It’s hard to grieve what hasn’t died.
Friendships. Trust. Normalcy.
They’re still there—just not the same.
That’s called ambiguous loss.
And it’s everywhere now.
A quick thread 🧵
Friendships. Trust. Normalcy.
They’re still there—just not the same.
That’s called ambiguous loss.
And it’s everywhere now.
A quick thread 🧵
Grief isn’t always about death.
Sometimes, it’s watching the world you believed in rot from the inside.
And still having to pack lunches.
Sometimes, it’s watching the world you believed in rot from the inside.
And still having to pack lunches.
It’s not just who we lost.
It’s who we became.
It’s what we gave up to survive.
The birthdays we didn’t attend.
The hugs we held back.
The futures we stopped planning for.
It’s who we became.
It’s what we gave up to survive.
The birthdays we didn’t attend.
The hugs we held back.
The futures we stopped planning for.
This is ambiguous loss:
When nothing is final, but everything is different.
When people are still alive, but the trust isn’t.
When normal returns, but it feels like a replica built in a rush.
When nothing is final, but everything is different.
When people are still alive, but the trust isn’t.
When normal returns, but it feels like a replica built in a rush.
You can’t bury this kind of grief.
It shows up in small ways:
-The way you scan a room for vents
-The flinch when someone coughs
-The pause before saying, “I’m okay”
It shows up in small ways:
-The way you scan a room for vents
-The flinch when someone coughs
-The pause before saying, “I’m okay”
We lost simplicity.
Spontaneity.
Belief in systems.
Faith that someone, somewhere, would do the right thing without being shamed into it.
Spontaneity.
Belief in systems.
Faith that someone, somewhere, would do the right thing without being shamed into it.
We grieve people who changed.
Friends who ghosted when you kept masking.
Family who mocked your caution.
Coworkers who laughed at air filters while calling out sick every other week.
Friends who ghosted when you kept masking.
Family who mocked your caution.
Coworkers who laughed at air filters while calling out sick every other week.
We grieve what our kids never got.
The field trips.
The carefree years.
The idea that adults are supposed to protect them.
The field trips.
The carefree years.
The idea that adults are supposed to protect them.
It’s disorienting—walking through a world that says “It’s over” while your nervous system screams that it’s not.
That hypervigilance?
That’s grief’s twin.
It learned to stay alert when no one else did.
That hypervigilance?
That’s grief’s twin.
It learned to stay alert when no one else did.
You’re not “too sensitive.”
You’re adapting in a world that keeps asking you to numb out.
To forget.
To pretend the air doesn’t matter and science is just a vibe.
You’re adapting in a world that keeps asking you to numb out.
To forget.
To pretend the air doesn’t matter and science is just a vibe.
This grief is invisible.
There’s no memorial for lost innocence.
No candlelight vigil for stolen futures.
No “I’m sorry” for the betrayal of pretending it was all fine.
There’s no memorial for lost innocence.
No candlelight vigil for stolen futures.
No “I’m sorry” for the betrayal of pretending it was all fine.
If you feel heavy, weird, detached, bitter, tired, different—
you’re not broken.
You’re grieving a world that told you to keep smiling while it quietly set itself on fire.
you’re not broken.
You’re grieving a world that told you to keep smiling while it quietly set itself on fire.
Ambiguous loss lingers because it was never acknowledged.
So let’s name it:
The grief is real.
The change is permanent.
And you’re not alone in feeling it 🩷
End/
So let’s name it:
The grief is real.
The change is permanent.
And you’re not alone in feeling it 🩷
End/
@1goodtern I know you’ve spoken about this .. hope it resonates with you 🩷
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