The Grief No One Talks About: Losing Yourself

The Grief No One Talks About: Losing Yourself

I didn’t just lose my parents when they died.

I lost everything that made me feel grounded in the world. I lost my sense of safety — the quiet knowing that no matter how bad things got, I had someone to call. I lost the version of the future I used to daydream about — one filled with holidays at their house, phone calls for life advice, and their faces in the crowd at milestones I thought they’d always be here for.

I lost my best friend when I lost my mom. I lost my biggest supporter and my own personal life coach when I lost my dad. I lost the sound of their laughter, the comfort of their voices, the daily rhythm of our lives together. And maybe the hardest part to admit — I lost myself.

No one really prepares you for that part of grief. We talk about the pain, the sadness, the hollow ache of missing someone. But what about the loss of self? The version of you that only existed in their orbit? The you that made sense in a world where they were still alive?

It’s been almost three years. And I still don’t feel “normal.” Honestly, I don’t even know what “normal” is supposed to feel like anymore. Some days I wonder if I ever will. Some days I feel like I’ve been fundamentally altered — like my DNA shifted under the weight of this loss.

Before grief, life felt manageable. Not perfect, not without its problems, but predictable in a way that let me breathe. Now? Even the smallest things feel heavy. Tasks that used to be second nature can completely drain me. And I find myself questioning: would it feel this hard if I had lost them later in life? If they had made it to their 80s or 90s — would I have felt more prepared, more steady, more whole without them? Did I lose not just who they were, but also the decades of them I thought I’d still get?

I’ll never know. And that uncertainty can be its own kind of grief.

There’s research that says there are only a few things that can truly change a person: falling in love, becoming a parent, finding a deep spiritual path… and trauma. Trauma cracks you open. It pulls your identity out of alignment and shakes loose everything you thought you knew about yourself.

As grief researcher Dr. Pauline Boss puts it, “We don't get over loss; we learn to carry it differently. And in that process, we often become someone new.” That line hit me. Because I don’t really know who I am anymore. Not fully. And while some of the changes in me have been necessary — like letting go of old patterns that no longer served me — others feel more like collateral damage.

Like how I’ve become less patient with excuses or victim mindsets. How I used to bend over backwards for everyone, and now I say no more than I say yes. I think it’s the

burnout. The survival mode I’ve been in for almost three years. The constant energy it takes to keep living in a world that no longer has the two people who made it feel like home.

Dr. Robert Neimeyer, a leading expert in grief psychology, writes, “Grief is not just about mourning the past; it's about reconstructing a future… and a self, in light of what has been lost.” That’s what I’m doing now. Slowly. Quietly. Sometimes painfully. Reconstructing a self that can exist in this new world. I don't necessarily know who I want to be, but with the way that grief has impacted my life, I have some ideas of who I don't want to be.

Some of those lost pieces? I might get them back. Some? I’m not sure I want to. And some… I don’t think I’ll ever recover. I haven’t found much research on this part of grief. On the identity shift. The way grief doesn’t just take your loved one — it takes your reflection. It takes your compass. It takes you. And you’re left stumbling, trying to rebuild without a blueprint or the guidance you once had.

So I’ve stopped trying to force healing into neat little stages. I’m not trying to “get over it.” I’m just trying to get through it. One day at a time. Sometimes one breath at a time. I’m riding the waves, doing my best to put myself first — maybe for the first time in my life — and hoping that’s enough. Hoping that somewhere on this journey back to myself, I’ll find something soft and whole again.

Maybe not the old me. But maybe someone who feels just as real.

And if you’re walking this same path — wondering where you went after your world shattered — I just want you to know: you're not alone. You're not broken. You're becoming. Give yourself permission to not have it all figured out. Give yourself space to feel the identity shift, to grieve the version of you that existed before the loss. That grief is valid, too.

Maybe healing isn’t about returning to who you were. Maybe it’s about becoming someone new — someone deeper, someone wiser, someone forged in love and loss.

And maybe, just maybe, that version of you will feel like home again.