When Grief Wears My Clothes

I didn’t realize how personal grief could get until it started borrowing my clothes.

Not metaphorically. I mean… I’d wake up, get dressed, and somehow my hoodie didn’t feel like mine anymore. My favorite jeans felt tight in all the wrong places. My reflection? Off. Like someone was standing behind my eyes. Someone heavier.

Grief doesn’t walk in like a storm every time. Sometimes, it shows up quietly. Silently. It doesn’t knock—it just slips in through the cracks. And before you know it, it’s brushing your teeth, picking your outfit, sitting next to you at work, making your body go through all the motions. You still smile. You still say, “I’m good, you?” when someone asks. You even laugh. But behind it all, there’s this weight you carry… and most people don’t even notice.

Grief doesn’t always look like tears and breakdowns, sometimes, it seems like scrolling past a memory on your phone and pretending you didn’t feel that sting. Sometimes, it sounds like your voice cracking a little when you say someone’s name. Or silence. Long, quiet silence between you and the version of yourself you lost somewhere along the way.

People talk about grief like it has a beginning and an end. A funeral, a goodbye, a moving-on. But what they don’t talk about is the after. The days you keep living. The moments where you're sitting in traffic and suddenly you can’t breathe because the song on the radio feels too close to home. Or the birthdays. Oh, God—the birthdays. You try not to look at the calendar, but it always finds you.

And no one prepares you for the weird guilt. The guilt of having good days. Of laughing when you thought you’d never be able to again. Of feeling happy for a second and then wondering if that means you’ve forgotten. (You haven’t. You never do.)

But here's what I’ve learned—and I say this with all the gentleness I can muster: Grief doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you cared. It means you felt something deeply enough to be changed by its absence. That’s not a weakness. That’s proof you loved.

It took me time to stop fighting it. I used to try and “fix” my grief like it was a crack in my foundation. But it’s not. It is the foundation now. And I’ve learned to build a life around it. Not over it, not despite it—but around it. It lives in me, sure. But it doesn’t get to be me.

And if you’re sitting here today—reading this, breathing through your heavy mornings—just know: you’re not alone. Maybe grief wears your clothes too. Maybe it takes your voice sometimes, your sleep, your appetite, your motivation. But you’re still here. Still showing up. Still finding ways to live with it.

That’s brave. And that counts.

-Christina Dcosta