“Yes, that is the way through it. The ten minutes on the floor were not the problem; they were the healing.”
“Yes, that is the way through it. I used to run from grief too, until I learned that leaning into the pain, even for ten minutes, is what lets it move instead of stay stuck.”
“I avoided crying for years by getting angry instead, because anger felt safer than sadness. Sitting on the floor and letting it hit you for ten minutes is the way through, not around.”
“Yes, that is the way through it. I have felt that same silence after losing a dog, and I have learned that grief does not move because time passes; it moves when we stop running from it. Sitting on the floor for ten minutes was not weakness. It was the first honest step.”
“Yes, that is the way through it. When I lost Nibbler, I kept trying to outrun the grief until I finally sat down and wrote out everything I was feeling, messy as it was. The avoidance feels like relief but it just stores the pain; letting it hit you for ten minutes is what actually moves it.”
“Yes, that is the way through. After we lost Tarzan, I kept moving too, until I realized grief is not something to outrun; it is the proof that love was real. Those ten minutes on the floor were not awful, they were holy. You felt it, and that is where healing begins.”
“Yes, that floor is the way through. I lost my puppy last year and I know the temptation to talk over it, stay busy, make it smaller than it is. Grief is the emotion that says you loved something that is not coming back the way it was, and the only way past it is through it, in waves, with a beginning, a middle, and an end.”
“That ten minutes on the floor was not weakness; it was the first honest signal your nervous system got that you were finally listening. The TV and the calls were keeping the cork in. Grief, like stress, travels until you let it move through you.”