The Importance of 'Staying' alongside in Grief: Reflections from a Counsellor

There are no answers in grief. But there is healing in sitting alongside another regardless.

Before I opened my private practice, I spent many years working in crisis support and in bereavement services - often walking alongside people through some of life’s most heartbreaking moments following traumatic and sudden loss.

Over the years, people close to me - friends, family - have gently asked, “How do you do this work?” Especially as a mum, coming home each day to my own little people, I understand the question.

The answer is: I do it because it feels deeply human. Life is full of real, raw and hard moments, whether we choose to see them or not. I just choose to spend my days seeing them.

As counsellors, we’re trained to keep looking in those moments when others might instinctively turn away - not because it doesn’t affect us, but because we’ve learned that turning away doesn’t help. The pain still exists. The grief is still there. And when others step back, the person grieving can feel even more alone. So instead of turning away, I choose to turn toward the pain. I choose to stay.

There’s something quietly beautiful about this work. It is some of the most honoured work I do. To be trusted to sit beside someone in what may be the darkest moment of their life - that is something I never take for granted.

Grief counselling isn’t about having the right words. It’s not about advice or fixes or silver linings. There are no magic sentences that make it better.

I remember one of my earliest sessions within this work was with a young man who had just lost his fiancée in a sudden car accident. It’s a moment that has stayed with me ever since. They were planning their life together - travel, children, marriage. And in a single moment, all of it disappeared. My heart broke alongside his. I felt the deep injustice of what life had dealt him.

There was nothing I could say to ease his pain. Nothing that could make him feel “better.” He unravelled - his whole body aching with grief. He sobbed in a way that felt ancient, raw, beyond language. He was lying in the dark, curled on his bedroom floor, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke to me. I don’t remember how long that call lasted, but when we finally hung up, it felt like I hadn’t taken a breath the entire time.

It's a conversation that may perhaps be one of the most meaningful I’ve ever had.

The most raw. The most real.

And in that moment, I realised the quiet power of this work. There were no answers. No fix. But regardless, as humans, we need to be there alongside one another. We may not have answers. But we can offer presence.

Sometimes, the most healing thing we can offer is exactly that: 

To stay when things feel unfixable. 

To witness, without rushing to change or soften it. 

To sit beside someone in their deepest pain and say, with our whole presence, “I’m still here.”

And to me, that’s what grief counselling can offer - especially when the world doesn’t know how to hold someone in such pain. We stay. We don’t look away. We understand that this isn’t about cheering someone up, or nudging them toward something lighter. It’s about honouring the truth of where they are.

Because so often, that’s what’s missing.

Family and friends often want desperately to help. They want to make you feel better. But in their loving efforts, they might try to distract you, change the subject, or encourage you to return to “normal.” Not because they don’t care - but because we’re rarely taught how to sit with this kind of discomfort. We live in a culture that’s better at solving than staying.

When I trained crisis line volunteers, one of the first questions they’d ask was, “But what if I don’t know what to say? What if I can’t fix it?”

And it’s a humbling moment to reply: “You won’t. But you’ll stay anyway.”

When you’ve lost someone you love - or when a part of your world has been permanently altered - normal no longer applies. There’s no timeline. No checklist. No neat moment when everything feels “okay” again.

Grief isn’t something to be solved. 

It’s something to be honoured.

And while no words can take away the pain, what can help is being met with presence. With kindness. With someone who won’t flinch or turn away when things feel too much.

That’s what I aim to offer. Not perfect answers, but a soft place to land when the world no longer makes sense.

This work humbles me.

It continues to move me, over and over again. 

And it’s a privilege I carry with deep care.

So when family and friends ask how I do this work, I reply that no one feels better when everyone turns away. I’ve made peace with this work because I understand that life is made of both love and loss. The cost of loving deeply is grieving deeply. It’s a profoundly human experience - and we need to sit alongside it, as we all go through it. Which, unfortunately, we all do - many times over, throughout this life.

If you're walking through grief and unsure where to turn, please feel welcome to reach out. I offer gentle, supportive grief counselling both in-person at my Caringbah practice and online across Australia. When you're ready, I’m here to walk beside you.