Grieving the Life You Imagined: How to Heal from Unmet Expectations

“I’m sorry for your loss”

This is a term we often share with those who have just lost a loved one. We empathize with the gut-wrenching pain they are experiencing as they say goodbye. It’s the term we use to extend a hand and say, “your grief is seen and understood”.

But, what if we also applied this to the more “subtle” areas of our lives?

I’m still not married. I’m sorry for your loss.

I don’t have a child. I’m sorry for your loss.

I’m not in the career I wanted to be in. I’m sorry for your loss.

My family and I no longer speak. I’m sorry for your loss.

I thought I would have a house by now. I’m sorry for your loss.

My loved one is bound by addiction. I’m sorry for your loss.

My illness continues to run my life. I’m sorry for your loss.

________________________________. I’m sorry for your loss.

I’m sorry for your loss. More specifically, I’m sorry for the loss that feels ambiguous and unending. Ambiguous loss is the kind of grief that doesn’t come with closure. This kind of grief is complex, layered, and often invisible to others, which is why it can be so easy for it to go unnoticed.

It’s the ache of missing someone who is still physically present but emotionally absent. It’s mourning a relationship that never became what you hoped, or grieving a future that was imagined but never realized.

In traditional losses, while never a linear process, there are pieces of finality. There are traditions or rituals that allow us to put our grief on something and lay it to rest. But, ambiguous loss? It lingers.

It lingers in the quiet spaces — in unanswered questions, in the tension between hope and reality, in the longing for what could have been. It’s the pain of watching a loved one change due to illness, addiction, or estrangement. It’s the sorrow of feeling disconnected from your own story, unsure of how to move forward when the past hasn’t let go.

How, then, do we heal? We name it. Naming it is powerful. When we give language to our losses — even the ones that don’t fit into neat categories — we begin to reclaim our voice, our story, and our healing.

We begin to give ourselves grace and the permission to sit and to lean into the process. It allows us to identify the pain as it arrives and to give that pain a voice so that it no longer takes hold of us. Just like in normal grief, the healing process won’t be linear. It will come and go, sometimes out of nowhere. And that’s okay.

Journal. Write letters that are sent or remain unsent. Give yourself permission to feel whatever emotions come up & find a way to release it. Burn the letter. Write on a balloon that you release into the sky. Write on a plate and allow yourself to break it….anything that allows you to let go. Keep repeating the process until one day, you’ll notice that it feels less painful. You’ll notice the pain comes around less often.

You may never fully release it and that’s okay. Your pain is valid and it matters. I’m sorry for your loss. Your grief is seen and understood.