Comfort Can Make Cages Feel Like Home

For the longest time, I only attached grief to death. Funerals. Obituaries. Permanent goodbyes. But nobody really talks about the grief that comes with losing living things…friendships, relationships, jobs, businesses, routines, versions of yourself you swore would always exist.

Grief doesn’t only show up at gravesites.

Sometimes it shows up in quiet transitions.

In unanswered calls.

In empty routines.

In finally getting what you asked for only to realize you still mourn what had to end for it to arrive.

And that’s the space I find myself in now.

Something ended that I thought I was ready to let go of. I prayed for change. Asked for movement. Wanted different. But I don’t think I truly prepared myself for what it would feel like once the shift actually came. Because even when something is no longer healthy, no longer aligned, no longer meant for you…you can still become comfortable there. You can still build routines around it. Dependence around it. Familiarity around it.

And now I’m sitting in the aftermath of transition realizing comfort can make cages feel like home.

At the same time, there’s something else I know I need to release. Something I want to hold onto because it still brings me joy in certain moments. It still feels good in certain ways. But deep down I know it’s not good for me. And that’s the hard part nobody prepares you for either…when your spirit knows exactly what needs to happen but your heart refuses to cooperate.

So here I am.

Caught between what ended and what still needs to.

Grieving what was.

Grieving what could’ve been.

Grieving the version of me attached to both.

Who teaches us how to grieve transitions?

How to mourn seasons?

How to sit in the uncomfortable space between who you were and who you are becoming?

Because this kind of grief feels strange.

You almost feel stupid for feeling it.

Especially when you knew the ending was coming.

Especially when part of you wanted it.

But knowing something needs to end does not make the loss hurt any less.

And honestly…I feel a little brokenhearted in this season.

A little empty.

A little directionless.

Wanting to run backwards toward familiarity while simultaneously knowing my calling is forward.

That’s the tension nobody talks about.

Healing and grieving can exist in the same room.

Release and resistance can exist in the same body.

You can know better and still struggle to let go.

I know God is pulling on me differently in this season. Convicting me. Stretching me. Trying to lead me somewhere deeper, healthier, freer. But transition can feel lonely when you’re no longer who you were but haven’t fully become who you’re meant to be either.

And maybe that’s why grief feels so heavy here.

Because I’m not only grieving people or situations…

I’m grieving identities.

Attachments.

Patterns.

Comfort zones.

The old me that survived inside spaces I’ve outgrown.

Still…I believe there is purpose in the pause.

Even here.

Even in this ache.

Even in this uncomfortable unraveling.

Maybe grief is not always proof that something is wrong.

Maybe sometimes grief is simply evidence that something mattered.

That something shaped you.

That something once held a piece of your heart.

And maybe part of growing is learning how to thank certain seasons for what they gave you…while still having the courage to release them.

Even when your hands are shaking while you do it.