Loss arrives in so many forms.
The loss of a loved one, a dream, a version of yourself you thought would remain.
Sometimes it comes suddenly — other times it drips in slowly, like time folding inward.
But loss is never small, not to the soul.
It shifts everything.
And the world doesn’t always know how to hold us when we’re in it.
If you are here, reading this, and you are carrying something heavy — something that once was but is no longer — I want you to know this:
You are not broken.
You are not behind.
You are becoming, even here.
Grief is not the absence of strength.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
And still, even as it aches… it points to something sacred:
That what you lost mattered.
That you, dear one, feel deeply.
That you are alive, still becoming, even now.
When I sat to draw recently, I didn’t have a plan.
I let what needed to come, come.
What emerged was a spiral — soft, golden, cradled in light blue — and it told me its name:
“An Invitation to Be.”
Not to move on.
Not to figure it out.
Just… to be.
To sit beside your grief.
To breathe inside your silence.
To exist, without needing to explain yourself to the world.
Sometimes healing doesn’t come as clarity — it comes as breath.
As stillness.
As the gentle, unspoken understanding that even in your sorrow, you are worthy of love.
If you are grieving — any kind of loss — let this space be a soft landing.
Let this be your place to be seen without being rushed.
You are not alone.
You are held.
You are still here — and that means something.
With all my heart,
Glenda
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