You'll also receive Tiny Invitations, gentle weekly emails exploring grief, love, loss and what it means to keep living afterwards.

What you’ll find inside:

“It's not fair.” When gratitude isn't what you're feeling.

“I'm angry.” At them, yourself, other people, the world, sometimes all of it.

“I don't want to be strong.” When surviving gets mistaken for coping.

“Part of me doesn't want to get better.” When pain can feel tangled up with staying close.

“How am I supposed to live the rest of my life like this?” When the future feels impossibly large.

“Does it ever get better?” An honest answer, without promising grief disappears.

And finally:

A space for the things you don't say.

A NOTE FROM ME

There have been things I've thought in grief that I haven't wanted to admit.

I've been angry.

I've looked at other families and felt the terrible unfairness of them still having what I had lost.

I've been called strong when I didn't want to be strong. I wanted my daughter back.

And there have been times when even the idea of grief changing frightened me, because when you love someone this much, pain and connection can become horribly tangled together.

Grief isn't always gracious. It isn't always profound. And it certainly isn't always socially acceptable.

Sometimes it's angry, jealous, frightened, irrational, contradictory and deeply human.

That's why I made this.

Not to tell you how to grieve.

Not to turn those feelings into something prettier.

Just to give some of the things we don't say somewhere to exist.

Because perhaps the thought you've been judging yourself for isn't evidence that you're grieving badly.

Perhaps it's grief.

Kirsten