Sometimes, when I am alone with myself, I feel perfectly happy and complete. Other times, I feel alone. Like I'm a chicken scratch in dry mud when I'm meant to be parchment and expensive ink.
I remember it was on 28th March 2019,I arrived at my home at 5.30pm after work. I sat to rest a while before starting my house chores. Just then my phone rang and it was my dad. Immediately I thought he's calling to know how my family is, but after greetings he informed me that … Continue reading As Told By Bridget
Thank you Ingrid, and thank you to everyone who allows us to share their posts about grief. Make sure you go on over to Ingrid's blog to check out the rest of her content, and please let us know via email or our "contact us page" if you'd like to share something about grief on our blog. Everyone grieves and here at The Grief Reality, we want to normalise the conversation.
This is the sister post to Gary's Post: Embracing The Happiness As Much As I Respect the Sadness. We just love doing these collaborations. This was posted a while back but we wanted to share it on our own space. Please, please, please send some GriefReality love to Gary, he is a wonderful, inspirational blogger! … Continue reading Judging Yourself Through Your Grief
I have been asked by OurWomensWrites to write about reading and grief. It was a joy to write about one of my biggest passions, and I hope I'll continue to do so for TheGriefReality! This is the post I wrote, but please visit OurWomensWrites to show your support for their blog 🙂 ~ As a … Continue reading Reading Through Grief
On Facetime to both my boyfriend and my sister, Evee said to me “That’ll do pig, that’ll do” quoting the iconic final line from Babe, and I laughed through my tears. She was right, that’ll do. It’s over now, I can rest.
Why do we have this self-imposed idea that throughout our lives we are meant to maintain a perfect, crisp version of ourselves? Like untouched snow, or fresh school shoes that we don't want to scratch.
When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.