift, that you’ll never feel joy again, that the hole in your heart is permanent.

But grief and hope are not opposites. They’re partners.

Grief acknowledges the depth of what you’ve lost. Hope whispers that loss doesn’t erase love, and pain doesn’t cancel the possibility of joy ahead.

Hope doesn’t mean ignoring the hurt. It means believing there is life beyond it.

Grieving Without Hope Keeps You Stuck

I know this firsthand. In the darkest times of my life, I thought I was honoring my pain by holding on tightly to it. I wore my grief like armor, convinced that letting go of it meant I was letting go of the person, the love, or the moment I had lost.

But the truth is, refusing to allow hope into grief only traps you in it. It keeps you circling the same pain, the same questions, the same regrets.

Grieving with hope doesn’t dishonor your loss—it honors your life. It allows you to carry your love forward without being consumed by the absence.

How to Grieve with Hope

So how do we actually do this? It’s not about rushing, forcing, or pretending. It’s about learning to make space for both grief and hope to coexist. Here are some ways to begin:

  1. Give Yourself Permission to Feel
    Stop labeling your emotions as “right” or “wrong.” If you need to cry, cry. If you need to sit in silence, sit. Grief has no timeline.
  2. Remember What Remains
    Focus on what the person, dream, or chapter gave you. Love, memories, lessons—those don’t disappear. They live in you.
  3. Look for Small Signs of Light
    It might be laughter that sneaks in unexpectedly. A sunrise. A song that reminds you of resilience. Hope often arrives quietly, but it always arrives.
  4. Talk About It
    Share your grief with someone safe. Silence feeds despair, but connection breeds healing.
  5. Let Grief Grow You
    Pain transforms us if we let it. Ask yourself: what is this teaching me about love, about myself, about what matters most?

Hope is Not Forgetting

One of the biggest fears in grief is that moving forward means forgetting. That by smiling again, you’re betraying the depth of what you lost. But healing doesn’t erase love. It carries it forward in a new way.

When you grieve with hope, you don’t deny the loss. You integrate it. You learn to live alongside it, and eventually, to allow joy to return without guilt.

Hope says: this hurts, and I can still live.

You’re Allowed to Carry Both

You can hold sadness in one hand and gratitude in the other. You can cry one day and laugh the next. You can miss what you lost and still build what’s ahead.

Grieving with hope doesn’t mean replacing the pain—it means refusing to let it be the only story.

SLAY Reflection

  1. What loss in your life still feels too heavy to carry?
  2. How might hope soften that grief without taking away its meaning?
  3. What do you fear you’ll “lose” if you allow yourself to heal?
  4. Can you remember a moment when light broke through your darkness?
  5. What’s one hopeful practice you can lean into this week—journaling, prayer, gratitude, connection?

S – Surrender to your feelings without shame
L – Let hope quietly sit beside your grief
A – Allow both pain and joy to exist together
Y – Yield to healing, trusting love will always remain

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
How have you found hope in the midst of grief?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone walking through grief right now, send this to them.
Sometimes, hope begins with a reminder that they’re not alone.

Living In Limbo

Before I began walking this path, I knew limbo well.

When I was living in my illness, I felt stuck. Paralyzed. Like life was moving forward around me while I stayed frozen in place. I wanted to believe I had no control, but the truth was—I was holding the key to my own cell.

I wasn’t taking action. I wasn’t doing the work. And when nothing changes, nothing changes.

Eventually, I reached a breaking point—and instead of breaking down, I reached out. I asked for help. I found support. I took one step, then another. Slowly, my life started to inch forward. Hope returned. Light returned. And I started to feel alive again.

Navigating the Now

I think of that time a lot lately.

Because while the world may feel paused again, I know I don’t have to be. I focus on what I can do each day to move things forward—mentally, emotionally, creatively, and spiritually. I pour energy into meaningful connections, creative projects, and quiet rituals that keep me grounded. I say yes to what feels good and nourishing, even if it’s just a cozy moment in pajamas with a good book.

Limbo doesn’t have to mean lifeless. We get to choose how we respond—and where we put our energy.

Yes, some days feel heavier than others. And yes, I still feel the ache of what’s been lost or put on hold. But I’ve learned that in this stillness, we also have an opportunity. To pause. To reflect. To renew. And to rise.

Limbo Isn’t the End

This chapter may feel uncertain, but it isn’t forever.

We can move forward—internally, emotionally, spiritually—even when the outside world feels stalled. Our gifts, our growth, our goals—they’re still here. They’re still possible.

And when the world begins to move again, we’ll be ready. Because we didn’t just wait—we used the pause to prepare.

SLAY on.

SLAY Reflection: What’s Your Relationship with Limbo?

  • Do you feel like your life is in limbo right now? How does that affect your daily mindset?
  • What small actions can help shift you out of a holding pattern?
  • Have you found new ways to connect, create, or rest during this time?
  • What unexpected lessons or strengths have emerged in this space between?
  • How can you show up for yourself today—even from a place of pause?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
How are you moving forward—even in the waiting?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s feeling stuck in the pause, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a reminder that we’re not standing still alone.

Silence Isn’t Empty—It’s Full of Answers

There was a time when silence terrified me.

Back when I was living in the dark, silence didn’t feel still or serene—it felt suffocating. The moment things got quiet, my head got loud. I filled every corner of my life with noise: music in my ears, background TV, endless scrolling, constant distractions. Yoga? I had long quit that. Sitting alone for an hour with my thoughts? No thank you. I was afraid of what I’d hear.

But here’s what I’ve learned on the other side of that fear:
Silence isn’t empty. It’s full of answers.

What We Avoid Is Often What We Need

When I made the choice to get better, I had to learn how to sit with myself.
With my thoughts.
With the truth.
With the shame.
And ultimately—with the peace that waited beneath it all.

It didn’t happen overnight. At first, I had to work hard to ignore the lies my mind still wanted to tell me. But little by little, the static in my head started to quiet. And what I found in that silence wasn’t danger—it was guidance. Clarity.
Peace.

I realized that the silence I’d run from wasn’t trying to hurt me—it was trying to help me. I just had to be well enough to hear what it was saying.

Cleaning House to Find the Calm

In order to make peace with silence, I had to do some serious housecleaning. I worked to replace negative self-talk with words that were loving, kind, and true. I took ownership of my actions, stopped blaming everyone else, and started healing the parts of me that kept replaying old stories.

It wasn’t easy. My old patterns wanted me to believe I was always the victim, that life just happened to me. But I learned that I had choices. And even when I couldn’t control what was happening, I could still choose how I responded.

Taking responsibility gave me back my power—and that is when silence started to feel safe.

Today, silence is where I reset. It’s where I check in with myself. It’s where I listen to what I really need.
It’s no longer something I fear—it’s something I crave.

Let Silence Speak

Silence isn’t the enemy.
It’s the sacred space where our soul gets a chance to speak.

So the next time you find yourself wanting to reach for the noise—pause. Ask yourself what you’re afraid to hear. Because what scares us in the quiet is often the very thing trying to guide us forward.

Let silence be a space of peace, of presence, and of power.
SLAY on.

SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise

Are you afraid of silence? Or have you found comfort in it?

  • What comes up for you when things get quiet?

  • Are you filling your time with noise or distractions to avoid something?

  • What’s one thing you’ve learned when you’ve allowed yourself to sit in stillness?

  • How can you use silence today to guide a decision, check in with yourself, or realign with what matters?

  • What would it take for you to see silence as a friend, not a threat?

The answers are already inside you. You just have to get quiet enough to hear them.

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What’s something silence has revealed to you that you wouldn’t have discovered otherwise?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who avoids stillness because they’re afraid of what they’ll hear, send this to them.
Sometimes, what we fear is where the healing begins.