A Gentle Practice for Grief When Words Feel Too Hard

sestringel
Jun 22
3 min read

Sometimes, the tears come easily.

Other times, they don’t. They get stuck—trapped behind a lump in our throat, buried beneath the day’s to-do list, or swallowed by the pressure to keep it all together.

Grief is sneaky like that.

It doesn’t always show up as crying. Sometimes it comes disguised as exhaustion, numbness, irritability, or that sudden urge to shut everything and everyone out.

And for those of us who’ve lived in emotionally abusive relationships, grief often doesn’t look how we expect it to. We may grieve the loss of a partner, yes but more often, we’re grieving the version of life we thought we’d have. The dream we held. The version of ourselves we lost while trying to survive.

That’s why I want to share a practice my therapist recently gave me.

It’s quiet. It’s simple. And it meets us right where we are—no words required.

Draw your Grief: A Gentle Way to Process Pain

This practice doesn’t require artistic skill or emotional eloquence. Just your willingness to slow down and listen to what your body already knows.

Here’s how:

Grab a blank sheet of paper. Nothing fancy—any kind will do.
Draw a simple figure. A stick person is enough. Or you can print out the outline of a body.
Ask yourself these questions and let your answers emerge in drawings, shapes, colors, or even words:
- Where do I feel grief in my body? Is it heavy in my chest? A knot in my throat? A pit in my stomach? Shade those areas in.
- What color is my grief today? Maybe it's a foggy gray, a burning red, or a dull blue.
- If my grief had a smell, what would it be? Sour? Damp? Earthy like wet leaves?
- What does it look like? A tangled thread? A cloud? A jagged crack?
- What does it sound like? Shattered glass? A long sigh? A silence so thick it rings?
- What does it taste like? Bitter? Metallic? Like something unfinished?

This is about expression, not perfection. Let your grief come through the page in whatever form it takes. Scribble. Smudge. Shade. Write. There is no “right” way.

Because grief isn’t something we fix. It’s something we feel.

It’s not a sign we’re broken, it’s a sign that something mattered.

And for many of us, especially those healing from emotional trauma, grief is layered. We might be mourning:

The version of our partner we hoped they could be.
The years we spent trying to be enough.
The parts of ourselves we abandoned in order to keep the peace.
The belief that if we just loved harder, it would’ve worked.

That’s a lot to hold.

So this small practice, this moment of coloring in our pain, can become a sacred space to say, “This hurt. And it deserves to be seen.”

You don’t have to explain your grief.

You just have to give it a little room to breathe.

Even five minutes with a pen and paper can offer relief or a pause from the overwhelm. This isn’t about rushing grief away, it’s about sitting with it, so it doesn’t stay locked inside.

Reflection Questions:

What surprised you as you answered these prompts?
Where in your life are you still holding grief quietly?
What would it feel like to give that part of you compassion instead of judgment?

If you’re healing from emotional abuse and feeling heavy lately, this practice may be a place to start.

Let’s remember: we don’t have to carry it all in silence.

We’re allowed to feel, to honor, and to heal.