Hello There, Grief...

Hande Walker, MA, LLP

I feel like I am getting to know a different aspect of my grief each day. Grief for me is like one of those people that you are intimidated by. You think you know everything about them, but then they do something unexpected and completely take you by surprise. The kind of person that is unpredictable but not in a bad or unhealthy, manipulative way. The kind of person that cannot categorize their personality type in a number, because they are more complex than that. The kind of person from whom you feel there is so much to learn, even though you’ve known them forever. It never gets boring, but it’s a bit exhausting because sometimes you just want to be around simplicity, predictability, and even boring, as you do not always feel up for an

adventure. So anyway, imagine that person, but it’s not a person - it’s an emotion instead. That is how I experience my grief!


Recently, I have realized that my grief makes me want to take action. It gives me the “sense of urgency” to act on a thought or an idea. The action step is not always in line with my values, what would be in my best interest, or what would benefit my relationships. I sometimes find myself wanting to provide a manual for my clients who are going through grief. To be able to

tell them when their grief is going to end or be more manageable. Why do I want a manual?


This is a question I battle with a lot in my line of work. Because most things are so abstract, I crave a manualized approach to tell me what to say or what to do. When it comes to grief especially, I also think I need the manual to have some sense of certainty and familiarity, so the process of grieving does not get more overwhelming than it already is.


Grief feels distinct from other emotions in this way, as it has a quality that never ceases to baffle me. Like, you do not know when it’s going to hit you, even if you identify and go through every single possible scenario you can imagine to know what to do and how to take care of yourself when you’re reminded of your loss. It is like the universe finds a clever or sneaky way to surprise you when you expect it the least.


Let’s talk about anxiety, for example. Anxiety can be sneaky too and manifest in subtle ways sometimes. Not the intense physical symptoms that feel like you are going to have a heart attack and die, but when you experience rumination, can’t stop overthinking something, when you are being short with your partner or feel irritated and agitated. That is easier to chalk up to

anxiety for me. For some reason, it is easy for me to understand and conceptualize anxiety. To understand the impact of anxiety on relationships, for instance, is easier to grasp and come to terms with. If I am anxious and easily annoyed, I will relate to others in a way that will reflect the ‘not so pleasant state of my mind/being.’


When it comes to grief though, it feels as if all of a sudden, I do not know how to be a human and do humanly things. When I am grieving, I do not always understand how I feel physically or regard the sensations in my body - or even the energy around me - as a reflection of my grief. For some reason, it is very hard to make that mind-body connection for me in the context of grief.It is also hard to put this into words, as I feel like I am trying to describe something so intangible. It’s as if you have to experience it to know and to understand.


I recently realized that “the urge to do something and fix it” comes from a place of hurt, sadness, and powerlessness attached to the grief related to a loss I experienced a few years ago. Not wanting to come to terms with something that is so unfixable, so irreversible. Not wanting to accept that there is no chance to make it better anymore. It is over, and I have to accept that I must move on.Yuck! Even writing this in a very clear and conclusive way right now evokes uncomfortable feelings and sensations in my body. Hello there, grief! I see and recognize you now!


Finally, not suppressing or ignoring the presence of my grief is helping me not make impulsive decisions or take actions when there is no action to take. For example, calling that person that my brain somehow convinced me was such a good idea, even supporting its argument with persuasive reasons that provided a sudden (false) sense of relief. I felt like I was finally on to something. Finally, I found a way to reverse the situation and make everything go back to what it was before. I am excited, hopeful, and it feels too good to be true. Then reality sets in. After engaging in some reflection and feeling more grounded in the painful reality, I realized my “protective part” was trying so hard to not let me feel the pain of loss and grief.


One time, my protective part worked so skillfully that I even convinced my therapist that I was making the right decision with the action I was planning on taking. My therapist even told me jokingly that I should be a lawyer. Apparently I was so persuasive. I really want to give credit to my protective part for working so hard to keep me safe. I initially was so upset and embarrassed about that protective part that ran the show that day, for going to such lengths to prove her point right, not caring about the consequences of her almost-impulsive actions. Then, I realized it was that protective part that would not let me develop a relationship with my grief - so much so that I felt numb when my body was screaming for help, begging to be seen.


With the help of therapy, I was able to understand the incredibly hard work my protective part was taking on so that I did not feel the pain of loss. Only then did I start to have compassion for this amazing, courageous, kind, younger part of me. I reassured her that despite the pain, I was glad to be in touch with my grief. Because feeling disconnected from the pain also meant I was disconnected from the other positive things that were going on in my life. I was just an observer of myself - of my life - like watching myself in a movie as an audience member, not knowing I am the main actor and I can change the course of things. How exciting and empowering! But also scary and risky. That was when I realized I’d rather live in reality and learn ways to manage my grief (just like I did with anxiety) than live in a fantasy world, hoping and wishing that someday my brain will find a way to get back what I have lost.


Witnessing so many of my clients who are in different phases of their grief journey and their relentless attempts at cognitive bypassing made me realize how important it is to find manageable ways to allow grief to exist. Simply acknowledging the presence of grief and being honest with myself about the intensity of the pain helped me relate to my grief in a different way. It did not become this scary thing or a danger zone I never wanted to go near. Instead, I realized I had to learn to honor its existence and adaptive function in my life. Easier said than done- I know. However, coming to this realization gradually brought me an unexpected sense of relief - knowing I do not have to fear grief. Because when you add fear to the mix, it’s as if the thing you are avoiding intensifies by multitudes.


I think what helped me a lot was curiosity and openness to this new entity that was coming my way. Also, resourcing myself - expanding my capacity to handle big emotions (positive and negative) - was necessary if I was going to take an honest look at my loss. It required a lot of courage that I didn’t have at the time - not realizing courage was something I could cultivate when I opened up more space for the unknown and embraced the fear. And embracing the fear didn’t look “cute,” like what you see in the movies, when somebody finally confronts and overcomes their fear.


Inevitably, I will experience another loss in life, but having a stronger relationship with grief itself - knowing more aspects of grief and having an open and curious attitude towards it - means grief finally does not feel like such a strange territory, like the person I was describing in the beginning. It also does not take control of my life or does not dictate my decisions. I, at least, have more neutrality towards it, rather than completely denying its presence. I can’t say that I am excited to interact with it at all times or that I look forward to its unannounced arrival. However, I am interested in listening and hearing what it has to tell me. At the very least, I do not find myself fantasizing about a manual to help me interact with my grief anymore (I never read them anyway). And I am happy with that progress.


Hande Walker, MA, LLP is a therapist at Restore Therapy Collective. In her free time Hande enjoys long walks or a hike in the nature. Besides spending time with friends and family, Hande loves reading-especially psychological thriller books. To schedule an appointment with Hande, please send a secure message through our contact form.

Restore Therapy Collective

The Space Between Doubt & Faith

By Kevin Dykstra, MDiv • June 12, 2026
Having served both as an ordained pastor and as a mental health professional, I have repeatedly heard strong emotions surrounding the idea of deconstructing - a process in which individuals systematically evaluate and question religious and spiritual beliefs and practices. Most often, I hear fear and anxiety from those who are personally wrestling with deconstruction or watching someone they love go through it. Such fears frequently include: - Fear of divine retribution or punishment - Fear that a loved one will abandon their faith - Fear of losing community or damaging family relationships - Fear of losing one’s identity - Grief over the loss of certainty - Fear of losing meaning or purpose This list could go on, of course, and it is not meant to be exhaustive. The point is that the idea of deconstruction can be highly intimidating for many people and it often brings up significant fear and distress, leading people to seek guidance from trusted faith leaders and mental health professionals. Unfortunately, there are also many less-than-helpful beliefs about what it means to undergo the process of deconstruction. So let's break some of these down: Deconstruction inevitably leads to abandoning religious belief Deconstruction is defined as a process - a process of evaluating, analyzing, and questioning one's own religiosity and/or spirituality. Engaging in this process does not, however, naturally lead to the abandonment of religious belief. Some individuals ultimately step away from religious identification altogether (de-identify), while others move toward reconstruction - retaining some elements of faith, though often reshaped. In fact, some have argued that a cycle of deconstruction and reconstruction may result in a more mature faith and may be a natural part of human growth and development. Things won't get better after deconstructing One thing we know about spirituality and religiosity is that they are incredibly sticky. What I mean by that is that they are incredibly powerful social forces and have deep impacts on our identity, morality, community, and even emotional reflexes. The impact of religion and spirituality can sometimes be hard to shake, even if you have left your religion or reconstructed with a new religious identity and understanding. For example, someone who has left a rigid religious environment may find themselves reproducing similar all-or-nothing, black-and-white thinking patterns in secular contexts. Other individuals might find that they struggle to shake a fear of divine punishment or retribution, despite having stopped believing in either hell or God. This is normal. Over time, though, many individuals' distress or struggles in these areas do soften in intensity. Reasons for deconstruction can be boiled down to one cause Reasons for undergoing the process of deconstruction vary. For some, deconstruction begins with an internal sense that what they were taught to think and believe conflicts with the behaviors or gut sense of what they believe to be true, launching the person into a period of intellectual questioning. Others begin deconstruction as a direct result of religious trauma and abuses experienced in religious/spiritual contexts. Others begin the process after experiencing a profound loss or death that their faith system does not seem able to explain or make sense of. Point being: the reasons for deconstruction vary and often begin with honest, sincere questions, doubts, concerns, and a search for answers or truth.  If you or someone you care about is facing challenges associated with deconstruction, though, what can you do? Be patient Remember that deconstruction is a process, not a single decision, event, or destination. This process may take time and may not be forced. And if you have left religion or spirituality behind, remember that the emotional intensity associated with previous beliefs often softens over time, and you may notice that your distress gradually lessens. Seek out a trusted religious/spiritual leader or other wise and trusted mentor You may be surprised to find that your religious leader has undergone a similar process or has resources that might be able to help you navigate this issue. The process of deconstruction does not have to be explicitly anti-religious and some individuals may find they benefit from addressing their concerns with faith leaders. Seek out a mental health professional The process of deconstruction can result in feeling highly anxious, depressed, or that life feels unbearable. Finding a mental health professional who understands the process of faith change, respects you and your journey, and can provide resources for coping with related mental health concerns can be tremendously helpful. Find resources related to deconstruction, faith change, religious/spiritual trauma, and other related issues There is an increasing number of resources aimed at helping individuals dealing with these issues, including the book used as inspiration for this article written by a Hope College professor of psychology and director of the Frost Center, Dr, Daryl R. Van Tongeren (2024). Books, audiobooks, and podcasts from professionals and individuals with lived experience may help you gain a greater appreciation and awareness for what you are experiencing.

Doing the Reps: What Running Has Taught Me About Mental Health

By Jonah Maichele • April 20, 2026
As a runner, I’ve learned that progress rarely comes from a single run. Rather, it comes from doing the reps time and time again. Sometimes, it means long miles when my legs feel strong. Other times, it is dragging myself out the door when it’s still pitch black outside, and the temperature is well below freezing. Of course there have been plenty of mornings when the last thing I wanted to do was run (And there still are days I don’t want to). But over time, the runs that felt difficult or like a chore, slowly became part of my routine. Changing behavior and creating a routine often works the same way. Many people come into counseling hoping for a breakthrough moment and/or quick fix, where everything suddenly makes sense and life feels easier. These moments can happen, but lasting change more often comes from practicing new ways of thinking, responding, and caring for yourself over and over again. In other words, it comes from doing the reps. In running, a rep might be a mile repeat or a long training run. In mental health, the reps look different. They might be things like pausing before reacting in a difficult conversation, challenging a negative thought instead of automatically believing it, or practicing a coping skill when anxiety starts to rise. At first, these reps can feel awkward and uncomfortable. Just like starting a new training plan, the effort can feel heavy in the beginning. Our brains adapt in much the same way our bodies do. With each rep, new patterns start to take hold. That coping skill becomes more natural. The pause before reacting becomes easier. That difficult conversation becomes more manageable. Here are some reps you can give a try Drink a full glass of water when you wake up in the morning. Take five minutes before bed to simply focus on your breathing. Step outside for a short walk, even if it’s just around the block. Pause and take three slow breaths when you notice stress building. Write down one thing you’re grateful for at the end of the day. Remember! The goal isn’t perfection. It’s getting in the reps. Start with something small, even if it feels too easy. Some days the reps will feel easier than others. Some days they’ll feel heavy. Change tends to come from continuing to show up anyway. And eventually, the things that once felt difficult start to feel normal. That’s when real change begins to take hold.  Jonah Maichele is a counseling intern at Restore Therapy Collective. In his free time, Jonah enjoys running, playing guitar, and hammocking at the beach. His favorite foods include sushi, orange chicken, and his grandma’s specialty gnocchis.

Riding in Harmony: A New Way to Understand Your Emotions

By Morgan Peterson, LLMFT, LLPC • February 25, 2026
I so often hear things like, “I know I shouldn’t get angry, but I do,” or, “I get so anxious, and I should just let it go.” It’s a common refrain of things that should be done and ways we should behave. We talk about emotions as something to control rather than work alongside, but what would happen if we learned to work with our emotions rather than against them? Think of our emotions as a horse—they’re instinctual, reactive, powerful, and often rooted in survival mechanisms. Just like a horse, they can be strong and seemingly unpredictable. Now think of the rational part of ourselves as the rider of the horse; this is the part of us that plans, is logical, and tries to stay in control to lead us in deliberate direction. The goal isn’t to “break” the horse and give the rider total control, and the goal is also not to let the horse run wild. The goal is to build a relationship between the two. When the horse and rider work together in harmony, the journey is smooth. The horse provides energy and motivation while the rider offers direction and guidance. If the horse is too in charge, it might bolt with fear, anger, or desire, and this can lead us off trail. If the rider is too dominating, they may ignore signals from the horse until it erupts, or the horse is stifled to the point of low energy and lack of motivation. Therapeutic work often involves helping the rider understand and work with the horse by learning how to notice, respond to, and gently guide it. The goal isn’t control, but connection. It’s about building relationship between emotions and our rational selves to encourage understanding, respect, and resiliency within ourselves. We can listen to our emotions without being overwhelmed by them, and we can use our rational mind without it becoming a harsh inner-critic. Emotional regulation isn’t about silencing emotions, but learning to ride with them. Morgan Peterson, LLMFT, LLPC, is a therapist at Restore Therapy Collective. Morgan’s passion is helping people improve their relationships—with others and with themselves. When not in session, you can find her gardening, knitting, reading, or doing other “grandma” hobbies.
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