When the Milestones Bring the Memories: Letting Grief and Joy Coexist

Lately, I’ve been really sad.

At first, I tried to make it make sense in a way that felt productive. I told myself it was business stress. Deadlines. Pressure. The weight of always building, creating, and showing up. That explanation felt easier—more controllable. But when I slowed down and really listened to myself, I realized the truth was quieter and heavier. It’s my heart.

As I get closer to a milestone birthday, my thoughts keep circling back to my dad. The memories are vivid, almost intrusive in the gentlest way. I can hear his laugh. I can picture his face. I can almost hear him saying, “You’re turning 40, girl?! Are you sure?!” in that playful, loving way that made everything feel lighter.

That’s the thing about grief. People say it gets easier, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. It doesn’t disappear or shrink it just changes shape. It shows up differently as time goes on. Sometimes it’s loud and consuming. Other times, it’s subtle, tucked into moments you don’t expect like a birthday approaching, or a quiet morning when the world feels still.

Right now, grief feels like a low hum in the background of my life. Not overwhelming, but ever-present. It sneaks in when I least expect it and reminds me of what’s missing. And in those moments, it’s not something I want to fix or rush through. It just wants to be acknowledged.
So instead of pushing it away, I’m choosing to be intentional.

I’m surrounding myself with things that bring me joy. Soft moments, comforting routines, beauty in small doses. I’m spending time with people who want to see that joy exist and grow, not dim or shrink to accommodate my sadness. I’m learning that I don’t have to choose between grieving and living fully. Both can live here. Sadness and light are not enemies; they’re often holding hands.
There’s a quiet strength in allowing yourself to feel both at once. In giving yourself permission to miss someone deeply while still celebrating who you are becoming. In understanding that healing doesn’t mean forgetting—it means learning how to carry love forward in a new way.

Sharing this isn’t easy. Vulnerability never is. But I’ve always used my platform for more than polished moments and highlight reels. I’ve used it to tell the truth. To say the things people often keep to themselves. To create space for honesty, especially when it’s uncomfortable or messy.
So why am I sharing this now?

Because someone reading this might be feeling the same way—navigating a season of sadness they can’t quite explain, missing someone they love, or realizing that milestones can stir emotions they weren’t prepared for. And if that’s you, I want you to know you’re not alone. Even when it feels isolating. Even when it feels like everyone else is moving forward with ease.

I’m reminding myself of that same thing, too.

Grief doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you loved deeply. And choosing joy alongside it doesn’t dishonor that love, it honors it. Right now, I’m holding space for all of it. The tears. The memories. The laughter. The becoming.
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And that, too, is part of the journey.