When Grief and Trauma Collide
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
Grief is heavy. Trauma is louder.
And when they collide, it can feel like there’s no room to breathe, not just for a couple of hours - more like months.
See, I thought everything that I went through was over and gone with, but in just one moment, I knew I was wrong.
I've walked through grief and trauma separately and alone. It is heavy to breathe, walk, have joy, or move forward. Now, when they meet together- like in a sudden loss and an unexpected reactivation of an old wound- there's pressure that words can't hold.
It's like fried asked, "How do I live without what I lost?" and trauma screams, "Why do I even feel this way after everything has happened??"
Realization
I've learned that the space between the feelings is the place God draws nearest to you and where you fight between survival and surrender.
IN these moments, I've met the God who doesn't flinch at my questions or my outbursts.
Who doesn't shame me, dismiss me, or ignore me.
He's the God who holds what I can't - and for a year I couldn't hold anything. I've had to learn that healing doesn't mean erasing the past and what has happened, but it means letting God be the keeper and healer.
I felt so alone for so long that I figured there was no way to get past what I was feeling; it wasn't just the current loss, but the major losses that I had and hadn't cared about. I was grieving multiple deaths that I failed to finish the process with.
It was so much heartbreak at one time that I didn't think I would make it to the other side. I felt it physically and mentally; it almost felt as though there was no escape.
I didn't have the support that I thought I required, and in the moment, I was angry. My words hurt and pierced the people who I loved, my asks fell on deaf ears, and I was ready to cut the world off.
But God.
After I started releasing, I just kept crying out for help from God because why would I have to go through this alone?!
He said, "Who said you were alone?"
Then I went through weeks of redirection. God provided a space for just me and Him, and in it, intimacy that was all I needed. I realized I never finished grieving because I invited too many people into the process who didn't have my best interests, and it resulted in added trauma that I had no idea - until now.
Hindsight is always 20/20
What's next?
I am coming up to two years since our loss, and we are still here. My son has his own grief journey that I am finding I am the person I needed when I lost the people most dear to me. Everyone forgets that after the funeral, and everyone moves on, there are still people fighting to live through the pain that's unbearable.
I really feel like it's too quick between loss and "it's time to be normal again."
I am thankful that God allowed me to go through it, ask the questions, scream at the top of my lungs, and still be there for me.
We are still taking it day by day, but almost every day, we are reminded of the loss and the gaps that have developed. I know God will be the filler.
Sending reminders through my Test
If you're here - stuck between grief and trauma- I want to say this:
You are not alone
I know. I know how it feels. I know what that voice in the back of your mind is saying.
I know what the empty fridge is saying.
I know the pain you feel watching your children grieve someone they will never see again.
You are not too broken to be redeemed.
No, it will never be the same, but it can still be something beautiful.
And you don't have to figure it all out right now. No matter the pressures of the world.
Take the Time. Lean on Him and let Him hold you.
He already knows what's going on, and He's right there with you.
He is so close. And He sees you. He doesn't want you to feel this pain.
Let it out. Cry it out. Pray it out. Love it out.
Stay close to Him.
He's already holding it all. He's so capable and loves you so much.
Your grief. Your trauma. Your unspoken prayers- He has them all.
The flowers will come back. 🌸
Finally.
This post is not an answer. It’s an invitation:
To let the God who never leaves sit with you in the collision.
To let Him be the calm in the chaos and the healing in the hurt.
To believe that even here—especially here—He is close.
I love you.