The Grief Masks We Wear
You’d never know it by looking at me.
You’d never know that today, just getting out of bed was a victory.
That the smile I gave you at the store was the only one I had in me.
That under the makeup, the clothes, the routine — I’m still breaking.
Because grief doesn’t always look like tears.
Sometimes it looks like forced laughter.
Like perfectly done hair.
Like showing up, nodding politely, and answering, “I’m doing okay,” when I’m really not.
We wear these masks to protect ourselves.
To keep from making people uncomfortable.
To keep from unraveling in the middle of a meeting, a dinner, a day.
But underneath? We’re screaming.
We’re holding it together with threadbare hope and sheer willpower.
We’re carrying the weight of the person we lost in everything we do — quietly, invisibly, relentlessly.
So, if someone seems short today, or quiet, or like they’re “not themselves”…
If they cancel plans or don’t answer texts…
If they smile, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes…
Please remember they might be grieving behind a mask.
Because the truth is —
Grief doesn’t need to look a certain way to be real.
It’s real in the silence.
Real in the pretending.
Real in the “I’m fine” that really means “I’m surviving.”
And some days, survival is the bravest thing we do.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
Available now on Amazon