Navigating Grief When It Doesn’t Look How You Thought It Would
What does grief look like?
If we’re honest, many of us have a picture in our minds. Tears. Silence. Perhaps someone wearing black, speaking softly, saying “I’m fine” when they’re clearly not. Or maybe someone who’s angry, messy, falling apart. We expect grief to look dramatic — or dignified — but either way, we expect to recognise it when it arrives.
So what happens when it doesn’t look the way we thought it would?
What happens when we’re grieving and we’re… still functioning? Still laughing? Still showing up for the school run? Or what if we can’t cry but know we’re holding something enormous inside?
And what if someone else is grieving and we misjudge them, because we think they should be more upset, or more together, or more like us?
That’s the quiet heartbreak of grief: not only the loss itself, but the confusion about how it’s “meant” to be.
In a recent episode of A Thought I Kept, I spoke to Georgina Jones, founder of The Grief Disco — a woman whose work lives at the intersection of grief, music, dance, and joy.
Her story challenged so much of what we think we know about grief. Georgina lost her son in 2023, and has experienced what many would describe as profound, unimaginable loss. And yet, she dances. She laughs. She connects. She creates spaces where people can cry and dance at the same time.
It’s not about ignoring grief or sugar-coating it. It’s about making space for the full spectrum of it — especially when it doesn’t come wrapped in the behaviours we’ve been taught to expect.
Georgina spoke about how grief lives in the body. That there are things music can unlock that words can’t reach. That sometimes we can be sobbing and laughing in the same breath. And that joy isn’t something that betrays grief — it’s something that supports it.
What struck me most was this: grief doesn’t always look the way we think. And that misunderstanding can create more pain, not just for the person grieving — but for those around them, too.
We’ve inherited a lot of strange stories about how we’re supposed to grieve.
We think:
Grief has “stages” (it doesn’t — it has cycles, spirals, waves).
It’s meant to be quiet and tearful — or explosive and visible.
There’s a right way to do it.
It’s only valid if someone has died.
It ends.
But grief is far more expansive than that. It can be:
The silent, confusing ache after a miscarriage no one knew about.
The slow unraveling of identity in a job or relationship loss.
The anticipatory grief of watching someone change before they’re gone.
The quiet guilt of feeling relief — and wondering what that says about you.
And crucially: grief doesn’t always look “sad”.
You might feel numb. Or angry. Or completely disconnected. Or wildly creative. You might crack jokes at a funeral, or scream into your pillow a year later when you least expect it. That’s grief too.
So how do we navigate grief — especially when it surprises us?
Here’s what I’m learning, from Georgina and others, and through the work I do in emotions coaching:
1. Let go of the script
There is no one way grief should look. There is only the way it shows up in you. That’s enough. And it’s valid — even if it makes no sense.
2. Name what’s true
Maybe you’re grieving someone still alive. Maybe you’re mourning a version of yourself. Maybe you feel like your grief isn’t “big enough” to count. It does count. Language helps. Start with small truths. “This is hard.” “I feel strange.” “I miss something I never really had.”
3. Move it through the body
Grief isn’t just cognitive — it’s visceral. Breath, movement, music, crying, stillness — these aren’t indulgences. They’re how your body integrates the experience. As Georgina said, “We are so heady. But there is so much knowledge in the body.”
4. Let joy have a seat at the table
Joy doesn’t replace grief. It companions it. Finding joy again isn’t a betrayal of your sadness — it’s part of what sustains you. You’re allowed to laugh. To sing. To dance. Even while you’re broken-hearted.
5. Ask for support from someone who gets it
You don’t have to figure this out alone. Talking to someone trained in emotional literacy, regulation, and compassionate witnessing can help you feel seen — especially when your grief doesn’t look “typical.” That’s what emotions coaching is for.
Grief doesn’t come with a rulebook. But it can come with support.
If this resonates with you — if your grief feels different, or hard to name, or hard to carry — I’d love to invite you to:
Georgina shares her story of loss, joy, dancing through grief, and why your energy — even in the darkest moments — is your currency.
If you’re navigating something tender, tangled, or hard to name — this is the space for you. Emotions coaching is not about fixing you. It’s about helping you meet what’s here with more understanding, care, and clarity.
You don’t have to go it alone.
And your grief doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.
