Navigating Grief, Life and Loss: Through the Fog

Navigating Grief, Life and Loss: Through the Fog

I live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, and while spring is on the horizon, our mornings are still wrapped in thick, lingering fog. It’s the kind of fog that changes how everything looks—how far ahead you can see, how quickly you move, how sure you feel on your path.

It reminds me so much of grief.

When you’re grieving, it often feels like you’ve been dropped into a dense fog without a map. There’s a sense of disorientation, of being unsure what life even is now. You might look ahead and see… nothing. You can’t quite imagine what comes next. And the things that once felt so certain—your routines, your relationships, your sense of who you are—feel impossibly far away.

"You do not have to see the whole path. You do not have to have it all figured out. Just keep taking gentle steps through the fog."

Moving Slowly Through the Fog

When we encounter literal fog, we instinctively slow down. We don’t hit the gas—we ease forward, cautiously. The same is true with grief. It requires a kind of tender, deliberate pace.

In our culture, there’s often pressure to “move on” or “get back to normal,” but grief doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t respond to deadlines. When you’re moving through the fog of grief, slow is not just okay—it’s necessary.

Because as you take those small steps forward, the landscape shifts. More becomes visible. Not all at once, and not in some perfectly unfolding plan, but enough. Enough to get through today. Then maybe tomorrow. And slowly, a new version of life begins to take shape.

The Brain Fog of Grief

There’s another kind of fog that shows up in grief: brain fog.

You might find yourself forgetting appointments, showing up at the wrong time, misplacing things constantly, or staring blankly at a recipe you’ve made a dozen times before. You might feel slow, fuzzy, or just… off.

This isn’t just “being distracted.” It’s grief doing its work in your brain.

If we were to take a snapshot of a grieving brain and compare it to a non-grieving brain, we would see real, tangible differences. Grief is not just emotional; it’s neurological.

One of my favorite books that explores this is The Grieving Brain by Mary-Frances O’Connor. She explains how grief impacts memory, attention, and even our perception of time. It’s a validating and empowering read—especially if you’ve felt like you’re “not functioning right.” You’re not broken. You’re grieving. And your brain is, too.

When the Fog Lifts

One of the most beautiful—and frustrating—things about fog is that it doesn’t last forever.

Sometimes it lingers all day. Other times it gives way to misty rain. And then, occasionally, the sun breaks through in the most unexpected ways.

Just last week, we had one of those days. It had been foggy all morning, but by afternoon, the sky had opened. The sun was so warm and bright that neighborhood kids ran outside in shorts and sandals, soaking it in like a gift.

Grief is like that, too.

You might be deep in it—barely able to breathe or think or remember how you used to be. And then, one day, there’s a tiny moment. A small burst of laughter. A feeling of calm. A moment of connection with someone. The fog lifts—maybe just a little.

It doesn’t mean the grief is gone. You may find yourself fogged in again tomorrow. But those moments of light are real. They matter. And it’s important to let yourself feel them, without guilt or fear. They are part of healing, too.

Reflection Through the Fog

If you're moving through grief right now, I invite you to pause. Take a few minutes with these gentle reflection prompts. You can journal about them, speak them aloud into a voice memo, or just sit with them quietly.

Call up an image of a wise, supportive figure.
This could be a real person, a fictional character, or someone who simply represents love and guidance to you.
What might they say to you in this moment of your grief journey?

What are three ways you can care for yourself today, just as you are?
Not how you wish you felt or how you were two weeks ago—how you are today.

Even small acts of care—a deep breath, a cup of tea, a slow walk—can help us soften into our experience instead of fighting against it.

A Book That Surprised Me

Lately, I’ve been in a bit of a reading rut. I picked up The Wedding People by Allison Espach thinking it would be a light read to break the cycle. And it was easy to read—but it was also so much more.

This book explores grief in subtle and layered ways. It looks at self-discovery, identity, and loss with humor and depth. I cried. I laughed. I underlined passages. It completely surprised me and quickly earned a five-star spot on my shelf.

If you’ve read it—or if you pick it up—I’d love to hear what you think.

Gentle Steps Forward

If you take one thing from this post, let it be this:
You do not have to see the whole path. You do not have to have it all figured out.

Just keep taking gentle steps through the fog.

And when the sun shines through—let yourself feel it. Let it warm you, even if only for a moment. These glimpses of light don’t mean the grief has vanished. They mean you’re healing in motion.

Be gentle with yourself in grief, and in healing.

Warmly,
Jen

Want to keep walking together?

If this blog resonated with you, I’d love to stay in touch.
➡️ Join my newsletter, Through the Fog to receive reflections like this one directly to your inbox—gentle, grief-informed support to remind you that you're not alone.
Or, if you’re seeking more personalized care,
➡️ Reach out here to explore 1:1 grief coaching or therapy.

Let’s keep moving forward—together.