Let Yourself Grieve: The Missing Step in Life Transitions
This post is part of my Lessons from the In-Between series—real stories and honest reflections on what helped me find my next step when the path ahead wasn’t clear. I’ve talked about changing your mind, finding clarity in action, and the gift in “no”. But now, let’s talk about the reality of grief when you’re in-between.
I knew I wasn’t going back—but I didn’t know where I was headed next.
And honestly, I didn’t know how I felt about that.
After I lost my job, I had a mix of emotions. Relief. Fear. A strange kind of excitement. And an even stranger sense of space—because this all happened during the pandemic. So for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to figure everything out immediately. I had some time—and I knew I’d need it.
I had been in that role for almost 22 years. Almost half my life.
I was intrigued by the idea of doing something new—but I was also carrying around a bundle of hard emotions I hadn’t unpacked. Sadness. Anger. Uncertainty. Grief.
And that’s what I want to talk about today.
Because we don’t often think of grief when we think about career transitions or life changes that aren’t marked by tragedy. But it’s there. And if we don’t make space for it—if we try to jump right into what’s next—we end up dragging those invisible losses along with us.
Unpacking the Hidden Grief of Change
A couple of months into my “in-between,” I got a packet of worksheets from a colleague who’s skilled in creative problem solving. One of them had questions specifically about endings. It asked:
What is ending for you right now?
How do you feel about each ending?
What aspects do you have control over?
What aspects do you need to let go of?
I started writing... and the obvious losses came first.
I had lost my job.
My income.
My daily rhythm.
The team I saw every day.
But as I kept writing, more subtle losses bubbled up. Ones I hadn’t expected.
Like my phone number. I had the same work number since I was 23 years old. I still remember it. It may sound silly in the age of cell phones—but for me, that number represented two decades of connections, conversations, and availability.
Then I thought about my commute. While I often grumbled about rush-hour traffic, I realized that drive time had been sacred. It was my built-in space to decompress. Sometimes for phone calls. Sometimes for prayer. Sometimes just to breathe.
And then I hit a big one: I was losing my introduction.
For years, I had said, “I’m Kathy Goller, diocesan director of youth and young adult ministry.” That title rolled off my tongue. It told people who I was. It gave me a place in the room. A sense of purpose.
Now? I was just... Kathy Goller. Period.
And the period felt like a punch.
I didn’t have a new title to fill in the blank yet. I didn’t know what came next.
And I realized: I hadn’t just lost a job. I had lost a part of my identity.
Why We Resist Grieving
Grieving takes time and energy. Two things we’re usually low on when life feels uncertain.
And to be honest, grief can feel kind of inconvenient—especially in a culture that tells us to “move on” or “stay positive” or “get busy building something new.”
It feels messy. Unproductive. Even self-indulgent.
Especially for those of us who are used to helping others, holding things together, or shifting quickly into problem-solving mode, sadness can feel like a luxury we can’t afford.
So we skip it. Or we try to shortcut it.
We brush it off with “at least” statements:
“At least I still have my health.”
“At least this gives me a chance to try something new.”
“At least it wasn’t worse.”
And while gratitude is good—it’s not a substitute for grief.
In fact, gratitude without grief can actually become a kind of avoidance.
Because if I’m honest, there were days when I was grateful for the break, the space, the new possibilities… but I was also heartbroken. I needed room for both.
Gratitude and grief.
Hope and heartbreak.
How Grief Helps Us Heal
Avoiding grief might feel easier in the moment—but in the long run, it just delays the healing.
It’s not weakness to feel the loss. It’s wisdom.
Grief makes space.
Not just for the tears or the hard feelings—but for the truth. It gives you room to slow down, to feel the weight of what mattered, and to acknowledge that something important has ended. I didn’t rush into the next thing after I lost my job—I couldn’t. I needed time to sit with what was gone. Space to name it. Feel it. Honor it. That space became sacred.
Grief honors your growth.
It doesn’t mean you wish you could go back. It means you’re being honest about what’s no longer with you—and who you’re no longer meant to be. When I wrote down that I was losing my title, my team, even my commute... it hit me how much of my identity had been wrapped up in that role. Naming those losses didn’t mean I wanted to return—it meant I was ready to tell the truth about how much I had changed. And how much that season had meant to me.
Grief frees you up.
When you face what’s gone, you’re not carrying it around in secret anymore. You’re not wasting energy trying to ignore it or explain it away. That’s what those worksheets did for me—they helped me release what I’d been holding so tightly. And in letting go, I found a kind of freedom I hadn’t expected. The freedom to be curious again. To explore. To dream about what could come next.
I’ve come to believe that naming is sacred work.
When we name a loss, we give ourselves permission to feel it.
To honor what mattered.
To hold space for what’s no longer with us.
And in doing so, we open our hands to receive whatever might be next.
Gentle Practices to Process Grief
For me, writing was helpful—but not from a blank page. I needed prompts. Questions. A starting point. That’s why those worksheets made such a difference.
Here are a few practices that might help if you’re in a similar season:
Try journaling using prompts. The ones I mentioned above are a great place to start.
Talk with someone safe. Someone who won’t rush to fix it—just sit with you in it.
Create a small ritual. Maybe it’s lighting a candle, writing a goodbye letter, or taking a walk where you symbolically let something go.
Let yourself feel it. Whether that’s tears, frustration, or the ache of the in-between. Allow the emotions. Let them come. Let them pass.
Questions For Naming Your Loss
If you’re in a season of transition right now, I wonder…
What’s ending for you?
What have you lost—even if it seems “small”?
How might you give yourself permission to name it... to feel it... to grieve it?
It’s okay to pause here.
It’s okay to be sad—even and especially if you’re also hopeful.
It’s okay to let go, even before you’re sure what’s next.
To Help on Your Journey
If you’re going through a major transition and want some guidance to process it, I’d be honored to walk with you through it. Coaching offers a safe space to think, to feel, and to process – with someone who understands it, but sits outside of it.
And if you’re more of a journaler or a self-reflector, I’m also happy to send you the packet of worksheets that were so helpful for me. They’re full of thoughtful, practical prompts that can help you name your own endings—and gently begin to move forward.
But however you do it, I hope you’ll give yourself this gift:
The gift of pausing.
Of honoring what you’ve carried.
Of naming what you’re laying down.
Because grieving isn’t weakness—it’s a form of strength.
It means what came before mattered.
It means you mattered.
And it means you're readying your heart to receive whatever comes next.
You don’t have to rush.
But you do get to begin.
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