The Kind of Grief That Doesn’ Want to Heal

The Kind of Grief That Doesn’t Want to Heal

After more than a decade working as a psychologist — much of it focused on trauma — I thought I had a fairly solid understanding of pain. I’ve sat across from people during their rawest, most unfiltered moments. I’ve listened to stories so heavy they seemed to bend the air in the room. I’ve helped clients sort through years of trauma, shame, and fear, guiding them as they tried to stitch their lives back together.

But grief has a way of humbling you.

I don’t just know grief professionally. I’ve felt it personally too. And if there’s one lesson both my clinical work and my own life have taught me, it’s this:

Not all grief wants to be healed.

I realize that may sound odd coming from a therapist. Aren’t we supposed to be all about healing? About helping people “move forward”? Sure. When it comes to trauma, that’s true. Trauma is like an open wound that keeps pulling you back into survival mode. It demands tending, integration, repair. Without that, people can’t live fully.

Grief, though, is different.

Grief isn’t about survival. It’s about love. It’s the echo of someone who mattered still reverberating in your chest, in your memory, in the spaces they once filled. Sometimes, the pain of missing them is the only tether that still feels real. And no matter how heavy it gets, people often don’t want to cut that tether. Sometimes, we want to keep the grief. Not because we enjoy the pain, but because it’s sacred. It’s a reminder that we once loved deeply, and were loved in return. That kind of connection doesn’t just disappear. Nor should it.

But here’s where it gets complicated: our culture doesn’t really like grief. We want closure. We want tidy narratives. We want to hear that someone has “moved on.” And when we don’t see that, we assume something’s wrong.

But in session after session, I’ve watched people resist the pressure to “let go.” Not because they’re stuck, but because “moving on” feels like saying goodbye all over again. And sometimes, we simply aren’t willing to say goodbye.

So what do we do with the grief that won’t go away?

We carry it.

Not as a burden that defines us. Not as a constant, crushing weight. But as something that lives with us — woven into our story, reshaping us in ways both painful and profound.

I’ve come to think of grief less as something to overcome, and more as something to honor. It doesn’t need to be erased. It can be softened, integrated, allowed to find its place alongside joy, laughter, and even new love. Over time, grief may quiet itself — not because we forget, but because we’ve learned how to live beside it.

And here’s the thing: that’s not weakness. That’s not failure. That’s what makes us human.

All beautiful connections carry the risk of loss. That risk is not a flaw — it’s the very reason they’re precious.

So maybe healing from grief doesn’t mean letting go. Maybe it means holding on differently. Carrying the love, carrying the ache, carrying the reminder that our lives were touched by someone irreplaceable.

That’s what I’ve come to believe. And if you’re grieving too, maybe it’s okay if you believe that as well.