Reflections on Grief and Being Wholly Human

Written by Lynn Farrales, Jan 6 2026

I am no stranger to grief. Though, there was a time when it was more conceptual not embodied. In the presence of loss personally and professionally, I positioned myself primarily as an observer without full immersion. I look back with grace at my former self because I’ve come to understand that grief is not profitable—unlike joy and happiness—so pathways to fully acknowledge and experience grief are invisible. 

Then my daughter, Scarlett, died. She died moments before birth at the end of pregnancy. Spring 2012, I was brought to my knees by grief and I had no choice but to face it and feel it. The pain was excruciating and a full-body experience. My life was brought to a halt. 

My identity shattered. 

“I don’t know how to re-enter the world.” I said to a friend in the immediate aftermath. And so I didn’t. I didn’t re-enter the world as my former self. 

But, in time I slowly did as someone incredibly different. 

How so? Here is a shortlist. 

I’m often described as joyful and “happy” but this is incomplete. My response to them: because I’m no longer able to outrun the sorrow when it first arrives in my body. Giving grief time and space is something I routinely practice. 

I cry more. I remember the doctors (many my mentors) held back tears as they came to my bedside after Scarlett died. But my family saw them cry in the hallway afterwards. To see their tears would have been the biggest relief—that they shared in my sorrow. That they were human. 

I have rituals and symbols to honour Scarlett because so few people have met her. The grief I felt/feel is ambiguous and disenfranchised.My youngest sister created a wooden snowdrop-painted ornament for me this year. Each year, I receive photographs from all over the world of snowdrops in bloom. Years later, I feel Scarlett most powerfully by the ocean where you’ll find me drawing a heart in the sand. 

I surround myself with people who are able to sit with me without the need to shift or guide me towards joy during times of great sorrow and pain.  I’ve learned that any joy, meaning or growth comes from me—not from someone else’s timeline or prescription. I am critical of the white-washed wellness industry as a result.

Being Scarlett’s mother guides me during other life experiences of grief. The anticipatory grief of my senior dog’s passing. A cancer diagnosis. An end of a romantic connection. The ambiguous grief of my mom and dementia. 

My seven-year-old niece gave my daughter a nickname “Snowdrop” when I was pregnant. Where I live, snowdrops bloom in winter and die in early spring. The body remembers, and as I write this I smile inside with a gentle knowing and nod to grief. ‘Tis the season.

Find Lynn Farrales online at : https://substack.com/@liminalmoments or on instagram at : dr_lynnfarrales