I am coming up on a year and a half without my daughter… and I still don’t understand how time can move like this. It feels broken. The last time I saw her feels like it was just yesterday… and also like a lifetime ago. Both truths exist at the same time, and neither one makes sense. In the beginning, the pain was violent. It felt like I was being torn apart piece by piece… like broken bones pushing through skin. Sharp, constant… impossible to escape. Now the pain has changed—but it hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s more like those bones are back where they belong… but they healed wrong. Like a deep arthritis that never lets you forget it’s there. You can function… but it aches all the time. I once heard another grieving mom say it feels like a million little papercuts all throughout the day… every single day. And that’s exactly it. Not always the same sharp agony as the beginning… but constant. Lingering. Everywhere. And somewhere along the way… grief stopped feeling like something I had to fight every second. It started to feel… familiar. Almost like a warm blanket I didn’t ask for… but don’t want taken away either because I’ve come to see it differently now. Grief is just the flip side of love’s coin. It’s where my daughter still exists for me. And in a way that feels complicated to even say out loud… I was “lucky.” Although I will never know what happened that night, (and not knowing will always sit heavy in me), I do know this - she died peacefully. She simply fell asleep in the bathtub and drowned. She never woke up, never felt any panic. She came into this world from the warmth of my womb… and she left it cradled in warmth, too. There’s something in that to hold on to when everything else feels unbearable. I’m still figuring out who I even am now. This version of me that had to survive something I never thought I could. But I’m still here. Because of Toni (a LOT of props to her)… because of the friendships I’ve made through Mastergrief… because of my grief tribe… my family.. and all the people who just "get it" without needing it explained.

As we move into this season—whether you’re honoring Easter, Passover, or simply feeling the shift that comes with this time of year—I want to acknowledge something real: Holidays can bring up a lot in grief. They highlight what’s missing.They remind you of what used to be.They can feel heavy when the rest of the world feels… celebratory. And I want you to know—you’re not doing this wrong if it feels that way. But here’s the reframe I want to offer you: This season is not just about what’s gone. It's also about what continues. Connection doesn’t end. Love doesn’t disappear. It changes form. So instead of asking,“Why does this hurt so much?” Try asking,“What does this moment make me remember… and how can I honor that?” That might look like: - Speaking their name out loud - Keeping one small tradition alive - Letting yourself feel both gratitude and sadness in the same breath - Or simply not forcing yourself to be anywhere you don’t have the capacity to be You don’t have to perform your way through this season. You get to experience it honestly. ****Now, something really important as our community continues to grow: We are adding 3 more support groups each week. As we all get to know each other more, these groups will begin to focus on specific types of loss—so you’re not just supported, you’re understood at a deeper level. Because healing doesn’t just happen in isolation—it happens in community. Being in a room (even a virtual one) where people get it without you having to explain everything… that’s where shifts happen. That’s where identity starts to rebuild. I also want to personally invite you to consider upgrading to Premium Membership. Even if you commit to just 90 days. There’s no pressure to stay forever.But give yourself the chance to fully step into the support you came here for. Because this work is about more than just getting through the day. It’s about: - Learning how to grieve with more love than pain - Rebuilding a new identity for yourself and your life - Staying connected to your person—not less connected, but more - And finding your place inside a community that truly sees you

Why do I never feel hungry it takes work to eat these days

Suicide just hits different. My brother, Michael, took his life on November 8, 2024. One of the many things I wasn’t prepared for in terms of him taking his life was how many people said something like “why didn’t he get help”, or, they reference the Suicide Hotline, or say “how do they not know they were loved and cared for?” Things like that. I understand there is a lot of stigma surrounding suicide. I also understand that people are well intentioned when they say these things. But honestly, how would anyone know if anyone called the hotline, or was seeing a therapist or seeking help in other ways? It is very possible that people DO seek help and their brain still can’t see a way out. It’s not like the hotline calls you up and says “hey, your bro called 6 times, sorry we couldn’t help”. It always feels like shaming to me. I always find grace for these remarks and back out of those conversations in a quiet way. But I’m silently angry about it when I hear them. And it makes me not want to be honest about how he died. Which in turn feels a bit shameful and also just adds to the stigma. Getting around the stigma of suicide is a real challenge. Anyone else’s feel this way?

My name is NeTasha you can call me Tasha. May 1st of 2025 I had lost my 25year old step daughter by suicide and July31st my nephew(son) who was 23 the same way. His death was different for the fact I was the one who found him. My step daughter lived 3 hours away when we had got the call about her passing. This does not change the pain that was and is felt one bit.