Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. I think we all know this–it’s simply not linear, it doesn’t obey five neat little stages, and it certainly doesn’t wrap itself up just because a year has passed.
One of the most helpful metaphors I’ve come across, and one that I often share with clients, is the “ball in the box” analogy, originally created as a Twitter (X) post by Lauren Herschel. It’s a simple way to understand why grief can feel like it comes out of nowhere, even years after a loss.
Imagine a box. Inside the box is a big red button — your pain button. And inside that same box, there’s a ball. In the beginning, right after a loss, that ball is huge. It’s rolling around, bumping into that pain button constantly. There’s barely any room for it not to hit the button. That’s the early days of grief: raw, overwhelming, and constant.
But over time, the ball doesn’t disappear. Herschel describes the ball as getting smaller over time. I like to think of it more as the box growing, our capacity for joy, love, other strong emotions, causes the box to expand. The ball has more room to roll around without hitting the button quite so often as these experiences have created a buffer of sorts. But every once in a while, bam. The ball slams into the button again, and all that pain comes rushing back like it just happened.
There’s no warning. No calendar event. You’re just driving, or folding laundry, or standing in line at the grocery store and suddenly, you’re in it. It hurts just as much as it did on day one, and it makes you question if you’ve made any progress at all.
But here’s the truth: you have. The box is bigger. The ball hasn’t vanished. And it may never.
Which brings me to Megan Devine, author of It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay, a book that changed how I talk about grief, both personally and professionally. Megan writes “Grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you carry.”
That’s not a hopeless message. In fact, it’s the opposite. It’s an invitation to honor the full range of your emotions — the messy, inconvenient, sometimes beautiful truth of what it means to love and to lose. Grief is not a sign that something is wrong with you. It’s a sign that something mattered. And those strong, messy emotions are causing our boxes to expand.
In therapy, we don’t try to shrink your grief out of existence. We create space for it. We learn how to live alongside it: to breathe, to function, to laugh even, while still letting the grief be real.
So, if you find yourself hurting “out of the blue” years after a loss, you’re not broken. You’re not doing it wrong. Your ball just hit the button again.
Whether your grief is brand new or has been with you for years, it’s valid — and it deserves care. In therapy, we won’t try to “fix” your grief. Instead, we’ll make space for it, explore how it’s showing up in your life, and work together to find ways of carrying it that feel more supportive and less overwhelming.
I offer individual therapy for teens and adults, both in-person and via telehealth. I also lead small groups focused on building emotional regulation and connection— spaces where your story is welcome, and where no one is expected to “move on” before they’re ready.
If you’re looking for grounded support and a therapist who walks with you, not in front of you, I’d be honored to meet you.
You can learn more about me or schedule a free 25-minute consultation .
You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to heal. And you don’t have to do either one alone.
