Grief doesn’t rush.

It settles in—quiet and full. Like a heavy blanket draped over everything.

You try to move, but everything feels slower, harder.

Even joy seems distant, like it’s happening in another room.

But grief isn’t something to fix.

It’s something to hold.

To carry gently until it softens.

It means something mattered.

It means you matter.

Let the blanket stay as long as it needs.

Then, one day, you’ll notice it’s a little lighter.

💬 What has helped you carry grief without letting it bury you?