Men Aren't Supposed to Grieve—But They Do
Grief is hard. Grieving alone is harder.
Where are you on your grief journey today?
How are you feeling? Do you have the support that you need?
Loss can really affect anyone—men included. I feel that men often get brushed aside by societal pressures, which is one of the main reasons I wrote this post. It's inspired by the experiences I've had with clients over the years.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, I noticed a significant rise in the number of clients seeking support. At least twenty percent were men at the time, and that number continues to rise. Some quietly sought me out to talk about their grief, while others were encouraged by friends or family.
They wanted to talk about "it"—their grief.
"We're not supposed to talk about it."
"We're not supposed to share how we're feeling, so I hide it most of the time."
Grief touches every life, but no two grief stories are the same
My first loss was my favorite Aunt Vera. She could do anything and I mean anything, even at 86. I absolutely adored listening to her stories and watching her mend the yard fence, cut the lawn, and fix the front door.
She was my go to when I needed to talk about things I couldn’t talk about with my mom or dad. She was the person who taught me to appreciate and love thunderstorms rather than fear them.
I was ten when she passed away. Her passing was difficult because she had left such a big mark on my life.
Over the years I’ve experienced the loss of various family members, pets included. The loss of a friendship after high school, the feeling of family when my parents divorced, and my grandfather shortly thereafter.
There are different kinds of loss: the end of a friendship or relationship, losing a career or job, facing a health crisis, or losing loved ones—people and pets alike. They are all different.
The "griefs" come and go. Some are lighter than others. Some feel so heavy you feel like you’re wading through mud, both mentally and physically.
When my mother died in 2003 after a short but valiant battle with cancer, I felt lost, emotionally numb, and isolated, too.
No one tells you about the stigma either, but you figure it out—walking through work or attending social gatherings where people avoid you or offer awkward platitudes.
Grief is especially hard when you feel like you have to go through it alone. When no one seems to understand or check-in.
At the time of my mom's passing, I had two boys, ages three and five. My younger sister had just started university, so I felt the added pressure of responsibility. My older brother didn't stick around long—he decided to take a trip to get away from it all. I wished I could too, but work and executing the will demanded my attention.
Unfortunately, life and everyone in it continues on. That part really sucks.
"Be strong" or "you'll get through this" should never be the words someone uses to tell you how to manage grief.
I’m sure you’ve heard a few of these platitudes or shall I say, ‘grieftudes.’
What I needed most was the presence and understanding of friends and loved ones. Many weren't present—at least not the ones I had hoped would be. They were too "busy."
I learned to find those who were open to help, to listen, and take a seat with me while I shed many tears.
And what I’ve also learned is to show up for others too.
To share in the griefs. The ups and downs of it all.
If anything…
The loss of my mother inspired me to help others.
If anyone I knew was grieving, I showed up. I showed up to talk about things that are hard to discuss.
It's okay to feel ALL the emotions. To be vulnerable. To talk or not talk. To connect, educate, or share coping strategies. To create space for emotional awareness, including emotional pains that can follow the “griefs.”
I’ve also learned a few stories too.
Have you heard the story of the stone?
A coach once shared this analogy with me:
“Grief feels lighter over time as it becomes more like a pebble rather than a heavy stone over time; still there but not so painful and raw. The weight of it gets lighter over time, but it remains there as a reminder of the memories, love, and good moments—not just the pain. It's not about how you carry it; it's about how it lightens with time. It doesn't go away, and it doesn't have to. It stays with you, just not as heavy as that first day."
Grief can be shared with a community.
I encourage you to find yours.
Take a risk. Step out and share what you're going through, because hiding doesn't help at all.
As I like to say to clients, “It takes a community to raise an adult. Let's raise awareness together.”
As a professional medium, part of what I do is help raise grief awareness and bring more compassion to the grieving process. It doesn't need to feel awkward to help someone grieve.
If you're dealing with grief or feeling alone, I hope this helps in some way.
Grief has many faces and frequents many places—even in the boardroom.
A note from my journal…
I met with Scott a few weeks ago. He had been going through a tough time, and his wife encouraged him to meet with me.
Hours before our session, I tuned in to get an idea of who I'd be connecting with. I sensed a man who felt like a key father figure, along with a younger man or "best friend." A dog too. I knew our focus would be on all three.
I could feel the heaviness of Scott's grief even before he arrived.
When he rang the bell, I met him at the door. He stepped in sheepishly with his head held low, eyes hidden beneath his hat until he lifted his chin. Our eyes met. His were tired—that watery kind of tired—and it was only 10 a.m.
I greeted him with a warm smile, compassion, and kindness. "Hey Scott, it's so great to meet with you today."
He responded in an almost whisper-like voice. "This is new to me. I don't know what to expect. I've never done this before."
"That's okay, I've got you. I've been doing this a long time," I replied.
I guided him to take a seat and offered him water. I placed a box of tissues close by, just in case, and as a way to let him know it was okay to cry.
I told him that by the end of our time together, if anything, he should feel lighter, more at peace, and his questions answered.
Grief is hard. It’s especially difficult when expectations are set far in advance.
It's often met with avoidance, anger, sadness, and sometimes relief.
Today, I could feel it was all too much—a father, a friend, a pet, all lost in such a short time.
I connected with each spirit and felt their character, charisma, and charm. We explored each life with laughter, gratitude, and tears. Scott was grateful.
Too often, I see clients burdened with the weight of expectation—to be strong, courageous, and carry it all alone.
Please remember to meet those who may be quietly sad, angry, or tired. These are often symptoms of loss, not attitude.
Meet each other with presence, kind words, and gentle compassion. Take a seat, grab a coffee, and say a simple hello. Be kind and offer understanding, even if you do all the talking.
Because this grief thing can be too heavy a burden to bear alone.
Check in. Share a text. Offer a moment of your time. It's not much, and it makes more difference than you know.
As I watched Scott walk to the front door, I noticed he carried himself differently—walking taller than his 6'3" frame. He paused for a moment and collected himself.
"Thank you for everything today, Christie. I'm glad I did this. I do feel at peace... I do feel better. At peace, even lighter, at ease with it all."
Before he left, I reminded him to seek ongoing support and shared a resource list.
Grief is part of every life. If anything, pause and check in—someone you know (or don't know) may need a simple moment of your kindness.
If you're having difficulty grieving, it's important to find the support you need. Consider this: rather than being a certain way to keep others comfortable, how can you be vulnerably confident and courageously strong for yourself first?
Let's create and hold space for emotional safety.