Grief from the Valley — Part 6 Knowing When to Hold Them & When to Fold Them

There comes a moment in grief that nobody prepares you for.

Not the moment they leave.

Not the moment the house goes quiet.

Not even the moment you realize life kept going without asking you for permission.

No—

It’s the moment you realize you cannot carry it all the same way anymore.

And that realization feels like betrayal.

Because part of you believes:

If I loosen my grip…

If I shift how I carry them…

If I stop holding this pain the way I’ve been holding it…

…am I letting them go?

But grief, in real time, will teach you something deeper than loyalty.

It will teach you capacity.

There are days you can hold it all—

the memories, the ache, the questions, the “why them,” the “why me,” the weight of love that has nowhere to land.

And then there are days…

You can’t.

And both days are holy.

Scripture doesn’t ignore this tension.

“To everything there is a season…

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

We love quoting this when it’s pretty.

But living it?

Living it means recognizing that grief itself has seasons inside of it.

There is a time to hold it tightly—

and there is a time to loosen your hands so you don’t break under the weight.

And let me say this plainly…

Letting yourself breathe is not forgetting.

Choosing rest is not abandonment.

Shifting your pain into purpose is not replacing them.

It is survival.

It is obedience.

It is wisdom.

Because grief will try to convince you that suffering is the only proof of love.

But God never asked you to die with them.

“My grace is sufficient for you,

for My power is made perfect in weakness.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9

That means even in your breaking…

even in your moments where you can’t hold it all together…

God is not disappointed.

He is present.

So what does it look like—

in real time—to know when to hold and when to fold?

It looks like this:

Some mornings, you sit in it. You cry. You say their names. You don’t rush healing.

Some afternoons, you get up anyway. You answer the call. You build something. You move forward—even if your heart lags behind your body.

Some nights, you release the guilt for laughing, for smiling, for living.

And you do not explain it to anybody.

Because grief is not linear.

It is layered.

It is living.

There is a version of you that held them in crisis.

And there is a version of you now being asked to hold them in legacy.

Those are not the same hands.

“Blessed are those who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.”

— Matthew 5:4

Notice… it doesn’t say fixed.

It doesn’t say returned.

It says comforted.

Which means God meets you in the grief—

not just after it.

And here’s the truth that doesn’t always get said:

Sometimes folding…

looks like choosing not to revisit the hardest memory that day.

Sometimes folding…

looks like saying, “I’ve done all I can carry right now.”

Sometimes folding…

looks like putting the pain down long enough to build something that outlives it.

That’s where purpose is born.

Not from forgetting.

Not from moving on.

But from asking:

“What do I do with this love that still has nowhere to go?”

You build with it.

You pour with it.

You speak with it.

You create from it.

You let it become something that breathes in the world—

because they no longer can.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed…

struck down, but not destroyed.”

— 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Grief will press you.

But it does not get to finish you.

So today…

if you can hold it—hold it.

If you need to fold—fold.

If you need to sit still—sit.

If you need to move—move.

Just don’t confuse adjusting your grip with losing your love.

Because love doesn’t leave.

It transforms.

And maybe…

just maybe…

This is the part of the journey where

your pain stops being only something you carry—

and starts becoming something

that carries others.

Be kind.

And if today you don’t have the capacity to be kind outwardly—

start with being kind to yourself.

Because grief…

especially in real time…

requires more grace

than most people will ever understand.

And before I close this part of the journey…

Thank you.

Thank you to every person who showed up for me—

who showed up in love, in presence, in support—

THANK YOU for holding space during the launch of Elevation of Care and my very first book signing.

You didn’t just attend.

You carried me in a moment where I was learning, in real time,

how to turn pain into something that could still give.

And thank you for the space to share my voice on the Chris Hope Show podcast—

for allowing my story, my grief, my faith, and my truth

to reach beyond me.

That mattered more than words can hold.

Because this… this is what it looks like

when pain refuses to stay silent.

Stay tuned.

Purposeful pain brings out something

no one can prepare for.

ST~ The HopeDealer