“Sadness will blindside you.”

Such a simple sentence from my first therapist, but it contained a profound truth. My healing journey has been volatile and challenging. I imagine yours has been too.

The further I move down the path of taking care of myself, the more surprising I find the moments of deep sadness that wash over me like giant waves in the middle of a desert. Completely unexpected and impossible to predict.

I can be in the middle of a great day, during a productive week, in the midst of an average month, and out of nowhere…crash! I am overwhelmed with a tangible, visceral grief.

She was right.

The Grief That Ambushes

In the early stages of healing, we become accustomed to tears. I cried myself to the point of sheer exhaustion. Great gulping sobs that left me wrung out and depleted. Sadness and sorrow were not surprising—they became my ‘norm’.

But years, decades later, the unexpected sweeping grief that rushes over me? It’s shocking.

It might hit when I’m watching my adult children laugh together around the dinner table, and suddenly I’m grieving the childhood years I was too broken to fully enjoy with them.

It might crash over me when I see a father tenderly braiding his daughter’s hair at the coffee shop, and I’m mourning the safety I never knew, the protection I never had.

It might blindside me during a perfectly ordinary Tuesday when a song comes on the radio, or I catch a whiff of a particular cologne, or someone walks with the same heavy footsteps that still make my body tense.

The 24-Hour Grief Protocol

When I described these ambush moments to my therapist, expecting her to give me tools to fight them off or strategies to prevent them, she surprised me.

“Don’t fight it,” she said. “Give yourself permission to grieve.”

Then she taught me something that changed everything: The 24-Hour Grief Protocol.

Here’s how it works:

Hour 1: Surrender When that wave of grief crashes over you, don’t run from it. Cancel what you can. Put on your softest clothes—the ones that feel like a hug. Wrap yourself in blankets. Make a cup of tea or pour a glass of wine.

This isn’t wallowing. This is honoring the pain that’s demanding to be felt.

Hours 2-12: Feel It All Cry without analyzing why. Watch sad movies if you want to. Look through old photos. Journal stream-of-consciousness thoughts. Call in sick if you need to. Order comfort food.

Let the grief move through you like weather—it has its own timeline, and your job is simply to experience it, not direct it.

Hours 13-20: Rest Grief is exhausting. Sleep when you can. Take baths. Do gentle stretches. Read comfort books. The goal isn’t productivity—it’s presence with your own healing process.

Hours 21-24: Prepare to Emerge Set a literal timer for 24 hours from when the grief hit. When it goes off, you’ve honored the sadness fully. Now it’s time to re-engage with life.

Hour 25: Return to Light Shower. Put on clothes that make you feel capable. Take a walk. Call a friend. Do one small thing that moves you forward. You’ve given grief its due—now you choose to step back into your life.

Why This Works

At first, I thought 24 hours seemed like too long to “indulge” in sadness. But here’s what I learned:

Grief that’s honored moves through you faster than grief that’s fought. When you try to push it away, it just goes underground and resurfaces later, often stronger.

Having a time limit prevents the spiral. Knowing you have permission to feel awful for exactly 24 hours—but not longer—creates both freedom and boundaries.

It teaches you to trust yourself. Each time you successfully move through the protocol, you prove to yourself that you can handle whatever grief brings.

It normalizes the waves. Instead of panicking when grief hits (“Oh no, I’m backsliding!”), you think, “Oh, it’s grief day. I know what to do.”

What I’ve Learned About Grief Waves

After years of practicing this protocol, here’s what I know:

They’re not setbacks—they’re part of healing. Each wave processes another layer of loss you couldn’t handle before. Your psyche only gives you what you can bear.

They get less frequent but not less intense. The space between waves grows longer, but when they hit, they can still knock you flat. That’s normal.

They often coincide with growth. I’ve noticed grief waves often come right before or after major healing breakthroughs, as if my soul is clearing space for something new.

They’re proof you’re alive. The opposite of grief isn’t happiness—it’s numbness. Feeling deeply, even when it hurts, means you’re healing.

To Fellow Survivors

If you’re reading this in the middle of an unexpected grief wave, I see you. I’m sending you permission to feel it all.

You’re not broken. You’re not going backwards. You’re not “not healing fast enough.”

You’re human, processing superhuman levels of loss and trauma. Of course there are waves.

Set your timer. Wrap yourself in softness. Let the tears fall.

Tomorrow, you’ll shower and step back into the light. But today? Today you honor the grief.

Have you experienced these unexpected waves of grief in your healing journey? How do you handle them? Share your strategies in the comments—your wisdom might be exactly what another survivor needs to hear.

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If you’re struggling with overwhelming grief or thoughts of self-harm, please reach out for support:

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988
• Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741
• National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE

You matter. Your healing matters. Tomorrow is worth seeing.