The Grief Corridor
- May 21
- 2 min read
Come close.
I want to tell you something about the grief.
The one that arrived without a reason you can show anyone. The one that doesn't have a name that fits neatly into a conversation. The one you've been folding up and putting away every morning and finding again every night.
That grief is not a sign that something has gone wrong.
It is a sign that something mattered.
You are grieving a version of yourself that was mid-way through becoming when everything shifted. You are grieving a life that was supposed to look different by now. You are grieving a woman who had plans — real, specific, belonged-to-her plans — before the hormones and the chaos and the reckoning arrived and changed the shape of everything.
And here's the thing nobody says.
You are not your story.
You are the one who notices the story. The one underneath it. The one who has been here the whole time — quieter than the grief, steadier than the chaos, more real than the version of yourself you've been mourning.
She didn't go anywhere.
She's just been waiting.
Waiting for you to stop managing the grief long enough to actually feel it. All the way through. Not around the edges.
Through it. Because the grief isn't the destination — it's the corridor. And on the other side of it is the woman you've been becoming all along.
Feel it.
Let it be ugly and inconvenient and without a tidy reason.
And then look up.
There she is.
She was always going to be you.
Women who refuse to suffer politely live here.
Missy Moo x
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