{"id":312782,"date":"2025-11-23T03:58:42","date_gmt":"2025-11-23T03:58:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/peraltafinancing.com\/uncategorized\/of-course-it-hurts-unalone-in-autumn-grief\/"},"modified":"2025-11-23T03:58:42","modified_gmt":"2025-11-23T03:58:42","slug":"of-course-it-hurts-unalone-in-autumn-grief","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=312782","title":{"rendered":"Of Course It Hurts: Unalone in Autumn Grief"},"content":{"rendered":"


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Last week I shared a story in Rachel\u2019s Treehouse<\/a> that garnered a beautiful response. Readers indicated it met them \u201cright where they are\u201d and made them feel less alone. This is why I started a blog back in 2010\u2026 and is why I continue writing today. If your heart needs a lift, please read on\u2026\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Early in my life, I learned that my inclination to care deeply and feel deeply, which often showed in visible ways, made other people uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

So, I learned to hide my tears,
blink them back,
keep them in check
until I was alone.
It was there, in solitude, that I could feel to my heart\u2019s content.<\/p>\n

Throughout October, I carried an on-the-verge-of-tears tenderness, and I spent a lot of time by myself again.<\/p>\n

It feels risky and vulnerable to even admit that. But the October Treehouse Zoom gathering with therapist and longtime friend Kerry Foreman<\/a>\u00a0helped me put some important pieces together \u2013 particularly when we talked about protecting both the tender parts and the strong parts within us.<\/p>\n

When I watched the\u00a0replay, I realized why it had felt so raw and yet so right. In my vulnerability, I make space for others to be vulnerable too. That realization opened something in me.<\/p>\n

The next day, though, I had what Bren\u00e9 Brown calls a \u201cvulnerability hangover.\u201d<\/p>\n

That unpleasant feeling resulted from sharing how much I\u2019ve missed Avery since she left for college \u2013 the rite of passage that marked the true beginning of the empty nest.<\/p>\n

After all, the suffering in the world is immense. Do I even have the right to talk about this?<\/p>\n

But the absence of a human being in the spaces they once inhabited \u2013 no matter the reason \u2013\u00a0is<\/em>\u00a0loss.<\/p>\n

The following day, I opened up to a friend who immediately put it into perspective.<\/p>\n

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\u201cOf course it hurts<\/strong>. Of course you\u2019re in pain,\u201d she said gently. \u201cRachel, you\u2019re grieving a loss of role. The way you parented Natalie changed a few years ago; the way you parent Avery changed when she left home this fall, and it will never be quite the same. Add to that the fact that her physical presence is suddenly gone, and the fact that you are deeply troubled by the distance between the world as it is and the world as it should be. You are grieving, Rach.\u00a0Give yourself grace<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

As tears streaked my cheeks, I felt so seen.<\/p>\n

In our Treehouse gathering, a member asked a powerful question to those who identify as \u201cthe strong ones\u201d about being willing to receive help when someone notices something is off. I realized this was my chance to practice what we\u2019d talked about \u2013 to listen to what my friend was saying.<\/p>\n

Give yourself grace.<\/em><\/p>\n

She meant stop being so hard on myself in this season of personal and collective grief\u2026 and allow myself to feel, fully.<\/p>\n

But what does that look like? I wondered. Giving myself grace doesn\u2019t come easily, especially under the current circumstances we find ourselves in. So, I decided to approach it differently. I asked myself,\u00a0where do I\u00a0feel\u00a0<\/strong>grace?<\/em><\/p>\n

That answer came quickly: when I am in nature. Specifically, when I watch the birds at my feeder.<\/p>\n

Avery knew this when she bought me the \u201cMessenger\u201d Willow Tree figurine last Christmas.<\/p>\n

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\u201cWhen I\u2019m at college,\u201d Avery explained, \u201cand you see a red bird come to your feeder, it can be our point of connection.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I first spotted Rudy this fall \u2013 the brightest cherry-apple-red cardinal I\u2019ve ever laid eyes on \u2013 I knew Avery had sent him. At first, Rudy visited the feeder at dawn and dusk, as cardinals typically do. But over time, he began showing up more often, until it seemed our bird feeder had become his personal diner.<\/p>\n

What does it mean when a red cardinal never leaves?<\/em>\u00a0I finally typed into Google. I couldn\u2019t find an answer online, so last week, I decided to simply observe.<\/p>\n

And do you know what I saw?<\/p>\n

Rudy, our self-appointed head chef of the feeder, plucked off a seed and gently placed it in the mouth of a small sparrow struggling to get food.<\/p>\n

Aren\u2019t cardinals only supposed to feed their own<\/em>? I wondered, a bit stunned.<\/p>\n

And then it struck me\u2026 maybe this was what I was meant to see: a glimpse of the world as it\u00a0could<\/em>\u00a0be. The birds showing us how care might look when we stop drawing lines around who is worthy of it.<\/h3>\n

As I began to cry, past conditioning told me it was silly to cry over such a thing.<\/p>\n

But then I heard a little voice from long ago say, \u201cIt\u2019s okay. Cry if you need to. That\u2019s just who you are, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was Avery at five years old. The first time she noticed me holding back my emotions.<\/p>\n

That was it. That was grace I needed in this moment \u2013 the point of connection that transcends distance and time, the reminder that love expressed in care and tenderness is never lost.<\/p>\n

Later, I came across these poignant words from author and psychotherapist\u00a0Lisa Olivera<\/a>\u00a0that gave language to what I\u2019d been feeling as I watched Rudy feed the sparrow:<\/p>\n

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\u201cFeeling the relief of\u00a0not<\/em>\u00a0trying to rise above the grief and ache of the moment we\u2019re in; feeling the tenderness of facing and meeting the hurt of it all with a loving presence, with an \u2018of course it hurts<\/em>,\u2019 with gratitude for the willingness to face it little by little, day by day, moment by moment. This willingness to face it helps me also face and feel the beauty, the gifts, the goodness;\u00a0together, they become a spiral of aliveness that bolsters and nurtures amid it all<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Lisa\u2019s words reminded me that when we\u00a0stop<\/em>\u00a0trying to rise above grief \u2013 our own or the world\u2019s \u2013 we open ourselves up to\u00a0feel<\/em>\u00a0both the ache\u00a0and<\/em>\u00a0the beauty. We become part of\u00a0the circulation of life<\/a>, the one that keeps us connected to the living, breathing world and fiercely determined to do our part in protecting it.<\/p>\n

So, when the ache returns, whether from the state of the world or the empty chair across the table, let\u2019s pause long enough to say,\u00a0of course it hurts.<\/em>\u00a0Then step outside and remember:\u00a0goodness and grace are still within our sight<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

We won\u2019t close our (teary) eyes.<\/p>\n

We won\u2019t stop believing in what\u00a0could<\/em>\u00a0be.<\/p>\n

My hand in yours,
Rachel
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At the end of the essay, I explained that the Treehouse comment section has become my weekly\u00a0Hope Scroll<\/a> (the opposite of Doom Scroll, which I wrote an essay about in September) \u2014 and so often what keeps me going. \u201cIf you have the bandwidth<\/strong>,\u201d I wrote, \u201cplease tell us:<\/strong> Have you ever received a small sign that reminded you that you are not alone? <\/strong><\/em>or What\u2019s been helping you keep your eyes (and heart) open lately?<\/strong><\/em>\u201d <\/p>\n

Here is a small sample from the over 50 uplifting comments that were shared. Please enjoy, and feel free to add your stories and experiences to the collection<\/a>: <\/p>\n

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As always, you\u2019re welcome to receive my\u00a0free writings<\/a>\u00a0from\u00a0Rachel\u2019s Treehouse<\/em> straight to your inbox\u2014and, if you wish, engage with a like-hearted community on a path to self acceptance and true belonging. Through vulnerable reflections on midlife, empty-nesting, and dreaming again, the Treehouse offers a place to land softly, reconnect deeply, and rediscover what makes you come alive.
\u2728 If you\u2019ve been asking,\u00a0\u201cWhat now?\u201d<\/em>\u00a0the Treehouse<\/a> is a safe space to begin again. <\/p>\n

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