When Grief Doesn’t Go as Expected: The Unpredictable Journey of Loss

When Grief Doesn’t Go as Expected: The Unpredictable Journey of Loss

Grief is supposed to be predictable, right? It’s supposed to come in five neat stages—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—like a ladder you climb, rung by rung, until you reach the top and step off into healing. At least, that’s what we’ve been told. But when you actually lose someone, when the unthinkable happens, grief doesn’t come in a predictable pattern. It doesn’t check in politely and leave when it’s done. Instead, it sneaks up on you in moments you never expected, in ways you never imagined. Grief doesn't go as expected.

I learned this the hard way when I lost my parents. I thought I knew what grief would look like—I’d seen it in movies, read about it in books. I assumed it would be immediate, overwhelming, and all-consuming. That I’d cry endlessly, feel numb for weeks, and then, gradually, get back to “normal.” But grief didn’t follow my script. Instead, it showed up in waves, sometimes so faint I wondered if I was grieving at all, and other times so crushing I could barely breathe.

The Unexpected Faces of Grief

One of the first surprises about grief was how strangely functional I felt in the beginning. In the immediate aftermath, I didn’t fall apart like I thought I would. Things were such a whirlwind trying to help mom with her treatment, that it didn't seem like there was even time to grieve dad. Once we lost mom, I had a to-do list. Pay the bills, take care of the house, sell the house, close the estate. I was on autopilot taking care of all the things I was responsible for. For a while, I worried: Was I grieving wrong? Shouldn’t I be more devastated? But then, out of nowhere, grief would strike. Seeing favorite foods, or movies or books. Seeing something I wanted to share. Music was the hardest. There are so many songs that just cut me to my core. Still do, honestly.

Grief didn’t look like constant sadness; it looked like a thousand tiny losses, piling up over time. It looked like anger, not just at the universe for taking them too soon, but at the unfairness of everyday moments that went on without them. It looked like exhaustion, like having no energy for things I once loved, like feeling disconnected from the world around me. It even looked like laughter—real, deep laughter—because sometimes, in the middle of loss, you remember something so ridiculous or wonderful about your loved one that you can’t help but smile.

The Loneliness of Unmet Expectations

Another thing I didn’t expect was how lonely grief could feel, even when surrounded by love. People showed up, they checked in, they sent messages, and I was grateful for every bit of it. But the truth is, no one else could really know what losing them felt like to me. Grief is deeply personal, shaped by every moment you shared, every word left unsaid. And because my grief didn’t look the way I thought it would, I often felt like I was carrying it alone.

Sometimes, I wanted to talk about them constantly—to keep their name in the air, to make sure people didn’t forget. Other times, I wanted to be silent, to exist without having to explain how I was feeling. And that inconsistency made me feel even more isolated. It made me realize that there’s no “right” way to grieve, only the way that unfolds naturally for each of us.

The Physical Toll of Grief

Something I didn’t fully understand until I was in it was how much grief affects the body. It wasn’t just emotional pain—it was physical. There were days when exhaustion hit like a wall, making even small tasks feel impossible. Sleep became unpredictable, either restless or too deep to pull myself out of. My appetite changed, swinging between not wanting to eat at all and craving comfort foods that reminded me of home.

Even my body felt like it carried the weight of loss. My shoulders ached from tension, my chest felt tight, and some days, it was as if I were moving through molasses. I had to remind myself that grief isn’t just something you think or feel—it’s something your body lives through.

Letting Go of the Shoulds

One of the hardest but most freeing lessons I’ve learned through this process is that grief doesn’t come with rules. There’s no timeline, no checklist, no moment where you’re suddenly “done” grieving. I had to let go of what I thought grief should look like and instead accept it for what it is: messy, unpredictable, and deeply human.

I’m still learning to make space for it. Some days, that means letting myself cry without apologizing for it. Other days, it means allowing myself to feel joy without guilt. It means understanding that healing isn’t about forgetting—it’s about carrying love forward in a new way. It means accepting that some days will feel heavier than others, and that’s okay.

If Your Grief Looks Different

If you’re grieving and it doesn’t look the way you thought it would, know this: You’re not doing it wrong. Your grief is valid, whether it’s quiet or loud, whether it comes in waves or lingers in the background. You are allowed to feel it in your own way, on your own time.

Loss changes you, but it doesn’t mean you have to rush to become someone new. Give yourself grace. Let yourself grieve however it shows up. And most of all, remember—you are not alone.

Grief is not a straight path, and it doesn’t mean leaving your loved one behind. It means learning to walk forward while carrying them with you in a different way.