Shelby Forsythia's Blog

Recently, I received a message from a podcast listener that echoes what many of my grieving clients and students have to cope with after a major loss. She wrote:

“My mom died eight months ago, and I still feel like I’m living underneath a giant boulder. Every day, I wake up in this body that doesn’t quite feel like mine, in a life that doesn’t make sense without her. I can’t breathe half the time, and ...

Grief doesn’t stop when we sleep. For many of us, loss shows up in our dreams—sometimes in beautiful ways, sometimes in ways that leave us unsettled, even overcome by despair.

These nighttime experiences, often called grief dreams, can connect us to people and pets we love, reawaken our pain, or reveal truths about our emotional state we haven’t yet faced in...

For those of us who have experienced a devastating loss—whether by death, divorce, diagnosis, or another life-altering transition—the silence from friends and family that follows can feel overwhelming.

But perhaps equally disorienting is what does get said. Especially this: “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You’ve heard it before. You’ve probably said it. I have too.

And I want to be clear: “I’m sorry for you...

During the first weeks of January 2025, grief surrounding the LA fires flooded my Threads feed.

We’d collectively entered a new year—an opportunity for a fresh start, or at least a year we hoped might be a little less griefy than the one that came before it. But nope. Tragedy burst in with an overwhelming, devastating roar. People were grieving ...

Grief is often too big, too complex, or too layered for plain language.

When we say “I miss them,” we might mean something like, “I’m trying to figure out how to carry them with me without feeling weighed down.”

When we say, “I’m not sure how I feel,” we might mean something like, “I’m trying to rebuild from a life that loss destroyed and everything feels weird and alien.”

When we say, “I’m having a hard day today,” we m...

When someone we care about is grieving—a friend, a family member, a coworker, a neighbor—one of our first instincts is to reach out and offer them support. But one of the thoughts that can prevent us from taking action is, “I’m not a therapist. Who am I to help?”

Many supporters of grievers worry that they’re not qualified enough to talk about loss. Or they worry that they’ll say the wrong...

There’s a deep heartache that occurs when a beloved pet dies.

It’s not just the presence of an empty food bowl or the absence of pawsteps at your feet. It’s the disappearance of a daily companion, a quiet witness to your life, a heartbeat that moved beside yours for years—sometimes decades.

And yet, when we try to express the devastation of pet loss, the people around us often meet us with skepticism, discomfort, or even dismissal.

For instance:

Recently, I received this message from a podcast listener:

“My husband died 18 months ago, and I thought I’d be further along by now. Everyone keeps telling me to move on and rebuild. Sometimes I even put pressure on myself to get my act together and figure out what my life is supposed to be now. But I don’t know how. What does rebuilding even mean? I still feel like my husband is a part of everything I do. We were together for almost 20 years. I can’t just forget him...

When society talks about grief it’s focus is usually on you, the person who lost someone or something. Any support resources, groups, or materials are all about how you, as an individual person who’s faced loss, are going to cope and move forward.

But what no one talks about — and what absolutely devastates so many of my clients and students — is that your grief also includes other people. And...

When someone we love dies, their absence feels unbearable.

Especially if we saw, touched, or spoke to someone every day, their gone-ness (yeah, I just made up that word) is a sort of full-body shock—one that we suffer every time we go to connect with them and they’re not there. It’s something that the people around us don’t necessarily see or know to acknowledge but is happening for us inside all the same.

For the first few weeks after my mom’s death I kept waiting...