When we think of grief, we often picture something final: a goodbye, a funeral, an empty chair at the table.
But there’s a kind of grief that doesn’t make announcements. It doesn’t come with casseroles or sympathy cards. It arrives with a diagnosis or goes unnamed—and stays.
This is the grief of chronic illness.
It’s the grief of waking up and realizing your energy now has limits. It’s the grief of watching dreams slip through your fingers—maybe not all at once, but little by little. It’s the grief of missed moments, misunderstood symptoms, and milestones that quietly or quickly pass you by. But perhaps the hardest part? It’s the grief of what was never said. You never got to say goodbye to the version of yourself who once ran marathons, easily navigated through long days, or parented without pause. You never got to explain what was lost to people who thought you were just “tired” or “overreacting.” You never got to ask for the help you really needed—because you were trying so hard to be strong.
This kind of grief is deeply personal and often invisible, but it deserves to be acknowledged.
What do we do with these quiet losses? We name them. We give them space. We let ourselves mourn what never got words. Because even if the world doesn’t recognize these losses, your body and heart still carry them.
As a coach who works with people living with chronic illness, I don’t offer quick fixes or tidy timelines. I offer presence, partnership, and tools to help you move forward in ways that feel right for you.
If this resonates with you, I invite you to download my free journaling companion, Grieving the Invisible. It’s a gentle space to reflect on the losses you’ve carried alone for too long.
And if you’re looking for ongoing support, the Navigating Chronic Illness with Heart and Hope video series of Grief.TV is here for you—one breath, one reflection, one note at a time.
Until then—
With Heart and Hope,
Valerie
