Grief has a way of making the world feel small and boundless all at once. Small because it can shrink your sense of belonging—you may feel like no one else can possibly understand what you’re carrying. Boundless because it opens up an empty space between you and others, where words and comfort don’t seem to reach. If you’ve found yourself in this place—and searching for someone who can relate to your grief, or to your child’s—please know you’re not doing anything wrong.
Below are some insights and ideas to help you navigate this experience.
The loneliness inside loss
When someone in your life dies, or when your child experiences the death of someone close, the loneliness that follows isn’t just about being alone—it’s about being unseen. After I experienced a sudden death loss, friends said things like, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” or “At least he isn’t suffering anymore.” While well-intended, these words can deepen the ache.
You don’t need others to imagine your experience. What you long for is understanding—to be seen and heard in your grief, without having to defend or explain it.
For me, keeping things to myself was a way to honor how deeply personal my grief was. At the same time, you may feel the need to protect others from the depth of your sorrow. You might smile when you want to cry, change the subject when someone asks, “How are you?”, or notice that people who once felt close now seem unsure around you. This is one of grief’s quieter wounds: it not only takes away the person you lost, but can also disrupt the sense of connection that once felt steady.
Watching your child experience this kind of loneliness can be especially hard. You may see their pain and feel helpless to fix it. You might also realize that other parents, teachers, or caregivers don’t fully understand how to support your child. Children grieve differently than adults—they move in and out of sorrow, playing one moment and crying the next—and this can be confusing for those unfamiliar with grief.
Why it’s so hard to find “your people”
Grief is intensely personal. Even when two people experience the death of the same person, they don’t grieve them in the same way. You had your own memories, your own rhythms of love, your own part of that person’s story. This means that even those who feel like they should understand—siblings, spouses, close friends—may not experience the same shape of loss.
That doesn’t mean no one can relate to you. It simply means that learning the language of grief takes time, and we each learn it in our own way. Sometimes, it takes a while to find others who speak it too.
Until then, it can help to look for connection in smaller, steadier places—anchors that don’t require explanation:
Books and stories. Memoirs, poetry, or even novels can remind you that while your loss is unique, the ache of missing someone is a shared human experience.
Support groups and counseling. It may take trying more than one group or therapist before you find the right fit, but when you do, it can feel like breathing fresh air. Hearing someone say, “I’ve felt that too,” can be profoundly healing. (You can explore national and local resources through the National Alliance for Children’s Grief and Evermore.)
Creative expression. Art, music, writing, or gardening can offer ways to express grief without words. When others can’t fully understand, expression itself can become a companion.
Nature. A park, the ocean, or a forest trail can be grounding. Nature doesn’t ask you to explain—it simply holds space.
If you’re supporting a grieving child, these same anchors can help them too—drawing pictures, journaling together, or visiting a special place to remember their person. The goal isn’t to take away their pain, but to make sure they don’t have to carry it alone. Learning to carry grief is part of learning how to live alongside it.
There will be days when you long for someone who can look at you and say, “Yes, I know this place.” And perhaps someday, you’ll be that person for someone else. Until then, know this: your grief is not too much. Your longing for understanding is not a weakness. You are walking a path that countless hearts have walked before—even if you can’t see them, they are there, just beyond the bend, carrying their own quiet lanterns through the dark.
Kelsey Garren, MA, LPC, NCC Kelsey has volunteered for Experience Camps for the past two summers as a grief specialist. She is a graduate from Denver Seminary, with a Master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Kelsey has experience working with children, teens, college age and millennials in individual, family and group counseling settings. Kelsey holds certifications in a Comprehensive Grief, Trauma-Informed, Care model (CGC) and is a provider with Postpartum Support International.
