“A Therapist’s Reflection on Loss, Leadership, and Living Through It”

Dear Fellow Therapists,

Grief has a way of arriving unannounced. Even when we are trained to recognize it, name it, and hold space for it, grief can still catch us off guard. This past season reminded me of that in a deeply personal way.

In October, my pastor and spiritual father of over thirty years transitioned unexpectedly. It was a loss I did not see coming. One that shook me not only spiritually, but emotionally and relationally. For many of us, pastors, mentors, and long-standing leaders occupy a sacred role in our lives. They are witnesses to our growth, anchors during transitions, and steady voices through seasons of uncertainty. Losing someone who has walked with you for decades creates a unique kind of grief. One that feels both personal and communal.

As therapists, we often hold space for grief in others while quietly navigating our own. We know the language of loss. We understand the stages, the nonlinear nature, the waves that come and go. Yet knowing does not exempt us from feeling. Sometimes it even makes the contrast sharper.

When I looked back at my notes from this season, I saw words written down that I did not fully understand at first. Pastor. Job. Personal space. Over time, it became clear. Grief does not only show up in death. It appears in role changes, in transitions at work, in shifts in identity, and in the quiet loss of spaces that once felt familiar or safe. Sometimes we grieve people. Sometimes we grieve seasons. Sometimes we grieve versions of ourselves.

February often brings conversations about love, connection, and celebration. Valentine’s Day fills our feeds with images of togetherness. For some, it is joyful. For others, it highlights absence. Loss can feel louder in seasons that emphasize closeness. Grief does not follow the calendar, but certain months seem to hold it more tenderly.

For therapists, February can also be a reminder of how layered grief can be. We may be supporting clients through loss while navigating our own. We may be holding joy and sorrow in the same week, sometimes in the same day. This dual awareness is part of our work, but it also requires care.

What I have been reminded of is the importance of honoring grief without rushing it. Giving ourselves permission to feel without needing to analyze. Allowing space for sadness without labeling it as weakness. Grief does not mean we lack faith, resilience, or coping skills. It means we loved, invested, and showed up.

There is also grief in leadership transitions. In job changes. In redefining personal boundaries and personal space. Even when change is necessary or growth oriented, there can still be loss attached to what was. Naming that matters.

As therapists, we are not immune to grief. We are human first. Our clinical training does not cancel our need for support, reflection, and rest. In fact, it makes it even more essential.

This season has reminded me to slow down. To check in with myself the same way I encourage clients to do. To acknowledge what has been lost, even as I remain grateful for what was given. Grief and gratitude can coexist. So can sorrow and hope.

To my fellow therapists who may be carrying visible or invisible grief this season, know this. You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to mourn. You are allowed to name the losses that others may not see. And you are allowed to seek comfort without guilt.

February does not have to be only about celebration. It can also be about compassion. For ourselves and for one another.

May we continue to hold space for grief with the same gentleness we offer our clients. And may we remember that healing does not require us to move on, only to move through.

Wishing you all wellness and growth,

Jinia