#resilience in loss

[fyeahdprian]

[Transformation] dprian IG Story

dprian Instagram Story November 22, 2024

Ian liked and posted to his story a wildernessofman reel about transformation.

Is your pain sacred? ⤵️ What if the pain you carry is the beginning of something sacred? Transformation rarely feels gentle. It’s a tearing, a breaking, a loss of everything you thought was solid. But in that breaking, space is made. The self you’ve clung to begins to fade, and something truer, something eternal, stirs awake. Trust the breaking. It’s the soil where rebirth begins. What has pain taught you about becoming? Reminder that even in the breaking, there is growth. @wildernessofman

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A post shared by Isaac McCardle | Spiritual Growth & Resilience (@wildernessofman)

[bypatia]

When A Thousand Splendid Suns said like compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman; and when it said, a man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you; and when it said, I will follow you to the ends of the world; when it said it always falls on the sober to pay for the sins of the drunk; when it said And I wrote you. Volumes. Volumes; and when it said but the game involves only male names. Because, if it's a girl, Laila has already named her; when it said One last time, Mariam did as she was told; and when it-

[blueeyesfilledwithpassion]

Remember 🍁

Better Days Are To Come.🍁

[rebellenotes]

Grieving What You Cannot Touch

I’ve always found it strange how we’re taught to grieve for tangible losses—a person, a place, a thing—but never for the intangible. Nobody tells you how to mourn the parts of yourself you’ve outgrown, or the life you thought you’d have, or the innocence that quietly slipped away when you weren’t paying attention. It’s an ache without a name, a grief that doesn’t fit into tidy boxes like funerals or goodbyes. And yet, it lingers, just as heavy, just as real.

I feel like that type of grief is often closely related to nostalgia. Or rather that nostalgia is, amongst other things, the experience of grieving the past. But it’s not just about longing for what was—it’s about grieving what never was. The version of your life that didn’t come to pass, the connections you hoped for but never formed. For me, it’s the emotional relationship I never had with the male members of my family, particularly my father.

Growing up, I never experienced the father-daughter bond I’d see in movies or hear about from friends. My dad was always emotionally unavailable—distant in a way I couldn’t name as a child but felt keenly in the space between us. I’ve recently learned that when I was 2 or 3 years old, he was in and out of the hospital due to his cancer. During those formative years, my world revolved around my mom, not my dad. And as I piece these things together as an adult, I can’t help but wonder how those early days shaped me. Did I subconsciously decide, even as a toddler, that I couldn’t rely on male figures for emotional connection? Did I carry that into my relationships later on?

The grief here isn’t just for the past; it’s for the ripple effects it has in the present. I grieve the father I wish I had, the kind of dad who would have taught me how to trust male figures, how to feel secure in their presence. But I also grieve the way that absence shaped me into someone who still struggles with those connections today. It’s not a straightforward pain. It’s layered with love, disappointment, and a quiet understanding that sometimes people can’t give you what you need—not because they don’t care, but because they didn’t know how.

This kind of grief is tricky because it’s not rooted in a single event or moment. It’s a slow, quiet loss that stretches across years, shaping you in ways you don’t realize until you look back. And when you do, it’s not just sadness you feel—it’s a mix of everything: anger, longing, confusion, acceptance. You grieve what you didn’t have, what you didn’t know to ask for, and what you’ll never fully get back.

And yet, in grieving, there’s also clarity. There’s a sense of giving yourself permission to name the loss, even if it feels abstract. To say, “This mattered. This hurt. And I’m allowed to feel it.” Because mourning isn’t just about closure—it’s about honouring the weight of what was missing, even if it can’t be replaced.

But how do you fix something so… floating? Something so abstract and unfathomable for a lot of people. How do I tell people I grieve the loving father-daughter relationship I never had? People respond, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and it feels comforting, until I realise they assume my father is gone. But I’m not talking about the physical presence of my dad. I’m talking about the absence of a loving connection between us. 

How do you grieve something that technically exists but doesn’t feel whole? It’s not a loss in the traditional sense—it’s not someone who passed away or a relationship that was severed. It’s something more elusive: the absence of what could have been, of what you needed but didn’t receive. It’s mourning potential. It’s grieving love that never bloomed in the ways you hoped it would.

I’ve tried to explain this to others before, and it’s always met with a kind of confusion. People are quick to console when they think you’ve lost someone physically. They know how to respond when grief has a name and a date. But when you tell them, “I’m grieving a bond that was never there,” they don’t know what to say. It’s like trying to describe the shape of an empty space, a void that only you can see.

And maybe that’s what makes this kind of grief so isolating. It’s hard to articulate, hard to validate, even to yourself. You start to question whether it’s fair to feel this way. After all, my dad was there, right? He worked hard, he provided for us, he was present in the ways he knew how to be. So why does it still feel like something is missing? Why does it hurt so much to see other father-daughter relationships filled with warmth and emotional closeness?

That’s the thing about intangible grief—it doesn’t adhere to logic. You can’t reason your way out of it. It lingers, sneaking into quiet moments, catching you off guard when you least expect it. It’s in the way your heart aches during Father’s Day commercials or when a friend talks about their dad being their rock. It’s in the little pang of envy you feel when you see those bonds you never had, knowing they represent something you’ll always yearn for.

I’ve also frequently grieved the way my life could have looked if I didn’t have anxiety. If my depression didn’t make me sleep all day to escape the real world. Sleeping At Last once sang “How do I forgive myself for losing so much time?,” and I can’t help but relate so hard it feels like my heart is going to cave in on itself in pain. 

How do you cope with such grievances? I wish I knew, but I’m learning that coping doesn’t always mean finding answers. Sometimes, it’s about sitting with the pain and letting it exist without trying to solve it. Grieving intangible losses—whether it’s a relationship, a version of yourself, or time you’ll never get back—isn’t something you can fix. It’s something you have to feel, piece by piece, day by day.

For me, part of coping has been allowing myself to mourn without guilt. To acknowledge that these feelings are valid, even if they don’t fit into the conventional mold of loss. I remind myself that grief isn’t a competition—it doesn’t have to be “big enough” or visible to others to matter. It matters because it matters to me.

I also try to focus on what I can rebuild, even if it’s just in small ways. I might never get the father-daughter relationship I longed for, but I can work on fostering meaningful connections with others. I can let myself feel the hurt without letting it harden me. I can remind myself that grieving isn’t about staying stuck in the past—it’s about making peace with it so I can carry it differently.

As for the time lost to anxiety and depression, I try to show myself the same compassion I would offer a friend. It’s easy to blame myself for the days spent hiding under the covers or the moments I missed because I was too overwhelmed to participate in life. But blaming myself doesn’t change the past—it only adds to the weight I’m already carrying. Instead, I try to focus on the moments I can reclaim, even if they’re small. A walk outside, a conversation with a friend, a little step forward.

I think that’s the hardest part about grieving intangible losses: the fact that there’s no closure, no finality. It’s a process, not a destination. It’s messy and nonlinear, and some days it feels like you’re back at the beginning. But even in those moments, there’s a kind of resilience in simply continuing. In saying, “I’m still here, and I’m still trying.”

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe grief doesn’t need to be fixed or resolved—it just needs to be acknowledged. To hold space for what was, what wasn’t, and what still could be. Because in that space, there’s room for healing. There’s room for growth. And maybe, just maybe, there’s room for hope too.

[heart-songs]

You have summer blood in your veins, don’t you?

You’ve outlasted the slow burn of chlorine skies and citronella sun. You kiss like a sudden storm—full, open-mouthed, reckless, leave the days hotter than before they met you. You have a heart, vast and roaring as the ocean. Listen…

Nothing goes by more unnoticed than revolution. The saltwater, the sandcastles, the unkempt hours— you braved them all with the ache of empty hands, shucked open your ribs and spilled a luster of pearls.

Who says you can’t spin departure into something just as beautiful? Take your body to the shore. Let the waves carry you to bluer waters.

If all else fails, give the ocean back her salt. She knows what to do with it.

- Cora Finch

[glennriley49]

Through the Storms

We began as fireworks in the night,

Lighting shadows with a dazzling sight.

Each word, sweet honey on the tongue,

Moments cherished, songs unsung.

But as twilight stretched, we lost our way,

Whispers sharpened, turned to fray.

When sparks grew dim, and warmth withdrew,

Lonely winds of silence blew.

Are we ready for the storms ahead,

The stinging rain, the paths we dread?

Love’s no tale of endless cheer,

It’s both the laughter and the tear.

Through deserts vast, forests deep,

We’ll seek the home our hearts would keep.

To touch that distant, sunlit shore,

We face the storm, endure once more.

Insecurity, a silent shade,

Jealousy, a thief well-played.

When joy falters, silence reigns,

Drowning echoes, unvoiced pains.

Promises once carved in gold,

Now crack under the strain they hold.

Yet still I rise, to fight, to mend,

To brave what’s broken, to defend.

Are we ready for the storms to come,

When voices falter, hearts go numb?

Love’s no tale spun from ease,

It’s the tempest and the breeze.

Through barren sands, tangled trees,

We’ll chase our hope, though on our knees.

To reach that paradise unknown,

We face the storm, and face it alone.

Each scar a testament, each tear a verse,

In pain we grow, for better or worse.

When arms entwine, when blame recedes,

We find the strength our story needs.

Let’s sit, let’s speak, and dare to trust,

For love demands, not gold but dust.

If we desire to watch it bloom,

We must brave the storm, clear the gloom.

Are we ready for the storms we fear,

The bitter truths, the falling tear?

Love’s no fable, dressed in light,

It’s the daybreak and the night.

Through paths unknown, we’ll chart our course,

Through doubt, through hope, through pure remorse.

To find the peace, the dream reborn,

We stand together, weather-worn.

Take my hand, through torrents fierce,

Hearts as armor, words to pierce.

Nothing treasured comes with ease,

But it's worth the fight, through storm, through peace.

Are we ready, battle-bound,

For love that bends but stays profound?

Through every high and every low,

This love, our anchor, will only grow.

@raceyrhymes @samcrosfaith

@ladyeckland28 @solesofwonder

[luxaofhesperides]

How am I to tell stories about life — Without becoming the eccentric Sámi Making jokes at my own expense — How I am to explain to them that the ruin is in my voice

Ædnan by Linnea Axelsson, trans. Saskia Vogel / Portrait of a young woman. The artist's sister Anna Hammershøi by Vilhelm Hammershoi (1885) / The Tempest by Peder Balke (1862)

[petorahs]

can i be toxic for a second i am so tired of people framing sunday and aventurine conflict as "sunday the mean homophobe who hates aventurine for that reason" and i wish that would go away because you can't object to this take without someone going "you're babying sunday too much" because i don't agree with him being given this ugly trait he doesn't have??

its ok anon u can vent in my inbox in good faith

its very frustrating isnt it... i agree. double indemnity trio have all moved on from this conflict the second Penacony arc ended, and yet it's the fandom that perpetuates these false narratives for... what? (i know the answer actually but heh keeping it to myself lest i be crucified). Ratio finds Sunday smart, Sunday finds Ratio pleasant, Aventurine thinks Sunday is handsome and is eager to watch him, Sunday has a crush on finds Aventurine a worthy rival. they're all amiable with eachother. not a single one of them "hold grudges" or "hate eachother" over this, frankly run-of-the-mill for them business trip. CAN WE MOVE ON COLLECTIVELY...!

we cant really change people's perceptions that easily though anon so all we can do are baby steps, one fanart or fic or project at a time :/// (still sucks tho when u just wanna enjoy these sillies in peace)

(PS Sunday is literally the LAST person to be homophobic this man would not be hateful towards any group of people whatsoever.)

[rain-rainynights]

in spite of the grief and emptiness over the hope shattering into a million pieces, the glimmers of light from the broken pieces shine just enough to remind me of what i'm fighting for

[stheresya]

""men should be covered in their own blood while women should be covered in other people's blood"" <---- deeply boring and unserious take. blood is blood and it looks sexy regardless to whom it belongs to.

[murasakinocatt]

Final de ano: período em que eu choro de gratidão e vejo como algumas coisas pequenas me fizeram aprender e me tornar grande

End of the year: period when I cry with gratitude and see how some small things made me learn and become great

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[siscovanillaisstepping]

What's up peeps. Got my first weigh-in of the new year and the scale did not disappoint!!! I'm starting my goal of 225 in 2025 at 232 lbs. Thats 2 pounds less of my last weigh-in of 234 in September. Since 2017 when I weighed in at 276, I've dropped 34 lbs. That last graph is a pretty sight. 😁 The scale and app I use is made by Feelfit.

As you can see by the data out, you can lose weight and keep it off over time if you just take your time and do it slowly. Lifestyle changes such as severely cutting back on drinking beer and booze and getting a physically intensive job as letter carrier with the USPS have certainly helped. The proof is in the pudding. Hopefully I can get to as close to my senior year of college weight of 225 by 12/31/2025.

Have a great day!!!

[stimtickle]

Halloween ended. Quincy Jones & Tony Todd died. And America lost its soul (and sanity). All in the span of a week. Goddamn you have to be strong to put up with all the nonstop loss life has to offer.

[slowandsweet]

The hand within your hand Finally letting go The end within the end Finally letting go

Vintage Culture, Fideles - Fallen Leaf feat. Be No Rain

[michaelgburns]

Coping with Loss: Finding Your Melody Again

Explore the journey of healing and resuming life after experiencing a significant loss. Learn how to compose a new life melody that respects your past and welcomes your future.