Isolation.
We tend to isolate when we’re feeling big, heavy emotions that drag us down. We feel like we’re drowning—desperate for someone to hand us a lifeline, a flotation device, or to simply hear us yell, “Help!”
Yet, somewhere along the way, we’ve learned to not create waves, to not make others uncomfortable. So, we put on that damned mask—the one that only drowns us further in pain and silence.
If you’ve been following me, you know that I walked alongside my daughter for years as she navigated many difficult emotions, seasons, and journeys. I watched her wrestle with what society expected of her, with what she thought she should be. I watched her try so hard to break down that wall and become who she was.
I watched her honour her pain. I watched her speak openly about it. She didn’t shy away from talking about mental health conditions, all in an effort to help others.
But it was incredibly isolating and exhausting.
Fast forward to now. Here I am—on a new path. One I never wanted. One called Grief. And it’s isolating too. It’s uncomfortable. It’s confusing and raw and unbearably heavy. Some days, I feel like I’m walking in her shoes. I’m trying so hard not to shut down. I’m trying to keep talking—to keep sharing my truth, my pain, my heart—because when I do, I find strength. I find courage. And I let those emotions move through me so I can keep going.
But I see it. So many people who live with mental health conditions grow quiet. They stop sharing their pain because it feels taboo. Because it feels like they’re making other people uncomfortable.
And honestly? They get tired of explaining themselves. So, the mask goes back on. And at what cost?Theirs.
I see the same thing happen with grief. People stop talking about their pain, their loss, their loved one—because it makes others uncomfortable. And again, at what cost? Theirs.
The mask comes back on. It’s exhausting. And so incredibly isolating. How incredibly sad.
I wish my Ruby had felt safe enough to take that mask off. I wish she had felt like she could keep sharing her struggles without fear of judgment. But somewhere along the way, she was led to believe her voice didn’t matter, that she had to play it safe, that she had to make others feel okay in her presence. And that killed her spirit.
I see so many parents, too, who feel they can’t share their pain or talk about their children—because it might make others uncomfortable. They don’t want unsolicited advice from people who haven’t walked in their shoes. They don’t want to hear things like, “You need to move on.”
(Honest question: how on God’s green earth do you “move on” from the loss of a child—from that kind of love? That statement feels incredibly stupid to me. Yes, I said it.)
And then? People start to disappear—friends, family—because they can’t handle the pain. And so, once again…the mask comes on. It’s exhausting, isolating, sad.
I see so many parallels between mental health struggles and grief. Both are confusing. Both are isolating. Both are deeply misunderstood. And now, we’re living in this “toxic positivity” world that’s killing people—spiritually and physically.
So here’s the purpose of this blog: Find your people. The ones who can sit with you in the discomfort. The ones who will let you feel it all, without needing to fix it or change it.
And if you can’t find those people right away—keep looking. Change your circle. Create an environment where you can speak freely and be heard. Walk away—gracefully—from those you can’t be your whole self with.
Because we have to get these feelings out if we ever want to move through them.
This is self-care.
This is healing.
This is essential.
None of us should be wearing masks just to make others feel comfortable. That makes me so sad.
So please—share your pain. Share your grief. Your confusion. Your emotions—all of them. Every last one. That’s how we find our way back to dry land. That’s how we catch our breath.
We share it.
~Tammy Powder~
Giving Light