If you had told me two months ago that October would arrive carrying a personal canon event, I would have laughed it off. Yet reality has a way of rearranging itself with alarming speed. Hurricane Melissa barreled through many of our lives, and in what felt like a single breath, took far more than any of us were prepared to lose. That’s the nature of grief—it introduces itself abruptly, in the spaces where certainty once lived, and it leaves you standing in the ruins of what you thought was stable ground.

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The Unwelcome Visitor

Grief is woven into the human experience, but she rarely arrives gently. While some losses are anticipated, or at least understood over time, others appear without warning and leave us scrambling for emotional footing. We grieve the friendships that slowly shift out of alignment. We grieve the dreams we once held close, but now realize no longer fit who we are becoming. We grieve the stability we fought for and the versions of ourselves we must leave behind as life urges us into unfamiliar territory.

Grief stands at the door with heartbreaking news, uncomfortable truths, unanswered questions, and a heaviness that feels impossible to hold. That is her version of a housewarming gift. And whether or not we feel ready, she demands a space in our lives, insisting that we sit with her long enough to understand the depth of what has changed.

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Making Space for the Discomfort

Over the past month, I have found myself tangled in a web of “what ifs” and “whys”, none of which have offered clarity. If I claimed that I had fully processed everything that happened during or after the hurricane, I’d be giving myself too much credit. Grief has a way of placing you in a suspended state, somewhere between shock and acceptance, where nothing feels wholly real yet everything feels overwhelmingly possible.

There is a particular kind of sting that comes with experiencing loss in your twenties. You spend so much time carving out your independence, defining your boundaries, and building a version of adulthood that finally feels sturdy, only to watch parts of it fall apart in an instant. I like to consider myself as independent for most of my life; not out of obligation, but because relying on myself has always given me a sense of pride, clarity, and alignment with the goals I’ve yet to reach. Losing things I worked so diligently to achieve felt like a quiet betrayal, a disruption to the life I was carefully shaping.

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Grief Cannot Be Measured

One of the more complex things about grieving is the temptation to minimise your own experience because someone else appears to be suffering more intensely. You may find yourself thinking, “At least I didn’t lose a relative,” or “At least I still have a job,” as if grief can be ranked on some universal scale that determines whose pain is legitimate. But people attach meaning to different things for different reasons, and dismissing your emotions simply because someone else’s loss seems greater does nothing to ease your heart.

After the hurricane I spent quite a few days going to different communities and speaking with team members who also lived in these areas and it was heavy, many have lost their homes, pieces of them that they carried from their childhood and relatives. The common thread that held most of them together during this time surprisngly wasn’t what was lost, but the fear of addressing these because ofthe shame that came with the perception of being vain.

Comparing grief leads you away from yourself, not closer to healing. It turns your own pain into a shadow, something you feel guilty for acknowledging. This is where grace enters—not loudly, but quietly and reminds you that you are allowed to feel the full weight of what you have lost without apology. Gratitude follows close behind, not to negate the grief, but to offer a gentler way to carry it.

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Two Truths Can Exist at Once

One of my favourite reminders is that two truths can exist at the same time. Life does not ask us to choose between joy or sorrow, certainty or confusion, gratitude or grief. It simply asks us to feel what is real, even when those realities contradict each other.

In November, someone I grew up with passed away; she played a motherly role in both my parents’ lives. One of my most vivid childhood memories is of experiencing my second hurricane (Dean) at her home, where she offered a comfort and safety I still remember clearly. Losing her shortly after surviving Hurricane Melissa created an emotional overlap that I’m still struggling to articulate; grief layered itself upon grief, forming a kind of emotional vertigo.

And yet, only two months before her passing, we welcomed a new baby into our family. I suddenly found myself thrust back into “big cousin” mode; planning a baby shower, hospital visits, preparing for a christening, and allowing myself to fall in love with the beginning of a new life. Holding these two realities at once- celebrating new life while mourning a loss felt disorienting, as if I was constantly shifting between the extremes of the emotional spectrum. It takes intentional effort not to feel guilty for experiencing joy while navigating loss, but both feelings deserve to be held with honesty.

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Why Loss Hits Hard in Your Twenties

Your twenties are often romanticised as the decade where everything finally comes together. But in truth, this phase of life is much more like a construction zone—a place defined by mess, uncertainty, growth, and trial and error. When you’re still building the foundation of your life, any form of loss can feel like an earthquake, rattling your sense of identity and making you question whether you’ll ever regain stability.

Loss hurts not only because of what disappears, but because of what it challenges: your plans, your confidence, your understanding of who you’re becoming. You’re still learning how to stand firmly, which makes any disruption feel much larger than it appears from the outside.

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What Sharing Your Grief Can Teach You

Opening up about your grief, even in small ways, can reveal more about your relationships than almost anything else. It shows you who listens without trying to fix you, who sits with you without expecting anything in return, and who understands the weight of your silence. It also reminds you that many others are carrying their own quiet battles, even if you never see them.

My October post focused on the importance of community and being a villager, right before this all happened and over the past month it has been my village that has kept me afloat- the messages, the calls, friends who planned an exit strategy for me to make it home safely to my family, the same friends who without hesitation accompanied me multiple times so I could give back to the communities that fostered me for the last two years. A family that helped me sort through the mess and sat in the silence with me.

While navigating grief many persons will adopt hyper-independence as a survival mechanism. It’s easy to believe that handling everything alone makes you strong, or that relying on others threatens your control. But grief exposes the limitations of that mindset. It reminds you that at some point, you will need softness both from yourself and from others.

Allowing yourself to lean on someone else, even momentarily, is not weakness. It is a recognition that being human means being vulnerable. Letting yourself unravel, even slightly, can be the first step toward rebuilding with more compassion and gentleness than you had before.

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Everyday Gratitude When Life Makes No Sense

Gratitude in the midst of chaos doesn’t require grand gestures. It often begins with noticing the smallest sources of stability. It may look like acknowledging the support of a friend who checked in unexpectedly, or recognizing the comfort of a meal eaten slowly, or appreciating the familiarity of a space that feels safe. Gratitude is not meant to erase your pain, it simply softens the edges of it.

Even in seasons when life feels confusing or unfair, gratitude offers a way to remain anchored. It is a quiet reminder that amidst everything you’ve lost, there are things, big or small that still deserve to be cherished.

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A Gentle Reminder to Anyone Standing at the Crossroads

At the crossroads of the heart, where grief and gratitude settle into an uneasy coexistence, something quiet and transformative unfolds. These two companions; one heavy with memory, the other light with possibility—begin to teach you the delicate art of holding on and letting go at the same time. Grief shows you the depth of what mattered, while gratitude illuminates the pieces of life that remain, waiting patiently to be noticed again.

And in the soft, slow rhythm of learning to carry both, you discover that you are not breaking apart; you are expanding. You are becoming someone who understands that life can fracture you in one moment and gift you something breathtaking in the next. If you are standing in that space now, caught between what was and what is still to come, know this: you are not lost. You are simply unfolding. You are learning the language of resilience. And in your own time, you will feel whole again…differently, but beautifully.

If you find yourself balancing grief and gratitude at the same time, it doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It simply means you’re alive, you’re feeling deeply, and you’re learning how to carry the complexities that life inevitably brings. You are not falling behind. You are not failing. You are learning to live honestly, even when your heart is stretched between loss and hope.