Creativity isn’t just a hobby—it’s medicine for our minds. Our posts explore how creative expression through writing, poetry, and art can transform emotions and support mental health through creation.
Grief flows—
like the ocean,
It’s tides moving in quiet mystery,
ebbing, rising, whispering truths
when the soul is ready to feel.
One moment, we are basking in the beauty of being,
and with the next exhale, everything shifts.
To paint the picture,
imagine this:
You’re driving down an open highway,
windows unrolled,
sunlight spilling in like liquid gold.
Your favorite song is dancing through the speakers,
your spirit light, your chest wide open,
all is aligned,
your joy’s a river.
And then—a thought enters.
A memory.
A loss.
A friendship unraveled,
A love dissolved,
An opportunity faded,
The pain of the world.
It comes gently,
but deeply—
like an ache blooming in the back of the body,
the breath begins to deepen, heart hanging heavy.
The energy within you shifts.
The presence of grief washes over you.
Not as an interruption,
but as an invitation.
You are met with a choice:
Turn the music up louder,
outrun the ache,
keep driving…
or—
turn it down.
Place your hand over your heart.
Breathe into the sensation.
Welcome the wave.
The expected or unexpected visit of grief does not come to destroy.
It comes to cleanse.
To reveal where the light still needs to enter,
where tenderness still longs to dwell.
To honor grief is to return to the seat of your soul.
To hear the Divine moving through your heart.
To untangle yourself from the quiet suffering of suppression.
And yes—
it is easy to run,
to distract,
to stay in motion.
But the longer we avoid the ache,
the louder it becomes.
So when grief speaks— listen.
When your heart tightens—pause.
Turn down the world.
Close your eyes.
Let your palms rest gently upon your chest.
Breathe into the ache.
Let it speak.
Remind yourself, again and again:
I am safe.
I am loved.
This grief is valid.
This sorrow is sacred.
Let the holy tears fall.
Do not wipe them away too soon.
Drink them like medicine.
Let them baptize you in truth.
Cry.
Scream.
Write.
Sing.
Speak to the sky.
Give your grief a voice,
and in doing so,
you give your heart permission to be seen.
If you breathe with it,
if you soften into its rhythm,
it will move through you—
and leave you softer,
clearer
freer.
And sometimes—
it stays.
Not to punish,
but to offer you space to hold yourself
with the same compassion
the divine holds you with.
Grief is holy.
It is a teacher,
a sacred rhythm in a new becoming.
You cannot outrun it.
You were never meant to.
Grief is not a flaw in your humanity—
it is proof that you’re alive,
proof of your ability feel,
proof of the tenderness of your heart.
So when it comes,
welcome it like an old friend.
Place your hand on your heart.
And remember—
you are safe to feel.
There is great Love for you here.
