Hello everyone!
Welcome back to another installment of Mindful Monday here at Cosette’s Beauty Pantry. Today, I want to step away from our usual beauty tips and self-care routines to explore something a bit deeper, something that touches us all but often lingers in silence: grief. We tend to think of grief as a single experience—tied to losing a loved one—but it’s far more complex than that. There are kinds of grief nobody talks about, the quiet, unspoken sorrows that shape us in ways we might not even notice. So, grab a cuppa, settle in, and let’s dive into these hidden shades of grief together.
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The Grief of Lost Dreams
One of the most overlooked forms of grief is the mourning of dreams that never came to be. Perhaps you once pictured yourself living a certain life—running your own business, travelling the world, or starting a family—only to find that circumstances, timing, or sheer bad luck shifted your path. This grief isn’t loud or dramatic; it doesn’t come with sympathy cards or casseroles. Instead, it’s a slow ache, a quiet whisper that creeps in when you see someone else living the life you’d hoped for.
I’ve felt this myself. There was a time when I imagined Cosette’s Beauty Pantry growing into something bigger. Life had other plans, and while I’m proud of what this blog has become, there’s a pang of sorrow for the “what could have been.” It’s not a grief we’re encouraged to name, but it’s real—and it deserves space.
The Grief of a Fractured Friendship
We talk a lot about romantic breakups, but what about the end of a friendship? Losing a friend—whether through a falling out, a slow drift, or a sudden betrayal—carries a unique kind of pain. These relationships often hold as much weight as family ties, yet there’s no cultural script for grieving them. No one throws a “friendship funeral” or tells you it’s okay to cry over someone who wasn’t your partner or kin.
I remember losing a close friend years ago. We’d shared everything—late-night chats, silly secrets, dreams for the future—but over time, our paths diverged, and the silence grew heavy. I grieved her absence, but I felt silly admitting it. Was I allowed to feel so heartbroken over someone I wasn’t “supposed” to mourn? The answer, I’ve since learnt, is yes. Friendships shape us, and their loss leaves a mark that’s worth acknowledging.
The Grief of a Changed Identity
Another silent grief comes when we lose a version of ourselves. Maybe you were once the life of the party, but chronic illness stole your energy. Perhaps you were a career-driven powerhouse until redundancy or parenthood shifted your focus. This grief isn’t about losing a person—it’s about losing who you used to be or who you thought you’d become.
For me, this hit when I realised that the carefree Cosette of my twenties had morphed into someone more grounded, more tied to routine. I love who I am now, but there’s a quiet sadness for the girl who lived with a lighter heart, unburdened by the responsibilities I carry today. It’s a grief that sneaks up on you, often disguised as nostalgia, but it’s there, asking to be felt and acknowledged.
The Grief of Anticipation
Then there’s anticipatory grief—the sorrow that comes before the loss even happens. This one’s tricky because it’s not tied to something concrete; it’s the dread of what’s coming. Maybe you’re watching a parent age, knowing their time is finite, or caring for pets whose days are numbered. You’re grieving in advance, carrying the weight of a loss that hasn’t yet arrived.
I’ve been there with my pets. Every sign of them slowing down, every vet visit, felt like a countdown. I’d catch myself tearing up at the thought of life without them, even while they were still resting beside me. It’s a strange, preemptive pain, one that society doesn’t quite know how to handle. We’re told to “enjoy the moment,” but how do you do that when each moment feels like it’s slipping away?
The Grief of a World That’s Changed
Finally, let’s talk about collective grief—the kind we’re all carrying, whether we name it or not. The world feels different now, doesn’t it? Climate change, political unrest, the lingering echoes of a pandemic—they’ve altered the fabric of our lives. This grief isn’t personal in the traditional sense, but it’s pervasive. It’s in the way we mourn the simplicity of the past, the safety we once took for granted, or the future we’re no longer sure we can promise our children.
I feel this when I walk through the local high streets and see empty shopfronts or when I read another headline about wildfires or floods. It’s a grief for a world I thought I knew, a quiet mourning for what’s been lost to time and change. It’s not something we sit down to cry over, but it sits with us, heavy and unspoken.
Giving Space to the Silence
What ties all these griefs together is their silence. They don’t come with rituals or roadmaps. There’s no wake for a lost dream, no eulogy for a faded friendship. But that doesn’t make them less real—or less worthy of our attention. Grief, in all its forms, is a testament to what we’ve loved, what we’ve valued, and what we’ve dared to hope for. And while it’s tempting to push these quieter sorrows aside, I’ve found that naming them, even just to myself, brings a strange kind of peace.
So, how do we cope? For me, it’s about small acts of mindfulness—journaling about a lost dream, lighting a candle for a fractured friendship, or simply sitting with the ache of a changing world. It’s not about “fixing” the grief; it’s about letting it breathe. And sometimes, it’s about sharing it, like I’m doing with you today. There’s power in saying, “I feel this too,” even if the words are whispered.
A Moment for You
As we wrap up this Mindful Monday, I’d love to hear from you. What’s a silent grief you’ve carried—one that doesn’t get talked about? Maybe it’s a dream you let go, a friendship that faded, or a piece of yourself you miss. Drop it in the comments below if you feel comfortable—I’d be honoured to hold space for it with you. Let’s break the silence together, one story at a time.
Until next week, take care of yourselves, lovely readers. You’re not alone in the quiet.
