Writing on coercive control, family court abuse, workplace abuse, trauma, and grief. Practical, grounded, and written for survivors, not about them.
You still buy two avocados. It has been eight months and you are standing in the supermarket on a Thursday evening and you have put two avocados in the bag. You will not realise until you get home. The second avocado was not a mistake. It was a reflex. The hand remembering what the mind has been told but the body has not yet agreed to, which is that the person who ate the other avocado is not coming home.
This isn’t an article about grief. Not really. It’s about what happens when that very special someone you loved is dead and you’re still here, and the love didn’t get the memo. It keeps showing up, in cars, in kitchens, at 2am, in the self-checkout queue at Woolies. Uninvited. Inconvenient. Sometimes unwelcome. If you’ve lost someone, you might recognise this. The presence that arrives without warning. The way your body knows something before your brain catches up. The cost of carrying it in public spaces while the world keeps demanding you function. This piece doesn’t explain grief or offer steps through it. It doesn’t try to comfort you or teach you anything. It just says: this is what it’s like.
This article is for people whose grief feels unfixable because the only thing that would truly help is impossible. If you’ve lost someone you cannot imagine living without, and every book, course or kind suggestion feels too small for what you’re carrying, this will make sense to you. It explains why advice feels useless, why exhaustion is constant, why nothing feels normal, and why you’re not failing at grief. It names the truth most resources avoid: you’re not sad, you’re living in a world that no longer has the person who made it make sense. This guide won’t offer stages or timelines. It will simply meet you where you are, in the reality that nothing fixes this, and survival is its own kind of courage.
This article is for anyone trying to grieve while stuck in an estate dispute. If you can’t think clearly, can’t sleep, and feel like every legal email knocks the air out of you, this explains why. Your body can’t mourn and fight at the same time. That’s not weakness. That’s biology.
It speaks to the people waking at 4:47 a.m. with a locked spine, the ones answering lawyer emails through tears, the ones who haven’t had a single uninterrupted moment to grieve. It shows why legal delays feel like harm, why you can’t “just let the lawyers handle it,” and why your nervous system is still bracing years later.
If you need language for what’s happening to you, if you need to understand why you feel broken when you’re actually enduring the impossible, this piece gives you that clarity.
Grief isn’t linear. Forget the stages, love and loss move in waves. This piece offers truth, compassion, and ways to care for a grieving body, and a broken heart.