Gentle Resources 

You don’t have to take this all in.

This space is for gentle understanding - not deep dives, not fixing, not doing it “properly.”

Words to keep.
Quiet prompts. Tiny Invitations.
Simple explanations and reflections you can dip in and out of, or close the moment it’s too much.

No pressure.
No urgency.
No expectation that this will make things better.

Just support that meets you where you are.

What you’ll find here

Words to keep

Short, reflections drawn from grief, love, and survival.

They’re not advice.
They’re not affirmations.
They’re pieces of language you can hold onto - or let pass by.

For moments when a paragraph is too much, but silence feels worse.

You can read one.
Save it.
Screenshot it.
Come back to it later.
Or close the page entirely.

Nothing here needs to be finished.

Tiny invitations

These are past Tiny Invitations - the short newsletters I send to people living with grief.

They’re not advice or guidance.
They’re gentle check-ins and permissions, written to be read in a minute or two, or closed straight away.

You don’t need to do anything with them.
You’re allowed to take what helps and leave the rest.

Gentle explanations

Plain-language insights into what grief does to your body, mind, and emotions; without jargon or overwhelm.

This isn’t about analysing yourself.
And it isn’t about fixing the pain.

Understanding doesn’t make grief disappear.
But it can make it feel less frightening.

How to use this space

There is no right way to be here.

You can:

  • read one paragraph

  • save something for later

  • come back and re-read the same thing

  • close the page entirely

You’re allowed to take only what you need, and leave the rest.

A quiet permission

If you feel tired, foggy, irritated, numb, or overwhelmed - that’s not a sign to push through.

It’s a sign to go gently.

You can leave at any point.
Nothing here requires anything from you.

Stay connected

If it helps to receive gentle reflections occasionally, you can join the mailing list.

I send what I wish I’d had myself - slowly, honestly, and without pressure.

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