First things first: no one here is judging you. Not for crying in the shower, not for feeling nothing at all, not for laughing at something random and then feeling weird about it five minutes later. If you’re grieving, whatever it looks like today is allowed.
2025 was not a gentle year. Even if nothing catastrophic happened directly to you, chances are your body still felt it. The constant tightening. The low-level exhaustion. The sense that something familiar kept slipping just out of reach. For many of us, grief didn’t arrive with a single, dramatic event—it accumulated. Quietly. Relentlessly.
This was a year of watching doors close: on privacy, on stability, on the belief that families would be protected, that truth would be rewarded, that safety was something you could reasonably expect. Headlines blurred into each other—raids, violence, displacement, censorship, economic anxiety—and somewhere along the way, it became harder to tell where concern ended and grief began.
That’s because grief isn’t only about who we lose. It’s also about what we lose: trust, predictability, dignity, a sense of forward motion. In 2025, many of us were mourning versions of the country, the future, or even ourselves that no longer felt intact. And we did it mostly without language, without rituals, and without permission to name it for what it was.
If you felt heavier this year—more tired, more irritable, more numb, or strangely sad without a clear reason—you weren’t failing to cope. You were grieving. And you weren’t alone. Let’s talk about what that kind of grief looks like, and how it shows up when an entire society is holding its breath.
Grief shows up here the same way it does in our personal lives—just louder, messier, and harder to name. And that’s part of the problem: when grief is collective, we don’t always recognize it as grief. We call it “being on edge.” We call it “doomscrolling.” We call it “politics,” “culture wars,” or “just the news.” But underneath all of that, something is being lost again and again, and our nervous systems know it—even when our language hasn’t caught up. Let’s talk about how it actually feels.
This Is What Collective Grief Looks Like
When you watch social injustice against African Americans, Palestinians and even ICE raids on your screen or hear about citizens passing away or Immigrant families being separated, grief shows up as a quiet, persistent dread. Even if it’s not happening to you, your body registers the instability. If it can happen to them, what’s really protecting anyone? That’s grief mixed with fear, and it often turns into hypervigilance or emotional shutdown.
When revelations surface—like learning that luxury goods, status symbols, or “markers of success” were never what we were told they were—there’s grief there too. That’s the grief of disillusionment, what we were told makes us "good enough" "valuable" proof of our privilege, our worth—permission for our behavior was a trap, a smokescreen to block us from seeing a reflection of the consequences of our own behavior so that we would also not see the consequences of others behavior. You’re not just upset about money or tariffs; you’re mourning the idea that hard work, taste, or discernment would be rewarded fairly. That kind of loss hits identity, not just wallets. It ushers in new insecurities—if the things your were told made you worthwhile are proven to be worth nothing by the manufacturers that you acquired them from, what is your worth in the greater human collective and how will you prove it now?
When AI is used to surveil, censor, or shape what can and can’t be said—especially along political lines—grief shows up as self-censorship. You hesitate before posting. You delete drafts. You feel smaller than you used to. That’s not paranoia; that’s grief for privacy, autonomy, and the sense that your thoughts were once your own. And when mass shootings, political violence, and public instability keep happening, grief often turns into numbness. You scroll past headlines you know are devastating because feeling everything, every time, would break you. That numbness isn’t apathy. It’s your psyche rationing pain.
Why It Feels So Heavy Right Now
What makes this moment particularly exhausting is stacked loss.
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Loss of safety
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Loss of trust in institutions
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Loss of shared reality
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Loss of privacy
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Loss of economic stability
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Loss of the idea that families will stay together
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Loss of the belief that tomorrow will be better by default
There’s no clean recovery time between these hits. No pause. No collective exhale. So instead of processing one loss, we carry all of them at once. That’s why people feel angrier than usual. Or more tired. Or strangely detached. That’s why small things set you off. That’s why you might feel grief without being able to point to a single event and say, this is why.
The Stages Are Still There—They’re Just Wearing Different Clothes
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Denial looks like minimizing: “This is just how it’s always been.”
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Anger shows up online, in traffic, in family group chats.
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Bargaining sounds like, “If I just disengage / move / log off / work harder…”
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Depression looks like burnout, withdrawal, and hopeless humor.
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Acceptance—when it comes—doesn’t mean approval. It means clarity.
And just like personal grief, we don’t move through these stages neatly. We bounce. We stall. We revisit.
How to Be Human in the Middle of All This
You don’t need to carry the entire country on your back. You’re allowed to grieve what’s happening without having perfect solutions. A few grounding truths, friend to friend:
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Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re uninformed—it means you’re paying attention.
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Numbness is not a moral failure; it’s a temporary shelter.
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Grieving the state of the world doesn’t mean you’ve given up on it.
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You’re not weak for needing boundaries around news, social media, or conversations.
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Small acts of care and connection still matter, even when systems feel broken.
Collective grief asks us to do something counterintuitive: stay soft without falling apart, stay aware without being consumed. That balance looks different for everyone. If lately you’ve felt tired in your bones, suspicious of the future, or quietly heartbroken without knowing exactly why—nothing is wrong with you. You’re responding to a lot of loss, much of it unresolved and ongoing. You’re not imagining it. You’re not alone in it. And you don’t have to rush yourself through it. We’re standing in this moment together, even when it feels fractured.
Grief is the body and mind’s very human response to loss. That loss might be the death of someone you love—but it can also be a breakup, a job that ended, a move that changed everything, or the life you thought you were going to have. If something mattered and it’s gone or altered, grief gets a seat at the table. You didn’t invite it. It showed up anyway.
What Grief Usually Feels Like (And Why You’re Not “Doing It Wrong”)
Grief has range. A lot of range.
Emotionally, it can feel like overwhelming sadness, sharp anger, anxiety, guilt, disbelief, longing, or—surprisingly—nothing at all. Numbness is common, especially early on. It doesn’t mean you didn’t care. It means your system is overwhelmed and protecting you.
Physically, grief shows up too. You might feel bone-tired no matter how much you sleep. Or you might not sleep at all. Appetite can disappear or suddenly become all about comfort food. Headaches, stomach pain, tight shoulders, general “I don’t feel like myself” discomfort—very normal.
Mentally, grief can fog things up. Concentration gets harder. Thoughts loop. You might replay conversations, imagine alternate endings, or feel like the world isn’t quite real. That sense of unreality—this can’t be happening—is a classic grief response, not a personal flaw.
The Phases (Not Rules) of Grief
You’ve probably heard of the stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. They’re useful as language, not as a checklist.
Some people feel shock first. Others feel rage. Some skip stages entirely. Some circle back. You might feel “okay” one week and completely undone the next. That doesn’t mean you’re backsliding. It means grief isn’t linear. It’s more like a spiral you slowly learn how to walk through.
Many people move from acute grief—the raw, intense early phase—into integrated grief, where the pain softens and life starts to expand again. The loss doesn’t disappear, but it no longer occupies every inch of the room.
For some, grief becomes prolonged or complicated, staying intense for a long time and making daily life feel unmanageable. If that’s you, it’s not a failure. It’s a signal that more support is needed—and that’s okay.
What Actually Helps (Gently, Not Perfectly)
You don’t need to “be strong” or “move on.” You just need to keep yourself supported.
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Keep simple routines. Wake up, eat something, step outside, go to bed. Nothing fancy. Structure gives your nervous system something to hold onto.
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Take care of your body, imperfectly. Fresh air, light movement, water, real food when you can manage it. This isn’t about optimization—it’s about maintenance.
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Stay connected, even when you don’t feel like it. Say yes to the friend who invites you for coffee. Text someone who already knows the story. You don’t have to be good company.
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Let it out somehow. Write, draw, talk, make playlists, cry in the car. Expression keeps grief from getting stuck.
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Get professional support if things feel like too much. Doctors and therapists exist for moments exactly like this. Asking for help is not a dramatic move—it’s a practical one.
A Few Things Worth Remembering
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There is no right way to grieve. Comparison will only make it harder.
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There is no timeline you’re supposed to meet.
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The “stages” are not instructions, just common experiences.
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Grief applies to many kinds of loss, not just death.
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Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to carry what happened without it breaking you every day.
If you’re grieving, you’re not broken. You’re responding to something that mattered. And you don’t have to do it alone, perfectly, or quietly. I'm right here with you. So with a rough year behind us, lets talk about what we want to see improve in 2026 and what actions were taking to manifest improvements.
THE GRIEF RECAP
Grieving is the natural, often intense emotional, physical, and psychological response to loss, such as the death of a loved one, a breakup, or job loss, involving feelings like sadness, anger, or confusion and physical symptoms like fatigue or sleep problems, with common experiences including numbness, denial, or deep sorrow, but everyone grieves differently, and while models like the Kubler-Ross stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) exist, they aren't always linear, and healing involves self-care, routine, connecting with others, and seeking support.What Grief Feels Like
- Emotions: Overwhelming sadness, anger, anxiety, guilt, disbelief, longing, or numbness.
- Physical Symptoms: Fatigue, sleep disturbances, appetite changes, stomach pain, headaches, or general physical distress.
- Cognitive/Psychological: Difficulty concentrating, confusion, obsessive thoughts, or a sense of unreality (denial/numbness).
Types of Grief Experiences
- Acute Grief: The initial, intense period after loss, often involving numbness or shock.
- Integrated Grief: A quieter phase where pain lessens, allowing re-engagement with life.
- Prolonged/Complicated Grief: Persistent, intense grief that significantly impairs functioning long-term.
Coping Strategies
- Establish Routine: Maintain simple routines for waking, eating, and daily activities.
- Self-Care: Get outdoor activity, light exercise, and eat healthy foods.
- Connect: Talk to supportive friends, family, or support groups; accept invitations.
- Express: Find creative outlets like writing or drawing to express feelings.
- Seek Professional Help: Consult a doctor or therapist if overwhelmed.
Key Things to Remember
- No Right Way: Everyone grieves uniquely, and there's no set timeline or order.
- Non-Linear Stages: The famous "stages" (denial, anger, etc.) aren't a fixed path but possible feelings you might encounter.
- Loss is Broad: Grief isn't just for death; it can follow job loss, divorce, or major life changes.
Stay Wealthy, Healthy and Make Time To Enjoy That,
Your abundant wellness CEO 🍓💼✨
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