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Hi, it's Dora, and this is Radiohead Space.
I'm so glad you're here.
So when my stepmom passed away, it shook our family to the core.
She had been a part of our lives for years, steady, loving, and present.
And then suddenly she wasn't.
In the days and weeks that followed, there was a lot of silence, some tears.
And eventually, my dad said something I'll never forget.
It's time to move on.
Not harshly and not without care, but with a kind of finality, like, this is the moment.
Let's close the door and keep walking.
And even though I understood where he was coming from, something inside me hesitated.
Because I wasn't ready.
Not to move on, not to erase, and not to skip the part where grief was still alive in my body.
Grief doesn't follow a timeline.
It doesn't respect checkboxes or expiration dates that culturally, and often generationally, we're taught that it should.
We hear things like, don't dwell on it, be strong.
They would want you to be happy.
And it's time to move on.
But the truth is, we don't move on from grief.
We move with it.
And mindfulness helps us understand that.
It teaches us that grief is not a problem to solve, but an experience to carry.
It shifts the goal from closure to integration, from forgetting to remembering, with a sense of softness and care.
Watching my dad grieve was humbling.
He was quiet.
He stayed busy.
He kept things moving forward.
Meals, errands, bills, life.
And at first, I wanted him to slow down, to feel more, to cry, to sit with the sadness like I was.
But over time, I realized He was grieving the only way he knew how.
He grew up in a different time, in a different culture, with different models of strength.
For him, moving on was an avoidance.
It was survival.
It was resilience in motion.
And that gave me so much compassion for him.
But I also knew I needed something different.
I needed to feel the grief in my body, to sit in the memories, to not rush the process just because the world around me wanted me to get over it.
So I gave myself permission to move slower, to feel everything in waves.
To not apologize for being tender longer than others might expect.
And over time, something began to transform.
The grief didn't disappear, but it became a part of me.
Something I carry and not something I fix.
So if you find yourself grieving, whether a person, a place, a role, or a version of yourself, here are a few gentle reminders.
Release the pressure to be over it.
There is no deadline for healing.
And you're not broken if you're still feeling.
Practice self-acceptance and grief.
Your emotions might not match others, and that's okay.
Allow your process to be yours.
Let your healing have seasons.
Some days you'll feel joy, and some days you'll feel raw.
Both are part of the journey.
Grief is not linear.
It loops, it revisits, it evolves, and it deserves space, even long after the world has moved on.
And what I'm learning is that grief softens.
It doesn't vanish.
And that's not a flaw.
It's part of being human.
We're not meant to forget the ones that we've loved.
We're meant to carry them with us, and not as pain, but as a deep presence.
So today, if someone tells you it's time to move on, remember this.
You get to move at your own pace, with your own heart, in your own way.
Thank you so much for being here.
I'll see you tomorrow
