Grief: A Companion on the Journey

Why Grief Is Essential for Healing Trauma

It’s easy to think of grief as something reserved for obvious, tangible losses. The death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, or the loss of a job are moments when our culture readily makes room for mourning. But many of us who carry stories of trauma or heartache have learned to hide grief away, believing it should not take up space and that our wounds need to remain invisible to others.

As we turn toward story work, we begin to notice that grief is a quiet companion. It walks beside us, whispering for our attention not just when we endure loss, but whenever our experience with shalom, God’s vision of wholeness, has been shattered.

Grief and Shalom: Understanding Your Deepest Longing

We humans long for shalom. We crave it. Even if we can’t put our finger on it, we know something is missing. Peace, flourishing, and right relationships with God, ourselves, other, and our world. When trauma enters our lives, shalom is broken. The journey of restoration involves moving through shalom shattered and shalom sought before we begin to taste shalom restored. Grief plays a crucial role through this; it helps us name what has been lost – and something HAS been lost – and gives us permission to honor the cost of harm we have endured.

Without grief, story work stalls. If we cannot grieve what has been broken, we will be tempted to minimize our pain, rush to platitudes, or disconnect from the experienced realities of our stories.

Grief invites us to
pause,
mourn, and
acknowledge our losses
with honesty and kindness.

How Grief Supports Emotional and Spiritual Restoration

Let’s be clear: Grief is not despair. It is not giving up hope. In fact, grief is one of the most hopeful acts we can practice when engaging our stories. Jesus himself wept over the pain and suffering he encountered (John 11:35). Scripture gives us language for lament, inviting our honest aches before God (see Psalm 34:18—”The Lord is close to the brokenhearted”).

Grief is a doorway, not a dead end. It honors the truth of what happened and the person who was harmed. You.

It offers a gentle pulling back from numbness or avoidance toward curiosity and deeper compassion for our younger selves and for our present hearts.

• Grief interrupts denial. It allows us to see our stories more honestly, releasing the pressure to minimize or excuse what happened.
• Grief softens shame. When we mourn our losses, we make space for kindness rather than condemnation, receiving and accepting ourselves with the empathy we long for from others (even though we have often quit hoping for it).
• Grief connects us with God and community. Sharing our lament opens us to care from safe people. Most importantly, it helps us experience the comfort of God’s presence, even when words fall short.

Mourn What Could Should Have Been

The grief we avoid most deeply is the grief for what never was. I remember when our fifth child was born. When the doctor came in and said, “We think your son has Down syndrome,” grief came. Not because we wished he hadn’t been born, but because of all the things that would never be. That’s the kind of grief I’m talking about. Grief for ourselves for what never was. The father who did not protect, the joyful childhood memory that’s missing, the dreams of safety or belonging that were never realized. The act of giving ourselves permission to name and mourn these losses is a radical act of courage. It says, “What happened (or did not happen) mattered. My story is worth honoring.”

Did you get that? What happened…matters. What didn’t happen…matters.

This kind of mourning is not self-pity. It is an act of truth-telling. It helps us notice the gap between the good God desired for us—shalom—and the places where harm took root. From this place of honesty, new possibilities for healing emerge.

Did you get that? What happened…matters. What didn’t happen…matters.

Steps to Engage Grief Compassionately

If you’re not sure how to begin making space for grief in your story work, consider these steps:

• Name one loss. Bring to mind a painful event or season, and ask yourself, “What was lost here?” It might be trust, safety, innocence, or connection.
• Honor tears. Allow yourself to notice what emotions arise as you reflect. Tears, sighs, and even a sense of heaviness are natural signs that grief is present.
• Journal your lament. Write a letter to God, your younger self, or a trusted friend naming what hurts. Use the Psalms as a guide if words are hard to find. The Psalms are full of lament.
• Invite a safe witness. If you feel able, share a piece of your grief with someone who can listen without rushing to offer quick fixes—a therapist, spiritual mentor, pastor, a story coach (trained in story work), or even a safe friend.

These steps do not invite you to relive traumatic details. Instead, they simply provide space for naming, honoring, and moving at your own pace. Always in kindness.

Hope in the Valley of Grief

The valley of grief is not a place where we set up camp. It is a passageway. As we allow ourselves to grieve, we find that new spaces open within us. Places for compassion, curiosity, and even glimpses of joy. To be people who seek shalom restored, we have to honor the grief of all the shalom that has been shattered along the way. In time, grief can become a sacred companion that reminds us of our longing for wholeness and our courage to pursue it. There is nothing wrong with the longing. Shalom is actually what we were created for.