When Laughter Turns to Tears: The Subtle Ways Grief Finds Us
There’s a lot to be said for grief.
And I don’t just mean the kind tied to death. There are so many different kinds of grief—loss of a season, a role, a dream, a version of ourselves we thought would last forever. It sneaks up on you in the smallest moments… the ones that make you smile, only to catch you off guard when you remember what was.
As a self-identified “avoider of all emotion,” I have to remind myself—sometimes daily—that it’s OK to feel feelings. One of the hardest lessons from years in hospice is realizing how good I’ve become at not showing emotion. Hospice teaches you how to stand steady for families as they say goodbye, to guide your team through loss, to help others carry their pain while quietly burying your own.
But eventually, you can’t outrun what you feel. It catches up—whether you’re ready or not.
I’ve been in this season of deep self-awareness. I’m learning to give myself space to feel it all. Yesterday, one of the nurses on my new team said something to me that made me burst out laughing—and within seconds, I was fighting back tears. That right there? That’s grief. It’s sneaky, unpredictable, and it doesn’t always make sense. The most innocent moment can pull a memory or a feeling straight out of your chest.
As I step into this next chapter of my life—one where I’m figuring out who I am, what I want, and what I need both personally and professionally—I’ve made one promise to myself:
To acknowledge what I feel.
To speak up when something hurts.
To stop bottling things up.
Because you can’t take the world on your shoulders forever. That’s true for anyone, but especially for those of us who work in hospice, in healthcare, or in any field where you carry the weight of others every single day. It’s easy to forget that while we’re helping others hold their pain, we have our own weights pressing down, too.
It’s OK to ask for help.
It’s OK to say you’re hurt.
It’s OK to admit that you’re sad.
Those things don’t define your weakness—they define your humanity. They deepen your self-awareness, your empathy, your emotional intelligence.
Right now, I’m walking through a new kind of grief—the kind that comes with closing one chapter and stepping into another. It’s strange to feel sadness and excitement living side by side. Some days, the waves of emotion hit hard. Other days, I can see the light of what’s ahead.
I know that, in time, the waves will soften. The emotions will even out. And when they do, I’ll look back and realize I’ve landed exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Until then, I’ll keep riding the waves—feeling what I feel, working through what comes, and maybe helping someone else do the same along the way.
And truthfully, that’s what this space—this little collection of writing—has become for me. Many of the articles I’ve written lately have carried a similar tone: raw, reflective, and honest. But I think it’s important to keep capturing this journey as it’s happening—not just the polished version that comes with hindsight. I want to document the middle, the messy, the uncertain parts right alongside the breakthroughs.
Because this is life.
It’s layered. It’s contradictory. It’s beautiful and exhausting all at once.
I’m learning that true growth means allowing myself to experience every part of it—the highs just as deeply as the lows. To celebrate the joy and also sit with the ache. To feel the excitement of what’s next while honoring the grief of what’s been left behind.
Every season brings something new to feel, to understand, to learn from. And as I continue writing, reflecting, and growing through each one, my hope is that these words not only make sense of my journey, but maybe help someone else feel less alone in theirs.
