From Grief to Grace
As a data professional who found healing in music, this chapter of my journey deals with grief. It’s a universal experience, yet it feels so incredibly isolating.
The songs and reflections here are not clinical advice. They are my attempts to make sense of the inevitable losses we all face—the loss of a job, the painful end of a marriage, and the ultimate loss of life itself. My hope is that by sharing my path through this valley, you might feel a little less alone in yours.
The Unspoken Truth: Adversity Doesn’t Discriminate
Dr. Lucy Hone, a resilience expert, once asked an audience to stand if they’d ever experienced profound loss, heartbreak, or hardship. Nearly everyone in the room stood up. Her point was simple and stark: if you are alive, you will deal with tough times.
That truth hit me hard. We don’t plan for loss when we get married. We don’t think about losing our jobs when we accept them. We rarely confront the fact that life itself is finite. When my own life was upended by a painful divorce, the injustice of it all was overwhelming. Seeing how easily children can be used as shields in a conflict, and how a deep connection can be reduced to a mere transaction… it leaves a bitter taste. There is no objective measure for that kind of pain. There is only the reality of it.
This realization was my starting point. It wasn’t a solution, but it was the truth. And accepting that truth was the first step.
Three Discoveries That Kept Me Afloat
In my search for a way forward, I stumbled upon Dr. Hone’s TED talk. She had endured an unimaginable tragedy—the loss of her daughter—and shared the strategies that saved her. They weren’t complex psychological tricks; they were simple, profound truths that I clung to.
1. Resilient People Know That Suffering is Part of Life.
This isn’t about being cynical; it’s about being realistic. When terrible things happened, instead of asking “Why me?”, I slowly learned to ask, “Why not me?”. This small shift stopped me from feeling singled out by the universe. It allowed me to see my pain not as a personal curse, but as a part of the shared human condition. It’s a painful entry ticket to a club nobody wants to join, but one where we are all, eventually, members.
2. They Choose Where to Focus Their Attention.
This was a revelation. My mind was hard-wired to see the threats, the pain, the loss. But resilient people don’t deny the negative; they make a conscious, deliberate effort to also tune into the good. The most powerful phrase that captured this idea for me was:
“Don’t lose what you have to what you have lost.”
It became my mantra. I still had my health. I still had friends who cared. I still had my sons. I still had music. Focusing on what remained didn’t erase the pain of what was gone, but it gave me a reason to keep going. It was an act of defiance against despair.
3. They Ask Themselves: “Is What I’m Doing Helping or Harming Me?”
This simple question became my compass. In the middle of the night, when I’d find myself scrolling through old photos and sinking deeper into sorrow, I’d ask it. Is this helping, or is this harming? The answer was clear. It was harming. So I’d put the phone away and try to be kind to myself.
This question puts you back in the driver’s seat. It takes you from being a passive victim of your emotions to an active participant in your own healing. It is the ultimate act of self-compassion and agency.
My Process: Turning Anguish into Art
This wasn’t a formula. It was a messy, personal ritual of turning my pain into something I could hold.
Acknowledging the Storm
I wrote it all down—the anger, the sadness, the unfairness. I gave the pain a voice without judgment.
Finding My Compass
I used the three strategies—acceptance, focus, and self-compassion—to find a stable point in the storm.
Creating a Memorial in Sound
I transformed the words and feelings into melodies and harmonies—a song that honored the loss but also held the hope.
A Melody Born from This Journey
This piece of music is what that process sounds like. It’s raw and imperfect, but it’s honest.
“This song helped me say goodbye in a way words couldn’t.”
— Emma, after losing her brother (A sentiment that echoes my own hope for this music)
If I’ve learned anything, it is what Lucy Hone so bravely stated: “It is possible to live and grieve at the same time.” My hope is that this music can be a companion during that process, a quiet acknowledgement that even in the deepest grief, there is still life, and there is still grace.