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Grief is something almost all of us will experience, yet no two people experience it in quite the same way. We expect sadness after losing someone we love, but many people are caught off guard by everything else that can come with it. Anxiety, guilt, exhaustion, numbness, poor concentration, irritability, or the feeling of being constantly on edge can leave us wondering whether what we’re experiencing is still “just grief”.
The reality is that grief isn’t always experienced in isolation. Sometimes, grief and trauma become intertwined.
Not every bereavement is traumatic, but some losses are both heartbreaking and deeply frightening. A sudden death, witnessing someone suffer, receiving devastating news unexpectedly, losing someone in traumatic circumstances, or even living through months of uncertainty before a loved one dies can leave our brains trying to process not only the loss itself, but the shock of what happened. In these situations, we aren’t simply grieving the absence of someone we love. We may also be trying to make sense of an experience that completely overwhelmed our ability to cope in that moment.
Trauma isn’t defined solely by what happened, but by how our brain and body experienced it. Two people can live through the same event and come away with very different responses. Previous experiences, our relationship with the person who died, the support around us, and our own nervous system all shape how we respond. There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
When something overwhelmingly distressing happens, our brain doesn’t always store those memories in the same way it stores everyday experiences. Rather than becoming part of a coherent story, they can remain fragmented and emotionally charged. Instead of feeling like something that happened in the past, they can feel as though they’re happening all over again.
This is why some people find themselves replaying the final conversation, the phone call, the hospital room or the moment they were told the news, even when they desperately wish they could think about something else. These intrusive memories aren’t something we choose. They’re our brain’s way of trying to process something that felt too overwhelming at the time.
For others, the opposite happens. They begin avoiding anything connected to the loss. They stop driving past certain places, avoid photographs, struggle to talk about the person who died, or keep themselves constantly busy because slowing down allows the memories to surface. Some people notice they feel permanently alert, easily startled, unable to relax, or as though something bad is always about to happen. This heightened state of vigilance, known as hypervigilance, is often our nervous system doing exactly what it was designed to do after experiencing danger: trying to protect us from being hurt again.
None of this means someone is grieving incorrectly, and it certainly doesn’t mean grief itself is an illness. For many people, these reactions gradually soften as they adapt to life after their loss. For others, particularly after a traumatic bereavement, they remain intense and begin to get in the way of everyday life. Recognising that grief and trauma can overlap isn’t about labelling grief as a disorder. It’s about understanding why some losses leave a deeper imprint on our minds and bodies than others.
One of the experiences people often find most confusing is being caught off guard months or even years later. An anniversary arrives. A favourite song plays unexpectedly. You catch the smell of a familiar perfume or aftershave, hear a laugh that sounds like theirs, or walk past somewhere you used to go together. Suddenly, emotions that had become manageable feel overwhelming again.
This isn’t a sign that you’ve gone backwards.
Our brains naturally link memories with places, sounds, smells and significant dates. Anniversaries and reminders can reactivate those emotional networks, particularly after a traumatic loss. Knowing this doesn’t take the pain away, but it can help us respond with kindness instead of questioning whether we should be “over it” by now.
Children experience grief differently too, although it doesn’t always look the way adults expect. A child may appear completely fine one moment before becoming deeply upset the next. They might become clingier, more anxious, struggle with sleep, complain of tummy aches, become angry over seemingly small things or find it difficult to concentrate at school. Younger children often move in and out of grief through their play, asking the same questions repeatedly as they gradually build an understanding of what has happened.
If a child’s loss was sudden or particularly frightening, they may also show signs that their nervous system is struggling to make sense of what happened. They might become more fearful, avoid reminders of the person who died, become distressed by separations, or repeatedly replay aspects of the loss through their play. Just like adults, children don’t always have the language to explain what they’re experiencing, so their feelings are often communicated through their behaviour.
Children don’t grieve less deeply than adults. They simply grieve differently.
For many people, the support of family and friends is enough. For others, it helps to have someone outside of those relationships to walk alongside them. Therapy isn’t about taking grief away or encouraging people to “move on”. It can’t remove the pain of losing someone you love, nor should it. Grief is a reflection of love, and love doesn’t simply disappear.
What therapy can offer is a space to make sense of an experience that may feel confusing, frightening or impossible to put into words. Sometimes that means exploring feelings of guilt or regret. Sometimes it’s understanding why anxiety has appeared after a loss, why certain places suddenly feel difficult to visit, or why memories seem to arrive without warning.
When trauma has become wrapped up in grief, therapy can also help the brain process those experiences differently. Traumatic memories are often stored in a way that makes them feel vivid and immediate, almost as though they’re happening in the present rather than belonging to the past. Through therapy, those memories don’t disappear, and the aim isn’t to forget them. Instead, they become more integrated into the wider story of what happened. They remain important, but they no longer have to feel as though they are pulling us back into the moment every time something reminds us of our loss.
As those memories become less overwhelming, many people notice that the constant sense of threat begins to settle too. They still miss the person they love, sometimes every single day, but their nervous system no longer feels stuck in survival mode. It creates space for grief to be experienced as grief, rather than grief constantly colliding with fear.
With children, therapy often looks different. Young people don’t always have the words to explain what they’re feeling, so emotions often emerge through play, creativity, stories or everyday conversation. Rather than expecting children to sit and talk about their grief, therapy meets them where they are developmentally, helping them understand their emotions, build a sense of safety and find ways to express what they may not yet have the words to say.
People often ask me how they know whether they, or their child, need extra support. There isn’t a checklist, and there certainly isn’t a deadline for grief. Reaching out doesn’t mean you’ve failed to cope. Sometimes support is needed because everyday life has started to feel impossible, because anxiety or distress is getting in the way of living, or because painful memories still feel as raw as the day that they happened. Other times, people simply want somewhere they can speak openly without worrying about protecting the people around them.
You don’t have to be at breaking point to benefit from having someone alongside you. Sometimes the greatest value of therapy is simply having a space where every emotion is welcome, where nothing has to be edited or held back, and where someone can help you make sense of an experience that has changed your world.
Grief changes us because love changes us. If your grief sometimes feels confusing, frightening or heavier than you expected, it doesn’t mean you’re grieving the wrong way. It may simply mean your brain and body are responding to an experience that was both heartbreaking and overwhelming. Understanding that can be the first step towards offering yourself the same compassion you would so readily offer someone else.
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