The Paradox of Grief: From Loss Taking to Grief Giving

My name is Laura. I am a Mexican woman with pretty much all the characteristics that memes assign to Latina women. I am loud, outspoken, short, always in a messy hair bun, and I fully relate to those videos of Latina mothers scolding their children.

I am 41 years old, and in the past decade I have started to understand and make sense of what grief has meant in my life.

Like many of you, I have known grief for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I encountered situations that broke my heart. It was then that I lost that sense of childhood innocence and I became afraid.

At 12 years old, I went through multiple surgeries due to a retinal detachment, and eventually I lost vision in one eye. This is something I still grieve today. But I also realized then that even though I didn’t feel strong at the time, I was. Even though I did not feel confident at the time, I was. I spent more than 10 years wearing an eye patch, going in and out of reconstructive surgeries, and in the midst of it all, I learned to use humor, to make fun of myself, and to not take myself so seriously. That strength, that confidence, and that humor stayed with me. I did not know I had it in me. Grief gave me that.

Years later, I found myself in a relationship that I now understand was not healthy for me. I became pregnant and had an abortion without anesthesia, in a context where it was illegal. It was painful and traumatic. I grieved that experience on many levels, over many years, and that process shaped the way I related to myself and to others, especially in future romantic relationships.

But then I met the love of my life (my husband). And I realized that if I hadn’t gone through those relationships, our relationship would not be what it is today. Those painful experiences helped me understand my own patterns, my own mistakes, and what I needed to change.

And I also realized that what I experienced in my childhood, those encounters with the crudeness of life, helped me understand the kind of relationship I wanted to have with my husband, and the kind of person I wanted as the father of my children. Grief gave me that.

In 2012, on a sunny, traffic-jammed Friday, I lost my mother to an unexpected heart attack. She died while driving my grandmother to the doctor. I still have images of that day that I cannot erase. I lost my best friend, my confidant, the person I laughed the most with (at and with), and probably the one who knew me best.

Years later, after I got married, we decided to leave Mexico and moved to Canada with nothing but our two toddler daughters. Whoever has gone through migration knows how hard it is to build a life from scratch without such things as steady jobs, income, healthcare, and professional recognition. But the challenges of migrating to a new country strengthened my relationship with my husband in ways we never imagined. I became more grateful, and it taught me grit, the kind you build little by little, just by not giving up. Grief gave me that.

But, from afar, I watched my ill father get sicker and eventually pass away. The last time I saw him was on FaceTime; he was lying in a hospital bed.

The loss of both of my parents is a grief that lives quietly within me. If you know the feeling, you know it is not always loud, but it is always there. A silent, everyday ache, the constant awareness that they are no longer here with me, sharing both the hard and the happy moments. However, that grief not only brought me maturity; it also changed me and it changed my siblings as well. We became more united than ever. We went from having toxic, conflict-filled relationships to becoming close, loving, and trusting of one another. The relationship I have with them is one of the things I value most in my life. It is one of my greatest treasures. It is where a part of my heart rests, safe forever. Grief gave me that. 

One of the happiest moments in my life was getting married, and later having my four beautiful daughters, two of them rainbow babies: born after loss. These miscarriages I experienced, along with the abortion I had previously, changed my world in ways I could not have imagined: my hopes, my expectations, my understanding of motherhood. And at the same time, those experiences shaped the way I show up for others, the way I support families going through reproductive loss, and particularly the way I show up as a mother to my daughters. Grief gave me that.

We all grieve.

We all lose our innocence at some point, through pain, trauma, or loss. And in that moment when we encounter something that reveals the darker side of the human heart, something shifts. We live; we grieve…

Grief is often associated with death, but it extends far beyond that. It is the response to any significant loss: a dream that didn’t happen, a relationship that ended, a life path that changed, or a hope that was lost.

Grief is not just about what is gone; it is also about what is left. It is about learning to live in a world that has changed. It is the painful process of becoming someone new while learning to carry the weight of what was left behind.

But as loss takes, grief gives. And that is how I have come to know love.

Today, at 41 years old, I can see how much grief has given me. Through every loss, through every painful experience, I have had to discover a new version of myself. And over time, through all those moments of pain and tears, I realized that I have come a long way.

Grief gave me a chance to discover the awful and the beautiful sides of myself. It gave me new experiences, new perspectives, new worldviews. It gave me the ability to rebuild, little by little – sometimes falling, sometimes crawling, sometimes not understanding why – new beginnings, new relationships, new hopes. And I came to understand that the paradox of grief lives in opposites: in fear and in hope, in pain and in love, in loss and in meaning. Grief has given me so much.

Grief matters not only because it is painful, but because it allows us to encounter this paradox: to experience deep pain while also understanding life and love in a more profound way. It is a lifelong process, and it amazes me how much it can change a life. Grief matters because every painful experience lived by each us has made us who we are today, and how we impact those around us.

Grief can be painful, disorienting, and deeply personal. But it can also be a testament to love, to hope, and to the meaning we give to what we lose. Loss takes; grief reshapes, deepens, and transforms. Grief gives us that.

And while grief can also make us bitter, resentful, or angry, it does not have the final word. We grieve. We learn.

Maybe you are not where I am. Maybe grief has brought you anything but growth; maybe it has brought you tragedy, isolation, mental health challenges, and pain. But I wonder if you look back, you might also see, despite it all, how much you have overcome.

This is not just my personal experience; it is about being true to myself. It is about honoring my battles: the ones I have won and the ones I have lost. It is about honoring the puddles of mud I have been in, the unfair things that happened to me, and the mistakes I have made.

And as we honor our own, we can begin to honor others’. Our grief matters because it is one thing all of humanity shares. And when we honor it, we listen, we connect, we understand, and we learn.  

The way we see the world is shaped by what we have lived, by what we have had to grieve, by what we love. And in the middle of that painful journey –  in learning, in getting to know your grieving self, in discovering how resilient you are –  grief has something to offer you too. And at the same time, although it may not always feel this way, you have something to offer the world.

The paradox of grief is the gifts that it gives.