Posted on September 9, 2026

Recently, I experienced the loss of my cousin—though calling him my cousin hardly captures our relationship. He grew up with us. In many ways, he was like a brother.

We knew this day would come. The doctors had already prepared us that his time was limited. Yet there is a difference between expecting loss and experiencing it. Grief rarely arrives alone. Only months earlier, in January, we buried his brother. Now my aunt faces the unimaginable reality of laying to rest both of her children. As I sat with my own sorrow, my heart also carried concern for her. Grief has a way of expanding beyond our own pain and reaching into the suffering of those we love.

As a therapist certified in grief work, people often assume I somehow know how to move through loss better than others. But the truth is this: therapists are trained in grief; we are not immune to it.

That raises an important question:

How do you comfort others when you need comfort yourself?

The answer, I've learned, is not by pretending we are unaffected. It is by embracing our humanity while remaining anchored in our values.

Scripture reminds us:

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)

Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say, "Blessed are those who avoid grief." He says those who mourn will be comforted. Comfort assumes pain existed first.

As clinicians, we often hold space for others during their darkest moments. Yet eventually life catches all of us off guard. The therapist who helps clients process loss may one day sit in grief herself. The counselor who teaches resilience may need to practice it personally. This is not hypocrisy—it is humanity.

One principle I often return to in my work is that healing does not begin with fighting our emotions; it begins with making room for them. Pain grows heavier when we resist it, deny it, or rush to escape it. Healing often asks us to acknowledge our experiences while continuing to move toward what matters most.

In this season, I have given myself permission to do three things.

1. Feel My Feelings

Grief is not linear. It comes in waves. One moment feels manageable; the next feels like standing at the shoreline as an unexpected wave crashes over your feet.

I've learned that naming what I feel reduces the struggle against it. Sadness. Weariness. Gratitude. Love. Loss.

Emotions are not problems to solve. They are experiences to acknowledge. Feelings are visitors—they deserve acknowledgment but not permanent residence.

2. Grieve Privately

As a therapist, I spend much of my life holding space for others. Yet I have learned something important about myself: I grieve privately.

And that is okay.

Some people process loss through community. Others process through quiet moments with God, family, reflection, or prayer. Neither approach is wrong. Healthy grieving is not measured by how visible it is. It is measured by whether it allows movement toward healing.

Private grieving is not isolation when it is intentional. Sometimes it is sacred space between you and God.

3. Embrace Resilience

Resilience is not the absence of pain. It is the willingness to keep moving while carrying it.

Imagine grief as a deep pit. Feelings invite us to sit and acknowledge our pain. But resilience extends a ladder—not to erase the hurt, but to help us climb when we are ready.

Resilience says:

"I can hurt and still heal."

"I can mourn and still move forward."

"I can carry loss without allowing loss to carry me."

This is where my ARC Mentality® becomes personal.

Accountability means honoring my needs during grief and giving myself permission to rest.

Relatability means remembering that my humanity allows clients to feel less alone in their own experiences.

Consistency means showing up with integrity—even when life has disrupted my plans.

Many clients quietly fear that when therapists experience hardship, they will disappear. Unfortunately, some have experienced exactly that. So what are signs that your therapist remains a safe place, even when they need a break?

Look for:

• Open communication — Are changes communicated clearly?

• Transparency — Are appropriate boundaries and expectations shared?

• Follow-up — Is there effort to reconnect, reschedule, or continue care?

Needing time away is human. Abandonment is different.

If your therapist struggles in one of these areas, it does not automatically mean you should end the relationship. Instead, consider your own needs, safety, and capacity to continue the work together. Therapy, like any relationship, is built on trust, repair, and communication.

For therapists, grief will eventually visit our offices too.

For clients, there may come a day when the person who helps hold your burdens needs time to tend to their own.

When that path crosses, both parties are invited into something sacred: grace.

Because even those called to help others still need comfort.

And thankfully, God promises exactly that:

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)

As I reflect on this recent loss, I would be remiss if I did not express my gratitude to my clients. When I shared the news of my cousin's passing, many of you responded not with frustration, but with compassion. You encouraged me to take the time I needed to sit with my feelings, process what had happened, and care for myself.

Your grace reminded me of something I often teach: healing happens in relationships built on trust, honesty, and mutual respect.

In many ways, your response reflected the very principles of ARC Mentality®—Accountability, Relatability, and Consistency. Accountability to honor our needs, Relatability in recognizing our shared humanity, and Consistency in maintaining connection even when life takes an unexpected turn.

Thank you for allowing me the space to be human while continuing to walk alongside you in your journey. It is one more reminder that therapy is not built upon perfection, but upon authentic connection and the courage to return.

Because even therapists need a safe place to grieve, heal, and begin again.