Still heavy: when grief isn’t getting easier

It’s been a year. Shouldn’t I be better by now?

Maybe you’ve asked yourself that. Maybe someone else asked it for you, in a kinder voice. “How are you doing these days?” And you could hear the hope in it. They wanted you to say, “So much better.”

But you’re not.

The first months were a blur. You expected those to be hard. Now the cards have stopped and the casseroles are a memory. Everybody else seems to have moved on. And the weight in your chest feels just as heavy as it did at the start. Some days it feels heavier.

I wonder how many grieving people quietly believe they’re doing it wrong, because the pain hasn’t gone away on schedule.

If that’s you, I want you to hear this first. You’re not weak. You’re not faithless. And you’re not alone.

Why is my grief not getting easier?

A lot of us carry an unspoken rule in our heads. Something like, “A year is enough.” We get it from well meaning friends. We get it from our own impatience. Sometimes we even get it from church. Is your grief not getting easier? You’re not alone in that.

But grief doesn’t read the calendar.

For many people, the second year is harder than the first. The shock wears off. The fog lifts. And what’s left is the plain, everyday truth that they’re really gone. That’s not going backward. That’s often what grief looks like as it moves deeper.

Grief also comes in waves. You can have a few good weeks, then a birthday or a song or an empty chair at the table knocks you flat. That doesn’t mean you’re starting over. It means you loved someone, and love doesn’t switch off.

So “it’s still hard” is not, by itself, a sign that something is wrong.

Keep reading: Jesus wept: 6 myths about grief that hurt

A man whose soul wouldn’t be comforted

There’s a psalm I think every grieving person should know. Psalm 77 was written by a man named Asaph, and he doesn’t sound like he’s doing well at all.

“In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted.” Psalm 77:2 (ESV)

Read that last line again. My soul refuses to be comforted.

He was praying. He was reaching out to God, night after night. And the comfort still didn’t come. I find that strangely encouraging. It means a person can love God, keep seeking Him, and still feel stuck in the dark.

Then Asaph asks the questions a lot of us are afraid to say out loud:

“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love forever ceased? Are his promises at an end for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Psalm 77:7 to 9 (ESV)

Those are honest questions. Hard ones. And God put them in His Book.

That tells me something about God’s heart. He isn’t offended when your grief lasts longer than you expected. He isn’t tapping His foot, waiting for you to get over it. He made room in Scripture for a man whose soul wouldn’t be comforted.

The turn in Psalm 77

Something shifts halfway through the psalm. It isn’t that Asaph’s pain suddenly disappears. It’s that he makes a choice about where to look.

“Then I said, ‘I will appeal to this, to the years of the right hand of the Most High.’ I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your wonders of old.” Psalm 77:10 to 11 (ESV)

He doesn’t say, “I feel better now.” He says, “I will remember.”

When his feelings told him God had forgotten, he went back to what God had already done. He remembered how God had led His people through the sea. He remembered that God had been faithful before, even when no one could see His footprints.

That’s not a quick fix. It’s a slow, steady lean. And I think it’s a gift for anyone whose grief is still heavy.

You don’t have to feel better to remember. You just have to look back at one place where God was faithful, and set it next to today.

This is where grace comes in. Your healing doesn’t depend on how fast you move. It rests on a God who stays. Jesus didn’t come for people who had it all together. He came close to the brokenhearted, and He still does. If you’re not sure where you stand with God right now, that’s all right. If you’ve ever wondered what it would mean to know Jesus personally, I’d love to share more with you here.

When it might be more than ordinary grief

Here’s where I want to be honest and careful.

Most grief, even very heavy grief, slowly softens over time. Not on a schedule. But slowly. For some people, though, grief gets stuck. It stays so intense, for so long, that it keeps them from living.

There’s a name for that now. It’s called prolonged grief disorder, and the American Psychiatric Association added it to its diagnostic manual in 2022. For adults, it’s considered when at least a year has passed since the death, and the grief is intense most of the day, nearly every day.

The signs include things like:

Feeling as though part of you died with them. Still struggling to believe the death really happened. Avoiding anything that reminds you they’re gone. Intense loneliness, even around people. Feeling that life has no meaning now.

(American Psychiatric Association, via Weill Cornell Medicine)

This isn’t rare. According to the American Psychological Association, “Evidence suggests that about one in 10 bereaved people develops prolonged grief disorder.” (American Psychological Association)

And here’s the good news. It’s real, and it’s treatable. Grief researcher Dr. Katherine Shear estimates that about 70 percent of people with prolonged grief improve with a specific kind of grief therapy. As grief expert Robert Neimeyer puts it, “Successful treatment is possible.”

If some of those signs sound like you, please don’t wait. Talk to your doctor, or look for a licensed grief counselor in your area. Getting help isn’t a lack of faith. It’s wisdom. God often does His healing work through skilled, caring people.

And if your grief ever brings thoughts of not wanting to be here, please call or text 988 any time, day or night. You’ll reach someone who will listen.

Keep reading: Where did my mind go? Grief brain fog explained

Something to try this week

Asaph got through the night by remembering. Here’s a simple way to do that. Is your grief not getting easier right now? Start here, gently.

Take a piece of paper. On one side, write how you honestly feel today. Don’t clean it up. I’m still so tired. I miss her every hour.

On the other side, write one thing God has done for you before. Just one. A time He carried you. A prayer He answered. A person He sent at the right moment.

Look at both sides together. You don’t have to make them match. Both are true.

Then, if you’d like, pray something like this:

Lord, my soul still doesn’t feel comforted. I don’t know why this is taking so long. But I choose to remember what You’ve done. Please stay close to me in the dark, and lead me to the help I need. Amen.

Asaph didn’t climb out of the dark by pretending. He kept seeking, and he kept remembering.

You can do that too. One honest prayer at a time.

Blessings,

Pastor Howard