What the Hell is Grief Anyway?
What Grief Is, What It Isn’t, and Handling it Head On
Chapters in this Guide
The Traps Keeping You Stuck
The Tools
Here's What Grief Isn't
Most guys don’t have a clue about grief other than it’s something to avoid. We don’t talk about it. We don’t have any shared ways of dealing with it. We’re obsessed with “moving on”—whatever the hell that means. So let’s get clear about what grief isn’t, so you don’t fall for the bullshit ideas we’ve been taught (or not taught) to believe.
Grief isn’t something only women do. It’s not sitting around in a circle, holding hands, and crying about how sad you are. I’m sure groups like that exist, and if that’s your thing, great. But grief? It’s a hell of a lot more than that.
Grief isn’t just one thing—it’s not a single emotion like anger or sadness. In fact, grief isn’t an emotion at all. It’s a response to loss, a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that hits you on every level—mental, emotional, and physical.
Grief isn’t weakness. Man, it sure feels like it sometimes. Carrying the crushing weight of loss doesn’t mean you’re soft or broken. It means you cared about something or someone that mattered. Strength comes from facing it, not pretending it doesn’t hurt like hell.
Grief isn’t a straight line. There’s no “five easy steps” or neat, predictable stages. You can’t logic your way through it. Trust me, I’ve tried. One day, you might feel fine; the next, forcing yourself out of bed takes a miracle. It’s messy, chaotic, and all over the place—that’s what makes it so hard.
Grief isn’t something you “get over.” It’s not like a broken bone that heals, a broken part you fix or a hangover you recover from. It’s a part of your life now—something you learn to carry. Over time, as you grow stronger, it’ll feel lighter. But don’t expect it to magically disappear one day.
Grief isn’t one-size-fits-all. Nobody gets to tell you how to feel, how long it should take, or what’s “appropriate.” Unless you’re acting like a total asshole, in which case, I hope someone sets you straight. But even then, how you grieve is yours to figure out - nobody, including me, has the right to tell you how to do it. I bet a lot of people are going to try though.
Grief isn’t, and doesn’t have to be, a life sentence. It feels like the world has stopped turning, like nothing will ever be right again. But grief doesn’t mean your life is over. It’s where you figure out how to move forward, even when it feels impossible. And some days, it will feel impossible.
Grief isn’t optional. You can try to outrun it, drown it, or bury it under work or distractions. But trust me, it’ll catch up to you. And the more you avoid it, the harder it’ll hit when it finally does. The only way through grief is straight through the middle of it.
Understanding what grief isn’t clears the bullshit expectations society dumps on us. It gives you the freedom to face loss in a way that works for you, on your terms. And when you’re ready, it paves the way for growth—not by ignoring the pain, but by learning to grow through it.
So What the Hell is It Then?
Grief is more than the pain of losing someone you love. It’s the mental, emotional, and even physical toll of trying to adjust to a world that’s been turned upside down. Anytime you lose something that mattered—your relationship, your job, your health, your sense of purpose—grief shows up. And it rarely looks the way you expect.
Grief takes many forms:
Funerals and dark suits—the classic image we all know.
The gut punch of losing custody of your kids—watching your family life slip away.
The heartbreak of a relationship falling apart—feeling like a part of you is missing.
The mental anguish of losing your job or business—the plans you built...shattered.
Grief doesn’t knock—it kicks down the door, whether you’re ready or not. And the way it shows up can catch you off guard. Grief is a chameleon. It sneaks into your life in ways you don’t expect:
Anger: You’re snapping at people over nothing, blowing up over the stupidest things.
Numbness: You feel like you’re on autopilot, just going through the motions. Facing reality feels impossible.
Overworking: You throw yourself into endless projects to stay too busy to deal with the pain.
Escaping: That drink—or three—you poured to “take the edge off” is about avoiding the hurt.
Isolation: You push away the people who care about you. You convince yourself they wouldn’t understand. Or worse, that you’re protecting them from your pain.
Grief doesn’t always announce itself. It hides in these behaviors, twisting your actions in ways that make it harder to see and deal with. Recognizing it for what it is? That’s where the path forward begins. Once you name it, you can start to face it. And facing it is how you take back control.
There are countless definitions of grief, but here’s one I like:
Grief is the normal and natural emotional reaction to loss or change of any kind.
Put another way:
Grief is the process of adjusting to a world torn apart by loss.
For me, that world started to unravel when Cindy’s final downward spiral began. It happened a few months after our second daughter was born. It lasted five brutal years before she ended her pain by ending her life. Mental illness killed much more than a beautiful wife and mother. They obliterated the life and future we’d dreamed of building together.
We were young, had great jobs, and two amazing kids. Our future was bright, and we patted ourselves on the back for “figuring it out” in our early 30s. Everything was on track - until it wasn’t.
Cindy’s mental health issues took over her life—and ours—like a runaway train. Within months, she became a reckless, rage-filled, and irrational version of herself. She still looked like my wife. Her voice still sounded like my wife. But at times, it felt like I was living with someone possessed by the devil. It seemed like she needed an exorcism more than treatment.
When her doctor referred her to a psychiatrist, I felt a massive sense of relief. I thought she’d get the help she needed, and we could get back to building the life we’d dreamed of. But instead of getting better, things got worse. Every session seemed to focus on tweaking her meds, piling on more when the last cocktail didn’t work. She was slipping further and further away. She was becoming a zombie and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.
One day, I walked out of her psychiatrist’s office and it hit me like a truck: Cindy wasn’t “fixable.” She was never going to be back to "normal" again. The life we were building together no longer existed, and our dreams had gone up in smoke. I didn’t know what the future held—only that it was going to be a hell of a lot harder than I'd imagined.
I was thirty-two years old. I had two young daughters. A very sick wife. I had no idea what to do and neither did anyone else. I was sad, angry and terrified. In that moment, I didn’t have the words for it. But looking back, I know this was grief - the brutal realization that the future I’d been counting on was gone.
Now, I had to come to terms with what it all meant. It wasn’t only Cindy’s spiraling mental health or her eventual death that crushed me. It was the death of the picture-perfect future we’d imagined.
Grief isn’t always about losing someone. It’s also about letting go of the life, plans, and dreams that get torn away. I had to grieve for Cindy and for the future we’d dreamed of. That kind of grief is as real—and as brutal—as any other.
At the time, though, I didn’t have the words for what I was feeling. All I knew was that it sucked, and getting drunk seemed to make it suck less. So, I got drunk. A lot. And before long, I couldn’t stop. It’s a story as old as time.
Grief is about loss—plain and simple. And loss doesn’t play fair. It doesn’t care whether it’s “big” or “small.” If it mattered to you and it’s gone, grief is going to hit you. The key is recognizing it when it does. Whether it’s losing someone you love, time with your kids, your job, or a piece of yourself, grief doesn’t back down. You can’t fight it, and you can’t outrun it. You can try, but it won’t work. Trust me.
The only way forward is to face it head-on, take it one step at a time, and, over time, let it shape you into someone stronger.
Loss is inevitable—it’s not if, but when. And when it hits, it’ll hurt like hell. It might more than you think you can bear. But that pain is proof you cared—about the people, dreams, and life you were building.
The real question isn’t whether grief will come—it’s how you’ll respond. That choice? Only you can make it. It’s the first step toward rebuilding a life worth living.
I hope this guide will help you make more choices that help you move forward, brother.
Your take on what grief is, is very accurate. It is about the loss of the dream you once had, and learning to accept the new reality. Thank you for sharing what you have learned.