The Quiet Flicker of Grief

As the holidays draw near, I notice a familiar stirring in my chest - subtle, steady, almost like a quiet echo from a place I haven’t visited in a long time. Certain losses carry their own rhythm, and they tend to rise this time of year, not loudly, but like a gentle flicker that shifts with the light of the day.

I think many of us feel this. The holidays gather our memories - the sweet ones, the aching ones - and place them in our hands with a tenderness that can surprise us. Some days that weight feels warm. Other days it feels heavy. If your heart feels a little more sensitive right now, there’s nothing wrong with you. This season often calls forward the people we’ve loved and lost.

One of the ways I honor the person I miss is through movement - especially dance. It’s become a space where both joy and ache can breathe. Some days the movement feels bright; other days it carries a quiet sorrow. But either way, it allows love and grief to sit beside each other without needing to choose between them.

If this season stirs something in you, you’re not alone.
Grief can soften and still remain.
It can ache and still be an expression of love.
And there is room - always - for both the sadness and the beauty to coexist.

There is hope in that gentle meeting place.
And healing in honoring what we’ve carried, and who we’ve lost, in ways that feel true to the heart.