It starts in the smallest moments.
The way your hand reaches for a number in your phone that no longer answers. The pause before saying a joke they would have laughed at. The silence in a chair that once held their voice.
Loss doesn’t always roar in; sometimes it seeps quietly into the walls of your life, changing the colour of mornings and the taste of evenings. Trauma is much the same—an unwelcome guest that rearranges the furniture of your mind when you are too tired to resist.
We often imagine grief as a season—something to endure until the sun returns. But for many, it feels more like the weather: unpredictable, shifting from heavy storms to sudden calms. Some days, you carry it like a small pebble in your pocket; other days, it presses against your chest like a boulder. And while the world moves on—traffic still jams, bills still arrive, friends still laugh—you may feel stuck in a room where the air has thinned. That is the invisible weight of mental health after loss and trauma.
In the mind, trauma and grief disturb sleep, blur concentration, and drain energy. They replay memories on loop or pull you into a numbness where nothing seems to matter. Without care, these wounds deepen into anxiety, depression, or chronic stress. It is not a weakness. It is simply the human brain trying to survive the unthinkable.
The good thing is this: healing is possible. Healing does not mean forgetting. It means learning to live with the absence without letting it devour your presence. It means coming out of the shell, having people to talk to, and refusing to let grief take the front row in determining what the rest of your life will mean. Healing is slow and often unseen, but each small step matters. Speaking to people helps your brain process what it cannot carry alone. Giving your pain a language lightens the burden, especially when shared in safe spaces—whether with family, friends, support groups, or professionals who can hold the weight with you. Anchoring yourself in simple routines—a made bed, a short walk, a meal shared—gives the day a structure that grief cannot easily erode.
And while the world often tells us to be strong, there is a quiet bravery in admitting, I’m not okay. Asking for help is not a weakness but a strength; it is the doorway to connection, the very thing that loss tries hardest to steal. Mental health support is not a luxury but a lifeline. Just as a broken bone deserves treatment, so too does a heart that feels shattered or a mind stretched too thin. You are not less for needing help—you are more for seeking it.
Loss will change you, but it does not have to end you. Even with withered ties, you can grow new roots. You can breathe in new mornings. You can discover that life—though different—still has space for joy.
— Augustine | Writer @ Campus Cares