What I’ve Learned About Grief This Week
& How to Live Without Wasting a Single Moment
Last week, my mother, siblings, and I stood around my stepfather's bed and held his hand as he took his last breaths.
It’s a day that will forever be etched into my memory, one of sorrow, fear, love, and connection. As painful as those hours were, they were also filled with so much beauty.
We told stories, shared memories, and – because my family can’t help themselves – we teased and took the mickey out of one another.
I’ve lost loved ones before, but this one hit differently. My stepfather has been a parent to me since I was five years old. I don’t remember a time before him, and now, for the first time in my life, I’m forced to live in a time without him.
If I’m honest, the reality of it hasn’t fully sunk in. The shock, the disbelief, and probably the denial are still very present.
But this last week (and let me tell you, it feels like a lifetime) has changed me.
It has shaped me and moulded me in ways I’m strangely grateful for. My eyes feel open, my heart exposed, raw, and tender—and though it’s painful, it’s also wonderful. I’ve learned so much about life in just a few days.
Today, I want to share what grief has taught me about living, how to support yourself through it, and most importantly, how to make sure you don’t waste a second of this wild, magnificent, precious life.
The Problem With How We Handle Grief
Our society does a god-awful job of handling grief.
Scratch that—it's worse than awful. We don’t do a goddamn thing. We don’t prepare for it, we don’t talk about it, and when it inevitably shows up—because it always does—we’re completely lost.
We’re told to “keep calm and carry on” as if grief is just a mild inconvenience, like running out of milk. We’re expected to plaster a smile on our faces and “get back to normal,” even though nothing about life is remotely normal. And none of us really know how to support each other through it - often choosing to be silent, to give space, to say nothing when grief asks us to lean into connection and community.
Grief is one of the most profound, disorienting, gut-wrenching experiences we’ll ever go through, yet we’re handed no tools, no roadmaps, no real support.
How often do you hear someone awkwardly change the subject when the topic of loss comes up? Or worse—offer up a hollow platitude like, “They’re in a better place now,” as if that’s supposed to make the aching in your chest feel less gaping?
Side Note: My family and I are thinking of creating a drinking game. Every time someone says a cliche “It’s what they would have wanted”, “You’ll see them again some day” or my personal *favourite* “God just needed another angel”, the bugger who says it has to down a whisky - and I’m talking the cheap, bottom of the shelf, tastes like petrol, kind of whisky! 🥴
And don’t even get me started on the gaslighting. We act like death isn’t coming for all of us, like we’re invincible, as if we’re somehow exempt from the one universal truth of being alive: everything ends. Every single one of us will lose someone we love. Every single one of us will face our own mortality. And yet we tiptoe around the subject like if we avoid talking about it, we can somehow keep it at bay.
But I’m done with that.
I refuse to live in a bubble of denial, pretending that life isn’t fragile, that time isn’t slipping through my fingers. I don’t want to forget how sacred every moment is—how sacred every breath is. I don’t want to take a single second for granted.
Because when you really think about it—when you stop long enough to let the enormity of it all sink in—you realise just how fucking lucky we are to be here. To wake up. To hold someone’s hand. To see the sky shift from day to night. To hear the sound of laughter. To feel the warmth of a hug.
This is the stuff of life.
And when you look at your days through that lens, you stop waiting for some magical “later” to make your life what you want it to be. You realise that right now is all you’ve got.
So why not make it extraordinary?
What I’ve Learned About Grief
Grief is a shape-shifter.
One moment, it’s this quiet, dull ache. The next, it’s a tidal wave that knocks you off your feet. You forget and then you remember. Time moves differently. One minute stretches into an hour; an hour collapses into a second. It’s surreal, disorienting, and all-consuming.
Grief also has a strange way of sharpening your senses. The world feels louder, brighter, more intense.
I found myself in Tescos—not the small, convenient kind but the massive, overwhelming “let’s-buy-enough-to-fill-an-entire-pantry” kind. I was there to grab something for dinner, because even in grief, a woman’s gotta eat. As I walked down the aisles, I remember looking around and thinking how shockingly normal everything seemed. People were laughing, chatting, and comparing prices on baked beans. Meanwhile, I wanted to scream. Couldn’t they see it? Couldn’t they feel it? Didn’t they know there was a hole in my chest? That a piece of me that was missing? Couldn’t they tell that the entire world had been turned upside down? And then of course, right there in the dip aisle, I burst into hysterical laughter.
And maybe that’s what grief does: it amplifies everything. The pain, the absurdity, the love, the joy.
It reminds you that life is messy and chaotic and achingly beautiful.
How to Support Your Nervous System (and Your Soul)
When grief hits, your body and mind need you to show up in ways they may not have had to before. Here’s what I’ve learned:
Take breaks, even tiny ones. Grief is exhausting. It’s okay to step away, even if it’s just five minutes in the bathroom to breathe and regroup. It’s okay to need alone time. It’s okay to want to be around people but not speak. It’s okay if this changes moment to moment. Just take what you need and be gentle with yourself.
Nourish your body. Food might be the last thing on your mind, but your body needs fuel. Hydrate. Eat natural, wholesome foods when you can. And if eating feels impossible, try bone broth, herbal teas, or smoothies. And if that fails, say fuck it and eat the damn chocolate - lord knows I have!
Sleep whenever you can. Grief is a thief of energy. Let yourself rest. Nap if you need to. Your body is doing its best to process an enormous emotional load. Hell, it’s okay to spend the entire day in bed if you want. There not manual to this. No right or wrong. Just follow your body and do what feels right to you
Create rituals. Light a candle. Write in a journal. Take a walk. Rituals ground us and remind us that life, even in its darkest moments, is sacred. For me, I say good morning and good night to my step father still. And I’ll tell you, it nourishes my soul in ways that feel so deeply loving.
Ask for help. Whether it’s a friend, a therapist, or a neighbour who can drop off a meal, lean on your community. You don’t have to do this alone.
How to Live Fully (So You Don’t Miss a Goddamn Thing)
Here’s the thing about grief: it’s a brutal reminder that life is fleeting.
None of us are getting out of here alive, so why do we waste so much time holding back? Why do we stay small, afraid, disconnected? If my stepfather’s passing has taught me anything, it’s this:
Don’t wait. Life slips by so fast. Don’t wait for the “right” time to take that trip, start that business, or say what’s on your heart. There is no right time—there is only now.
Tell people you love them. Don’t hold back. Say the words. Give the hugs. Send the texts. Love deeply and unapologetically. And let yourself be loved, too. Open yourself to connection, even when it feels scary. Love is all that fucking matters.
Let your fears guide you. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s the doorway to intimacy, connection, and growth. Lean into it. Be brave enough to feel deeply, even when it hurts.
Stop chasing perfection. Perfect doesn’t exist. Life is messy, relationships are messy, and that’s where the magic is.
Be present. Put down your phone. Look people in the eye. Savour your coffee. Dance in the kitchen. Live so fully in the moment that you can’t help but feel alive.
Choose joy. Even in the midst of pain, seek out the things that make your soul light up. Watch a silly movie. Play your favourite song. Laugh until your sides hurt.
This past week has been one of the hardest of my life, but it has also been one of the most profound.
Grief has cracked me open. It has reminded me that life is short, precious, and breathtakingly beautiful.
So let this be your reminder, too. Don’t waste a single second. Love with everything you’ve got. Take the risk. Speak your truth. And for the love of all things holy, don’t wait until it’s too late to start living the life you’ve always dreamed of.
Because when it comes down to it, love is all that matters.
Every ounce of connection, intimacy, and joy is available to you.
So grab it. Hold it close. And never, ever let it go.
With so much freaken love
Alexa
Xx
“None of us are getting out of here alive, so why are we wasting time holding back” ✨
Thank you for sharing this, I am terrible at accepting my feelings and even less so grief. I hope that you have had the people you love gather around you in this time 💜