The day my father died, the world split in two. There was the before—filled with his laughter, his advice, his presence at our family table. And then there was the after—this strange, hollowed-out reality where I stood at 21, watching them lower his coffin while something inside me screamed that this couldn’t possibly be happening.

No one had told me grief would feel so physical. That my chest would literally ache. That food would lose its taste. That sometimes, in the middle of a normal conversation, the world would suddenly go silent and distant, as if I were underwater while everyone else breathed air.

This is grief. Not just sadness, but a complete rewiring of your world.

I’ve walked this path more times than I’d wish on anyone—losing my nanny Sarah when I was just 8, my father at 21, my best friend at 24, my brother Juan at 25, a girlfriend at 26, my mother at 40, and my sister at 47. Each loss taught me something about the emotional stages we travel through when our hearts break. Through these experiences, I’ve come to see grief as a necessary part of a healing journey—from the initial shock toward a more profound sense of wholeness and love.

While I’d never claim grief itself is a gift, I can tell you this with absolute certainty: the path that feels so unbearable at first eventually leads somewhere you cannot yet imagine.

Your experience of grief, I believe, will depend on your current level of emotional maturity or capacity to embrace life’s ups and downs. It will also vary depending on where you are along what I believe are the nine emotional stages of grief. This week, I’d like to share these 9 stages with you, and provide you with some proven advice and practical tools to help you navigate the healing journey.

But before I share these emotional stages of grief, know this: grief isn’t linear. You might move through these stages in a different order, revisit stages you thought were complete, or experience several simultaneously. That’s perfectly normal. The map I’m offering isn’t to judge where you “should” be, but to help you recognize the terrain and know you’re not lost, even when it feels that way.

The 9 Emotional Stages of Grief: The Healing Journey from Heartbreak to Love

1) Shock & Numbness

When my father died, I answered calls, made arrangements, and comforted others—all while feeling strangely disconnected, as though watching myself from a distance. This is shock—your mind’s natural protection system activating to shield you from feeling everything at once.

In this stage, you might find yourself saying things like “This can’t be happening” or functioning on autopilot. You might feel physically numb or disconnected from your body. Your nervous system is protecting you, allowing only as much reality in as you can handle.

If you’re in this stage: Gentle physical practices can help—place a hand on your heart and breathe deeply. Feel your feet on the ground. Notice temperatures, textures, sounds. These simple awareness practices help you stay present to the experience, and allow your body to slowly recognize and process what your mind isn’t ready to fully accept.

2) Anger & Regret

After my brother Juan’s tragic death, I found myself feeling furious—at the lady whose car killed him, at friends who said the wrong things, even at Juan himself for leaving us. Alongside this anger came the torturous “what ifs”—what if I had spent more time with him? What if I had done more to help him deal with his addiction problem?

Anger in grief often surprises people, but it’s a natural response to the profound unfairness of loss. Your heart is saying, “This shouldn’t have happened!” And it’s right—it shouldn’t have.

If you’re in this stage: Give your anger permission to exist without judgment. Write an unsent letter expressing everything you’re feeling. Go somewhere private and scream if you need to. Physical movement helps process anger—take a hard walk or punch a pillow. Remember that being angry at someone you’ve lost doesn’t erase your love for them; it’s just one part of the complex tapestry of grief.

3) Pain & Guilt

When my sister succumbed to the same multiple myeloma that had taken our mother years earlier, the pain felt physical—a heaviness in my chest that made even breathing feel like work. With this pain came guilt’s relentless voice: “You should have convinced her to try the experimental treatment,” “You should have been there for her.”

This physical pain of grief is real. Research shows that emotional pain activates the same brain regions as physical pain. The body mourns alongside the heart.

If you’re in this stage: Place your hands where the pain feels strongest in your body. Breathe into that space with gentle awareness. Say to yourself, “This is grief moving through me.” For guilt, try this compassion practice: Would you say these same harsh things to a dear friend in your position? Speak to yourself with the same kindness you would offer them.

4) Depression & Sadness

After my best friend Stanley died, there were days I couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed. I’d get in my car and drive aimlessly without direction. The world felt colorless, flat, and meaningless. This wasn’t just sadness—it was depression, a natural response when grief settles in for a longer stay.

In this stage, you might feel a profound emptiness, withdraw from social activities, lose interest in things you once enjoyed, or feel that the future holds nothing for you. Your energy reserves hit rock bottom.

If you’re in this stage: First, recognize that this depressive state is a normal part of grief, not a personal failure. Lower your expectations of yourself—simple achievements like taking a shower or preparing a small meal are victories. Tell at least one person how you’re really feeling; isolation deepens depression. Consider speaking with a grief counselor if daily functioning becomes impossible. And remember: your capacity for joy isn’t gone forever, just temporarily buried beneath the weight of loss. Both your brain and heart are dealing with the loss.

5) The Turning Point

I remember the morning, about eight months after my father died, when I woke up after dreaming about him. In the dream he looked younger, healthy, and radiant with life. Instead of feeling sad, I felt a strange calm. For the first time, I could think about him without being immediately swallowed by pain. The grief hadn’t disappeared, but something had shifted inside me.

The turning point isn’t a single dramatic moment, but rather a gradual realization that you’re beginning to integrate this loss into your life. You might notice you can talk about your loved one without immediately crying, or that you remembered something that made you smile instead of ache.

If you’re approaching this stage: Honor this transition without guilt. Many people feel they’re “betraying” their loved one by beginning to heal. Remember that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving them behind—it means carrying them differently.

6) Courage & Trust

After my mother died, I found myself drawing on her courage during my own difficult times. One day, facing a challenge at work, I clearly heard her voice in my heart saying, “You’ve got this, Gabriel.” I realized that while I had lost her physical presence, her courage had become part of me.

In this stage, you begin to trust life again. You start to see that even this terrible loss might eventually weave itself into the fabric of your life in meaningful ways. This isn’t about “everything happens for a reason” toxic positivity, but rather about finding the courage to remain open to what life is constantly offering you.

If you’re in this stage: Ask yourself, “What qualities from my loved one now live on through me?” Notice how their influence has shaped who you are. Consider starting a small project that honors their memory or values—perhaps volunteering for a cause they cared about or finishing something they started.

7) Acceptance & Willingness

Years after my nanny Sarah’s departure—the first significant loss in my young life—I found myself looking at old photos and feeling a complex mix of sadness and gratitude. I could finally hold both truths simultaneously: I wished she were still here, AND I was thankful for everything she had taught me and for being there for me.

Acceptance doesn’t mean you’re “over it” or that you approve of what happened. It simply means you acknowledge the reality of your loss and your new life. With acceptance comes willingness—a readiness to engage with life again, to form new connections, to find joy without guilt.

If you’re in this stage: Consider creating new traditions that acknowledge both your loss and your continuing life. Perhaps light a candle on special days, visit meaningful places, or incorporate something your loved one enjoyed into your own life. Allow yourself to say “yes” to new experiences without feeling you’re betraying your grief.

8) Faith & Hope

When I lost my girlfriend Gisela in my twenties, I thought I would never love again. The pain was too great, the risk too high. Yet years later, I found myself opening to new love, bringing with me all I had learned about life’s fragility and the courage it takes to connect deeply.

In this stage, you begin to trust that your heart, against all odds, still has capacity for joy. There’s a growing faith that while life will never be the same, it can still be meaningful and even beautiful in new ways. This renewal of hope isn’t about erasing what happened, but about recognizing that life goes on and your story continues.

If you’re in this stage: Notice and celebrate small moments of unexpected joy—they are signposts pointing toward healing. Begin dreaming again; allow yourself to envision possibilities for your future. Consider how your experience of loss has deepened your capacity for empathy and connection with others.

9) Appreciation & Love

Recently, I dreamt of my sister—not as she was in her final days, ravaged by the same cancer that took our mother—but vibrant and laughing. I woke with tears streaming down my face, but they weren’t only tears of sadness. They contained profound gratitude for having been her brother.

This final stage of grief isn’t about “getting over” your loss. It’s about integrating it fully into who you are. The love you shared doesn’t disappear—it transforms. You find that your heart has somehow expanded to hold both sorrow and joy, loss and gratitude.

If you’re in this stage: Consider the ways this loss has changed you. How has it deepened your capacity to love? How has it clarified what truly matters? Many people find that profound loss ultimately enhances their appreciation for life’s ordinary moments and deepens their connections with others.

Supporting Others Through the Emotional Stages of Grief

Perhaps you’re reading this not just for yourself, but to support someone you love through their grief journey. Here’s what I’ve learned about what truly helps:

Be present without fixing. The greatest gift you can offer is your presence. Resist the urge to “fix” their pain with platitudes like “they’re in a better place” or “at least they’re not suffering.” Instead, simply acknowledge: “This is really hard. I’m here with you.”

Follow their lead. Some days they may need to talk about their loved one; other days, they might need distraction. Ask, “How are you today?” and then truly listen to the answer.

Remember the practical. Grief affects cognitive function. Offer specific help: “I’m going to the grocery store—text me what you need” or “I can drive the kids to practice on Thursdays.”

Mark significant dates. Send a message on anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays acknowledging that these days might be difficult.

Speak their loved one’s name. Don’t avoid mentioning the person who died. Sharing memories keeps their presence alive and acknowledges that they haven’t been forgotten.

Understand that grief has no timeline. Your grieving friend may still need support long after the funeral when everyone else has returned to normal life. Stay the course.

The Heart’s Capacity to Heal Through the Emotional Stages of Grief

There’s a time to dance and a time to sing. There’s a time to grieve and a time to heal. If you’re currently walking the path of grief, please remember this:

It is not time alone that heals you. Rather, it is the love you give to yourself and receive from others, over time, that heals you. For love—and only love—heals.

What I’ve learned through all my losses is that while people leave your physical life, they never truly leave your heart. My father’s integrity, my mother’s resilience, my sister’s laughter, my friend’s loyalty—these qualities live on in me. Our hearts have the miraculous capacity to transform loss into love, pain into wisdom.

What I’ve also learned, quite unexpectedly, is how each loss has deepened my relationship with God. I never could have predicted this outcome when drowning in grief, yet spiritually, it makes perfect sense.

If God is love itself, and the grief journey ultimately leads us toward greater love, then it naturally draws us closer to the divine source of that love. In your most broken moments, when the heart cracks open, something sacred rushes in—a deeper connection to the eternal, a more profound understanding of what matters most.

Remarkably, your heart can hold both sorrow and joy, grief and gratitude—not in separate chambers, but intertwined like branches of the same tree. This is the great mystery and miracle of healing.

So, please be patient, loving, and gentle with yourself and those you love most. Your feeling heart is doing the most profound work it will ever do. Trust its wisdom, follow its pace, and know that even in your darkest moments, you are not alone on this path.

—Gabriel

PS. When you're ready, here are several ways I can support you on your journey.
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