When Everything Changes: The Role of a Death Doula

A terminal diagnosis has a way of stopping time while the rest of the world keeps going on like nothing happened. One moment you’re worrying about deadlines, and what’s for dinner. The next, you’re staring at a future that feels foggy,and wildly unfair. It’s disorienting. It’s terrifying. And it’s deeply human to think, “OMG hang on.  What just happened?”

People often assume the hardest part is the idea of dying. But what hits first (and hardest) is everything else: the grief for the life you thought you’d have, the fear of what’s coming, the awkward conversations, the silence from people who don’t know what to say, and the exhaustion of holding it all together. A terminal diagnosis changes how you move through the world.

This is where a death doula can make a meaningful difference.

First things first: what is a death doula? (I hope you know this by now!)

A death doula (or end-of-life doula) is a non-medical support person trained to walk alongside individuals and families facing serious illness, dying, and death. We don’t replace doctors, nurses, hospice, or therapy. Think of us as the steady companion in the middle of the chaos.  The person who isn’t rushing, isn’t afraid of hard conversations, and isn’t going to disappear when things get uncomfortable.

We support emotionally, practically, and spiritually (if that’s your thing). We help you process what’s happening, make sense of what comes next, and figure out how you want to live now and not just how you’ll die later.

We have presence.

Holding space when everything feels like too much

After a terminal diagnosis, emotions rarely arrive one at a time. They come in waves.  Sometimes all at once, sometimes sneaking up on you in the cereal aisle. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Relief. Guilt. Numbness. Even moments of joy that feel confusing or “wrong.”

A death doula doesn’t try to tidy any of this up.

We don’t tell you to be brave. We don’t push positivity. And we definitely don’t say things like “everything happens for a reason.” (Hard pass.)

Instead, we listen. Fully. Honestly. Without flinching.

You can say the things you’re scared to say out loud. You can repeat yourself.  (I’ve heard someone tell me the same stories a dozen or so times, and everyone I treat as brand new) You can cry, swear, joke, rage, or sit in silence. Many people tell me they don’t want to “burden” their loved ones with how heavy things feel. With a doula, you don’t have to edit yourself. You’re allowed to be exactly where you are.

The practical stuff no one prepares you for

Let’s talk about the mountain of logistics.  They are not fun but they are important

A terminal diagnosis often comes with decisions about advance directives, medical wishes, hospice care, legacy planning, funerals, conversations with family, and yes… who gets what when you’re gone. Trying to handle all of that while emotionally reeling is a lot. Like, too much a lot.

A death doula helps break it down.

We help you understand your options, clarify your values, and make decisions at your own pace. There’s no “right” way to do this, but your way deserves to be honored and upheld. Whether that means writing letters, recording stories, planning a celebration of life, or deciding what comfort and dignity look like for you at the end, we walk through it together. One step at a time.

No pressure. No agenda. Just support.

Seeing you as a whole person and not just a diagnosis

Medical systems are great at treating illness. They’re not always great at tending to the person living inside that illness.

Death doulas focus on you.

Your story. Your relationships. Your fears and hopes. Your sense of meaning. Your unfinished business (emotional or otherwise). Your loved ones may begin to see you as a patient, but you’re still someone who loves deeply, remembers vividly, laughs loudly, and matters immensely.

We might help you create memory projects, facilitate meaningful conversations, explore spiritual questions, or simply sit with you while you reflect on your life. Sometimes the most powerful support looks like quiet presence. Sometimes it looks like laughter. Sometimes it’s both in the same hour.

Supporting the people who love you, too

A terminal diagnosis sends shockwaves through families and chosen families alike. Caregivers often feel overwhelmed, helpless, exhausted, and unsure if they’re “doing enough” or “doing it right.”

A death doula supports them as well.

We offer guidance, education, emotional support, and sometimes just a calm presence in the room. We help with communication, family dynamics, and those conversations no one wants to start but everyone’s thinking about. And yes, sometimes that support happens over a cup of tea, or a strong drink, while someone finally lets themselves fall apart.

Making room for what truly matters

Here’s the truth: a death doula can’t change a diagnosis. We can’t fix what’s broken or make this fair.  But we can help you live with intention, honesty, and connection in the time you have. We can help you reclaim a sense of agency when so much feels out of control. We can help you shape this chapter in a way that reflects who you are and what you value.

Even now (especially now) there is room for meaning. For love. For laughter. For hard truths and tender moments and memories that matter.

If you or someone you love is facing a terminal diagnosis, you don’t have to walk this path alone. Death doulas aren’t afraid of the hard stuff. We’ll meet you exactly where you are and walk with you, heart first, all the way through.

Top 5 Grief Experiences No One Prepares You For

We talk about grief like it’s one thing. A feeling. A season. Something you move through and eventually “close.”

That’s… not how it works.

Grief is sneakier than that. It shows up sideways. It rewires your body, your brain, and your expectations of yourself. And a lot of the hardest parts aren’t the ones people warn you about. No one pulls you aside and says, “Hey, this part might really mess with you!.”

So let’s talk about the parts no one prepares you for.

1. It’s a Full-Body Experience

Most people expect grief to feel like crying. What they don’t expect is exhaustion so deep it feels cellular. Brain fog that makes simple decisions feel impossible. A body that aches for no clear reason. A nervous system that’s suddenly jumpy, numb, or both.

Grief lives in the body long before the mind catches up. You might feel short of breath, heavy in your chest, or like you’re walking through wet cement. You may sleep too much, or not at all. Food might lose its taste, or suddenly become the only thing that feels grounding.

This isn't a weakness!!  Your body is responding to loss the same way it responds to threat. Once you know that, you can stop asking yourself why you “should be handling this better” and start listening to what your body is asking for instead.

2. The Loneliness.  (Even When You’re Not Alone)

In the early days, support often pours in. Texts. Meals. Check-ins. And then… it thins out. Life resumes for everyone else while yours feels permanently altered.

Even surrounded by people, grief can feel isolating. You might feel like no one really understands what you’re carrying. Conversations feel shallow. Laughter feels foreign. You may stop bringing up your loss because you don’t want to make others uncomfortable, or because you’re tired of hearing the same well-meaning but hollow responses.

This kind of loneliness doesn’t feel like the typical “I’m all by myself” alone.  You’ve changed in a way the world doesn’t quite know how to meet. And that disconnect can hurt just as much as the loss itself.

3. Grief Can Show Up as Anger, Guilt, or Even Nothing at All

Not everyone cries. Not everyone falls apart. Some people even feel rage.  At doctors, family members, God, the universe, or the person who died. Others feel guilt over things said, not said, done, or imagined. And some feel… strangely fine. Or numb. Or emotionally blank.

Here’s the truth no one says out loud enough: there is no correct emotional response to loss.

If ou’re numb, you’re not in denial. If you’re angry, you’re not an a-hole.  And if you feel relief it does NOT mean you didn’t love them!  Grief is complex, and it often comes wrapped in emotions that feel confusing or even uncomfortable to admit.

If your grief doesn’t look like what you expected, or what you think it should look like, that doesn’t make it less real. It just means it’s yours.

4. It Can Get Harder After Everyone Thinks You Should Be “Better”

There’s an unspoken timeline for grief in our culture. You get a few weeks of grace. Maybe a few months. And then the expectation quietly shifts toward productivity, normalcy, and resilience.

But for many people, grief intensifies after the initial shock wears off. When the logistics are done. When the casseroles stop coming. When you’re left alone with the permanence of the loss.

This is often when grief sinks deeper. You’re not “stuck.”  Your nervous system just finally has space to process what happened. Unfortunately, this is also when support tends to fade, leaving people feeling like they’re failing at something invisible.

You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re just grieving in a world that doesn’t give grief enough room.

5. Grief Doesn’t End.  But It Does Change

One of the most unhelpful things people are told is that grief is something to “get over.” As if love has an expiration date.

Grief doesn’t disappear. It evolves. It softens, sharpens, resurfaces, and settles again. Some days it’s a quiet ache. Other days it blindsides you in the grocery store over a song or a smell or a memory you didn’t see coming.

Over time, you don’t stop grieving, you simply learn how to carry it. Grief becomes part of life, woven in with joy, meaning, and connection. Not in spite of it, but alongside it.

And no one prepares you for the fact that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to live while still loving someone who isn’t here.

If you’re in the middle of any of this, especially the parts that feel confusing, isolating, or “wrong”, you’re not failing at grief. You’re experiencing it.

And you don’t have to do it alone.

If you need support that meets you where you are, I’m here. Sometimes the most healing thing isn’t fixing grief, but having someone walk beside you while you carry it.

Creating a Calm End of Life Experience

Here’s the truth: the end of life can be tender and chaotic at the same time. Medical equipment beeps. People whisper like they’re in a library. Someone’s asking where the chapstick is while another person is Googling “what does active dying look like” at 2 a.m.

Creating a calming end-of-life environment should NEVER be turning the moment into some Instagram-worthy candlelit montage. OMG please do not.  We want to create a space for the person who is dying (and the people who love them) so that everyone can breathe a little easier.  And not just the physical space but the emotional too.

Cool, Nikki but how do we do this in real, doable ways?  Glad you asked!  Because, you know, this is what I do.

Start With What “Calm” Means to Them

This is the most important part, and it’s the one people skip.

Calm is personal.

For some people, calm is silence and dim lights. For others, it’s baseball on the TV, a dog snoring at their feet, and their favorite people telling stories that make them laugh. One person’s peaceful sanctuary is another person’s sensory nightmare.  I’ve seen both!

If the person can still communicate, ask simple questions:

• What helps you feel relaxed?

• What feels annoying or overwhelming right now?

• Do you want quiet, music, or conversation?

If they can’t communicate anymore, think about who they’ve always been. How did they rest? What brought them comfort when they were stressed or sick in the past? You can also look for non-verbal cues that they’re stressed.  Furrowed brow, sour face, restlessness.

Soften the Sensory Overload

End-of-life spaces often become unintentionally loud, bright, and overstimulating. A few gentle tweaks can make a big difference.

Lighting:
Overhead lights are the enemy of calm. Use lamps, salt lights, or natural daylight when possible. Think “soft glow,” not “interrogation room.”  (Of all the times to give off that vibe…)

Sound:
Silence can be soothing, but it can also feel heavy. Music can help regulate breathing, ease anxiety, and provide emotional grounding. Choose music intentionally: favorite songs, instrumental pieces, nature sounds, or spiritual music if that fits. And yes, volume matters. This is not the time for surround sound.

Smell:
Scent is powerful. Familiar smells can be deeply comforting. A favorite lotion, clean sheets, a hint of lavender.  But subtle is the key word here. Skip anything strong or new that might be overwhelming or nauseating.

Make the Space Feel Human, Not Clinical

Whether someone is at home, in hospice, or in a facility, the goal is the same: remind them they are a person, not a patient.

Bring in:

• Favorite blankets or pillows

• Photos of people, places, or pets they love

• Meaningful objects (a rosary, a book, a quilt, a piece of art)

If medical equipment is necessary (and often it is), you can still soften the space around it. Cover what you can safely cover. Create visual warmth in the corners of the room. Small touches matter more than you think.

Create Emotional Calm, Not Just Physical Calm

Here’s the part no one prepares caregivers for: your nervous system affects theirs.  Yup.  They know when you’re anxious and that can make them anxious too.

If the room is full of tension, whispered panic, unresolved conflict, or people hovering anxiously, the dying person often feels it.

This doesn’t mean you have to be perfectly peaceful. (Spoiler: no one is.) It means being mindful of the emotional tone in the room.

Some ways to help:

• Step out to have hard conversations elsewhere

• Give people permission to take breaks

• Let silence be okay

• Speak honestly, gently, and directly

• HIRE A DEATH DOULA!!

This also means saying what needs to be said. Love. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Permission to rest. Those words can bring profound calm, even when nothing else does.

Establish Gentle Rhythms

Chaos often comes from uncertainty. Gentle routines can create a sense of safety.

This might look like:

• Playing the same music in the evenings

• Dimming lights at the same time each night

• Reading aloud for a few minutes each day

• Having a familiar person present during certain times

Ritual doesn’t have to be religious or formal. It just has to be consistent enough to signal, You are safe. You are not alone.

Don’t Forget the Caregivers (Yes, That’s You)

A calm environment isn’t just for the person who is dying. It’s for the people who are witnessing it.

If you’re running on fumes, your body tense, your jaw clenched, your breath shallow.  You’re doing the hardest job there is. And you deserve support too.

Drink water. Eat something with actual nutritional value. Step outside. Sit down. Cry in the bathroom if you need to. Ask for help and accept it when it’s offered.

Calm is contagious, but so is burnout.

There Is No “Perfect” Way to Do This

Let me say this clearly: if the space feels imperfect, emotional, messy, and deeply human, you’re probably doing it right.

Creating a calming end-of-life environment isn’t about control. It’s about presence. It’s about reducing unnecessary stress so love, connection, and dignity have room to exist.

You don’t need to get it all right.
You just need to show up with care.

And that, truly, is enough.

When You Don’t Feel Grief Because the Relationship Was Hard

I was chatting with a dear friend awhile ago about “Grief that isn’t there.”  And it’s stuck with me.  I’ve seen this before but didn’t give it a lot of thought.  I’ve been thinking about this one for awhile now and thought it deserved some space too.

There’s a kind of loss no one really talks about.  The one where someone dies and you don’t feel the thing everyone told you you’d feel.

No gut‑punch sadness. No constant tears. No sense that the world stopped spinning.

Instead, there’s quiet. Or relief. Or a confusing emotional shrug that leaves you wondering what’s wrong with you.

Nothing is wrong with you.

If your relationship with the person who died was strained, painful, distant, or complicated, your grief may not show up the way grief is “supposed to.”

Sometimes You Did the Grieving While They Were Still Alive

When a relationship is hard, the grief often starts long before death.

You grieve the parent who couldn’t be who you needed. The partner who caused more harm than safety. The family member who never showed up, never changed, or never took responsibility.

That kind of grief is slow and quiet. It happens in moments of disappointment or abandonment, boundary‑setting, and emotional survival.

So when death comes, your body may simply register that the struggle is over. Not because you didn’t care, but because you already carried the weight for years.

Not Feeling Grief Doesn’t Mean You Didn’t Love

We tend to equate grief with sadness. But complicated relationships don’t produce clean emotions.

You might feel relief that the tension is gone, guilt for feeling that relief, anger that resurfaces unexpectedly, or sadness that isn’t about missing them at all, but about what never was.

You may feel neutral. Or numb. Or oddly calm.

None of that makes you cold or broken. It means your emotional response is shaped by the truth of the relationship, not the fantasy version people prefer after someone dies.

You Don’t Have to Rewrite the Relationship Because They Died

Death has a way of polishing rough edges and erasing harm. Suddenly people expect you to remember only the good parts, speak kindly, forgive quickly, and grieve deeply.

You’re allowed to opt out.  Hit that Unsubscribe button!!

You can acknowledge that someone mattered without pretending they were safe. You can respect the fact of their death without romanticizing the relationship. You can feel nothing at all and still be a compassionate human.

Honesty is not disrespect.

What If the Grief Never Comes?

This is the question. The honest answer? Sometimes it doesn’t.

Not every death creates devastation. Some create space. Some create relief. Some create a sense of finally being able to exhale.

That doesn’t mean grief was skipped over. It means your system may finally feel done bracing.

And sometimes (not always) grief does arrive later, months or even years down the road. It often shows up not as missing the person, but as mourning the loss of closure, answers, or the possibility that the relationship might one day have been different.

That grief counts too.

Caring for Yourself When the Relationship Was Complicated

The most important thing you can do is stop judging your response. There is no emotional requirement after a death.

Pay attention to what is present instead of what you think should be. Relief, anger, neutrality, sadness for your younger self; all of these deserve space.

Be mindful about who you talk to. Not everyone can hold complicated grief without trying to fix it or clean it up. You don’t owe anyone clarity, forgiveness, or tears.

And let go of the word should. It has no place here.

Relief Is Not a Moral Failure.  FULL STOP.

This deserves to be said plainly.  

Feeling relief when someone dies does not mean you wished them harm. It often means the relationship carried stress, unpredictability, or emotional danger.

You can feel sad they’re gone and relieved they can no longer hurt you. You can feel nothing at all and still be a good person.

A Gentle Truth to Hold

Grief is not proof of love.

Sometimes boundaries were the love that was never given. Sometimes surviving the relationship was the work. Sometimes the grief happened quietly, over years, instead of loudly at the end.

If your grief is absent or barely there, trust that your heart is responding honestly to the life you lived, not the story others expect.

That honesty doesn’t need fixing.  It needs compassion.

How Creating a Death Plan Protects the People You Love

Most of us are excellent planners. We plan vacations, weddings, retirements, and what’s for dinner three weeks from now. But when it comes to the one thing we are all guaranteed to experience? Suddenly we go quiet. “I’ll deal with that later.” *shifty eyes*

Well, sometimes later has a way of becoming now.  Ask me how I know. (*cough cough* two very sudden and unexpected deaths in now *cough cough*)

Planning for the end of your life isn’t morbid. It’s merciful. It’s one of the most loving acts you can offer the people you care about, and one of the most empowering things you can do for yourself.

Because here’s the truth no one loves to say out loud: when there is no plan, someone else is forced to make decisions in the middle of shock, fear, and grief. Decisions about medical care. About comfort. About money. About what you would have wanted if you were able to speak for yourself. That’s a heavy burden to drop into someone’s lap while they’re already drowning.

A death plan is about taking ownership. It’s saying, I’ve thought about this. I’ve made choices. I’ve left instructions. It allows your loved ones to focus on loving you, not scrambling through paperwork or arguing over what you “would have wanted.”

And let’s be clear, planning doesn’t mean you have to predict every detail of how or when you’ll die. Life doesn’t work that way. A death plan is about values, preferences, boundaries, and clarity. It’s about answering questions like:

What matters most to me at the end of my life?
What does comfort look like for me?
Who do I trust to speak for me if I can’t speak for myself?
How do I want my body treated after I die?
What do I want my people to know?

These are deeply human questions. And they deserve more than a rushed conversation in a hospital hallway.

There’s also a quiet gift in doing this work while you’re healthy: it often changes how you live now. When you get honest about what matters at the end, you tend to get clearer about what matters today. Boundaries sharpen. Relationships shift. Priorities get rearranged. Suddenly you’re less interested in living on autopilot and more interested in living on purpose.

I’ve sat with countless families at the bedside, some with a plan, many without. I can tell you with certainty: the difference is profound. Planning doesn’t erase grief, but it softens the edges. It brings steadiness into chaos. It turns “I don’t know” into “I know exactly what they wanted.”

And if you’re thinking, I don’t even know where to start, you’re completely normal. Most people were never taught how to have these conversations, let alone write things down in a way that feels accessible and human (not like a cold legal document written in another language).

That’s exactly why I created my Writing Your Death Plan workshop.

This isn’t about fear-mongering or doom-and-gloom. It’s a guided, supportive space where we walk through the essentials together, at your pace, with room for humor, emotion, questions, and real-life complexity. You’ll leave with clarity, confidence, and something tangible your loved ones will one day be grateful for.

If you’ve been waiting for “the right time” to do this, consider this your nudge. Planning for the end of your life doesn’t make it happen sooner, I PROMISE.  But it will help you embrace the  life you’re living now and care for the people you love most.

Come do this important, meaningful work now, before it becomes urgent.

The workshop is in person in Columbus Ohio on January 14th at 6:30PM. Click here to reserve your spot now, before it’s full! I WILL be hosting this online in the coming months.  Please sign up for my newsletter to keep informed of that and any other workshops or events I have upcoming! 

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come: Imagining a Future That Still Holds Light

This ghost gets a bad rap. The dark cloak, the ominous finger pointing, the whole dramatic entrance. I mean…. In most versions of the Dickens Classic, they make it look like the Grim Reaper.  But maybe the future is not a monster in the corner. Maybe it is an invitation. A quiet one, sure, but still an invitation.

Grief can make the future feel like a blank page you are terrified to write on. It can feel like every sentence might come out wrong, or like you no longer recognize the main character. You might wonder who you will be without them, or whether joy has any room left to land in your life. But healing is not a betrayal of your grief. It is not “moving on.” It is moving with. It is carrying the love forward in new ways, some you have not even imagined yet.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come asks a gentler question than you might expect. What do you want to grow toward? Not resolutions that you will forget by January tenth. Not reinventions that require you to pretend you are someone brand new. It asks for quiet intentions. The kind that honor where you have been and still make space for where you hope to go.

Try this: write a note to your future self. Maybe the you who will be sitting in next December, maybe the you who needs a reminder that growth can be slow and still be real. What would you want to say? What small light would you want to carry forward so you do not forget it? It does not need to be profound. It just needs to be honest.

You do not need a five year plan. You do not need a map with every mile marked. One flicker of hope is enough to begin again. One moment of willingness to imagine something beyond the ache is enough to shift the horizon a little.

Because even in grief, there is always something ahead. A sunrise that did not ask your permission to rise. A song that catches you off guard in the best way. A story still unfolding with you in it. The future is not waiting for you to be over it. The future is waiting to meet you exactly as you are, carrying what you carry, building what comes next one breath at a time.

If you’ve followed along through the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future,  thank you for walking through this with me.

Grief doesn’t take holidays off. It doesn’t respect calendars or dinner plans. But like Scrooge learned, even the hardest nights can hold unexpected light. The ghosts didn’t come to torment him, they came to wake him up. Maybe grief does the same for us.

So if your holidays feel quieter, heavier, or different this year, that’s okay. You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

Here’s to carrying love through time.  Past, present, and yet to come.

The Ghost of Christmas Present: Living Through the Season You’re In

The Ghost of Christmas Present isn’t exactly subtle. It shows up like Buddy the Elf, loud and colorful, full of “be merry!” energy while you’re just trying to remember how to breathe. Grief has a funny way of making the world look too bright and too dim at the same time. Everywhere you turn, there’s tinsel, cheer, and one more reminder that life does not look the way it used to.

If you’re grieving, the holidays can feel like walking through a snow globe version of your own life. Everything glittering on the outside, everything swirling on the inside, and none of it quite settling. People may expect you to jump back into tradition or enthusiasm, but here’s the truth no one puts on a greeting card: presence does not require perfection. You don’t have to be festive to be present. You don’t even have to enjoy any of this. You just have to keep showing up as you are.

Maybe “being here” this year looks like saying no to things that drain you, even if that disappoints someone. Maybe it’s eating pie on the couch while watching a movie you’ve already seen ten times. Maybe it’s letting yourself cry through a song that used to make you smile, letting the memories come as they want to come. All of that counts as presence. All of that is valid.

The Ghost of Christmas Present is always asking one simple question: What is real right now? Not what should be, not what once was, not what everyone else expects. What is here in this breath, in this body, in this moment? Grief lives in the gaps between what was and what is, and that can make the present feel wobbly, but it is still yours to inhabit.

Try this little practice: jot down three truths about how you’re honestly doing this season. No filter. No performance. Just truth, even if it feels messy or small. Then ask yourself, What would compassion look like for me today? Maybe it’s rest. Maybe it’s calling a friend. Maybe it’s loosening your grip on the idea that you have to be “okay” right now.

Grief doesn’t erase the present. It reshapes it. And even in a season that demands sparkle, softness, and celebration, you are allowed to show up in the exact shape your heart is taking today.

The Ghosts of Our Past: How Old Grief Still Shapes Us

The holidays have a way of stirring things up. Joy and sorrow start mingling like relatives who don’t quite get along. And both showing up whether you invited them or not.

This season, I’m exploring grief through a familiar old story: A Christmas Carol. Dickens gave us three ghosts: past, present, and future, each holding a mirror to the parts of ourselves we’d rather avoid. But for those of us grieving, these ghosts feel a little too real.

Over the next few weeks, we’ll visit each one.
The Ghost of Christmas Past, who reminds us of what we’ve lost.
The Ghost of Christmas Present, who asks us to face what is.
And the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, who whispers about what might still be possible.

You don’t need to be merry to be part of this. Just honest. Just human.

The Ghost of Christmas Past: When Memories Won’t Stay Quiet

The holidays have a way of summoning ghosts. Maybe not literal ones, but the quieter, more haunting ones that live in our memories. The smell of a certain candle. The sound of a favorite song. The sight of ornaments you can’t bring yourself to hang.  (Oh boy do we have a few of those)

Grief in December often feels like time travel. One moment you’re here, making coffee, and the next you’re back in a kitchen from ten years ago, standing beside someone who isn’t here anymore. The Ghost of Christmas Past just shows up without a courtesy call ahead.  Jerk.

But maybe we shouldn’t shut the door on those memories. Maybe we listen to them.

When the past visits, let it tell its story. Write about the traditions that meant something, the laughter that still echoes, and the moments that now ache to remember. Memory is love’s way of saying, “They mattered. You still matter.”

Try this: light a candle and journal about one holiday memory that feels alive this year. What does it bring up in you? What does it still want you to know?

You don’t have to live in the past, but you also don’t have to exile it. Sometimes revisiting what was helps us see how far we’ve come and how deeply we’ve loved.  After all, grief is love with nowhere to go.

Winter Rituals for Emotional Healing: Small Steps for a Softer Season

Winter has always been a season with a bit of an attitude. It rolls in with its long nights and cold mornings like, “Hey, remember sunlight? Yeah… about that.” And for folks moving through grief, that darkness can feel less like a backdrop and more like a weight. But winter also has this quiet, ancient wisdom tucked into its frost: when things slow down, we can actually hear ourselves. And that’s where healing rituals come in.  Not the woo-woo kind (unless that’s your jam), but the grounding, human ones that help us soften into the season rather than fight it.

Here are a few rituals that can help hold you through the cold months, especially if you’re grieving, overwhelmed, or just feeling a little frayed at the edges.

1. The “Light a Candle and Breathe” Ritual

Look, I know: lighting a candle isn’t exactly groundbreaking. But winter asks us to honor small things, and this is one of the smallest, easiest rituals you can do that still packs a punch.

Pick a time; morning, evening, whenever your brain isn’t sprinting, and light a single candle. Sit with it for a minute or two. Let your breath match the flicker. Say their name if you want. Say your own name if you need to be called back to yourself.

It doesn’t solve grief (nothing does), but it gives you a small anchor in a season that can feel unmoored. It’s also a ritual you can grow with: add a journal, a photograph, a prayer or a song.  Whatever feels right.

2. A Winter Walk to Nowhere in Particular

I LOVE a good winter hike.  Winter asks us to slow down, which is deeply annoying… until you realize it’s also kind of a gift. One healing ritual is the intentional “walk to nowhere.” Bundle up like a slightly disgruntled marshmallow and step outside.

No destination. No agenda. No step count. Just walk.

Notice the crunch of snow or the sting of the air on your cheeks. Notice the way winter quiets everything down a little.  The birds, trees, and maybe even your own internal narrator for once. This ritual grounds your nervous system and reminds you that your body is still here, still moving, still yours.

Bonus: it’s free, it’s simple, and you don’t have to talk to anyone. Win-win-win.

3. The “Name the Season You’re In” Practice

Grief can make time weird. Days blur. Emotions ricochet. Winter, with its early sunsets and long nights, can amplify that sense of disorientation.

So try this ritual: sit down once a week and name what season you are in, separate from the weather outside.

It could be:

• a season of longing

• a season of exhaustion

• a season of rebuilding

• a season of “barely hanging in, thanks for asking”
  

There’s no wrong answer. This ritual gives shape to the formlessness. It helps you understand your needs before you burn out or shut down.

And yes, you’re allowed to be in multiple seasons at once. Humans are complicated like that.

4. A Warm Drink, Made Slowly

Most of us make our coffee or tea like we’re trying to win a timed competition on a cooking show. But slowing down the process just a little can turn an everyday act into a ritual.

As you boil the water, or grind the beans, or pick your tea leaves, keep your breath steady. Think of it as a micro-meditation. You don’t have to chant or sit cross-legged or ascend to a higher plane. Just… do it slowly.

Then take the first sip with intention. Notice what it feels like to have warmth enter a body that’s been carrying cold, emotional or otherwise.  Enjoying the first sip is something I have done for YEARS.  I  always take a beat to just inhale and savor that first little hit of caffeine in the day.

Winter healing doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a mug you didn’t rush.

5. A Weekly “Let Something Go” Ritual

Winter invites release.  Trees shed everything, animals burrow down, the whole world quiets. You’re allowed to do the same.

Each week, write down one thing you want to let go of: guilt, a thought spiral, a “should,” a memory that’s stabbing instead of supporting you.

Burn it (in a safe way, please), bury it under a plant, or shred it with great theatrical flair. The goal isn’t to magically erase the feeling. The goal is to signal to your mind and body: I don’t have to carry everything into spring.

Grief already weighs enough.

6. The Gathering Ritual (even if it’s just you and one other human)

Winter is notorious for making people isolate, especially when they’re grieving. A simple seasonal ritual is to gather intentionally.  Once a week, or even once a month meet up with someone who gets you.

Share a meal, a story, or just sit in mutual silence like two exhausted woodland creatures who don’t feel like talking. Connection doesn’t fix grief, but it keeps us tethered.

And if you don’t have a person right now, gather with yourself. Have a solo night where you do something comforting for no higher purpose than because you deserve to feel held.

Winter isn’t here to punish you, even if it feels like it sometimes. It’s a season built on rest, reflection, and the sacred art of starting again. These rituals aren’t the only ones and you don’t have to do any of these. They are some gentle ways to make space for both your pain and your hope, without forcing yourself to choose between them.

And if winter feels heavy this year, that’s not a moral failure. It’s just a season. One you don’t have to survive alone.

Blog Interrupted

I strive to give you useful content as a death doula.  Words that can help you learn, feel comforted, and maybe sometimes make you giggle a little.  But today I am at a loss for words.  

As you may already know my mother died quite unexpectedly on November 20th, the day before my 48th birthday.  Every word I’ve written or spoken on death, loss, and grief has been rolling around in my head since then and not one makes any of this make sense.  

I am grateful for a lot of things, which may sound odd but hear me out.  I’m grateful my dad and I were at her side (My husband too) as she left this world and moved on to the next.  I’m so grateful she wasn’t alone.  I’m grateful for the enormous outpouring of support and understanding from everyone.  I’m so grateful I got to have her as a mom.  Mom was….a living embodiment of the very word “mom”.  So warm and loving.  Always making people comfortable and happy.  Always letting people in, and filling their hearts and bellies.  (Although, I’m telling her secret now; she HATED cooking)  I’m grateful for the 48 years I had with her.

I’m pissed off too.  I’m mad she didn’t get to see Christmas.  I’m mad she won’t see her great grand daughters get to the fun toddler ages.  I’m mad I can’t text her to let her know I got home safely.  AND WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO TELL ME TO WEAR MY SEATBELT AND WATCH FOR DEER?! I’m mad as hell my dad has to cook for one and I can’t ever have another true mom hug.

Nikki, is there a point to this?  Good lord I’m not even sure.  I guess I’ve never been shy using myself as an example for things I try to explain.  So here I am sharing my own grief as authentically as I can.  

My eyes and throat hurt from crying so much, my stomach hurts from all the snot, I’m so tired I can barely function, and for some reason my foot hurts.  Maybe that one is just that I’m middle aged. I laughed yesterday and it felt weird.  I can’t get the images of mom’s final hours at the hospital out  of my head.  I’m so grateful every time someone messages me to say their sorry or check in on me but I’m also so sick of hearing it at the same time.  

I’m doing my best not to apologize to anyone for my feelings.  I know they’re valid and real and mine.  I’m doing my best to take my own advice and heed my own words.

I’ll be back with my usual content next week, I hope.  I’d already started some great posts for the end of the year so things should roll on as normal.  A new normal for me.  

Be well and never EVER miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them.  I’m grateful the last thing I said to my mom was “I love you” and that the last time I saw her she was SO happy.

Just one week before she left us

When Gratitude Feels Heavy: Navigating Grief at Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is supposed to be the season of gratitude. (*gag*) The big family meal, the clinking of glasses, the forced smiles in matching sweaters. But when you’re grieving, all that thankfulness talk can hit like grandma’s “special juice”. Gratitude feels like a language you used to speak fluently, but now sounds like drunk uncles.  (Alright Nikki enough with the booze)

Grief during the holidays is hard when you’re missing someone as well as missing who you were when they were still here. It’s being in those rooms where their laugh used to echo, or setting one less plate at the table. It’s trying to be present in a season that constantly drags you back into the past.

If you’re sitting in that space this year, I see you.  And you’re ok.

The Myth of “Should”

There’s a cruel little word that shows up this time of year: should.
I should feel grateful.
I should be stronger by now.
I should go to the family dinner.

But “should” is just shame dressed up in a holiday sweater. It assumes there’s a right way to grieve, and guess what?  THERE ISN’T!. You don’t have to be thankful for the pain, or find meaning in your loss before dessert is served. Gratitude and grief can coexist, but they don’t arrive on schedule.

So if your gratitude list this year looks like “I got out of bed” and “Hey, coffee exists!” That's cool. Gratitude doesn’t have to be profound to be real.

The Empty Chair

Every grieving person knows the chair. The one that used to belong to them.  The parent, partner, sibling, child, friend. It’s not just furniture. It’s a visual reminder of what’s missing.

Some families avoid it. Some set a place in their honor. Some can’t even sit down to the table without tears. There’s no right answer here, but there’s something powerful about acknowledging the empty chair instead of pretending it’s not there.

Maybe you light a candle. Maybe you share a memory. Maybe you pour their favorite drink and raise a quiet toast. The point isn’t to make it easier, because it isn’t easy, you guys.  The point is to make space for what’s true.

Grief doesn’t ruin the holidays. Denying it does.

Permission to Redefine Tradition

Holidays run on autopilot. We repeat rituals year after year.  (Lord knows we have to do everything the same or certain family members get upset)  The same recipes, the same order of events, the same jokes about that year my grandma forgot to turn the oven on. But after a loss, the familiar can feel unbearable. The old traditions might not fit your new reality.

I give you permission to rewrite the script.
Order takeout instead of cooking. “WHAT?  Nikki, I could NEVER!!’  Yes.  You can.  I ate stuffing out of a plastic bag in a hotel in Chattanooga, you can get a pizza.

Skip the big gathering and watch movies in pajamas. Volunteer somewhere. Create a small ritual that honors the person you’re missing.  

Grief is a kind of love story, and love changes us. It’s okay for your holidays to change, too.

Gratitude Reimagined

It’s easy to confuse gratitude with forced positivity. But real gratitude isn’t about pretending everything’s fine and you’re thankful for it. It’s about noticing the tiny, stubborn sparks of life that still show up.  Even when things are crappy.

Maybe it’s the way the air smells like pine.
Maybe it’s a memory that makes you laugh.
Maybe it’s realizing that, somehow, you’re still here.

You don’t have to be grateful for the loss, but you might find gratitude within the loss. For the love that still lingers, the lessons you didn’t ask for but now carry, the connection that refuses to die just because someone did.

A Quiet Kind of Thanks

This Thanksgiving, it’s okay to pass on the big speeches and just whisper your thanks in private. It might sound something like this:

“Thank you for the time we had.”
“Thank you for the people who get it.”
“Thank you for another breath, even when it hurts.”

Grief changes how we see gratitude, but that’s not a loss; it’s a transformation. Because the kind of gratitude that survives grief? That’s the kind that sticks around for the rest of your life.

So if your heart feels heavy this Thanksgiving, remember: You don’t have to perform gratitude. You can simply be. And that, in itself, is enough.  And there’s always grandmas “special juice”.

The Hardest Days: Birthdays, Anniversaries, and Other Grief Landmines

My birthday is this week and it got me thinking about all the birthdays my brother did not get to see.  The weddings and births and Thanksgivings and Christmases and….

If you’ve lost someone you love, you know how craptastic these days can be. The calendar flips to that date and suddenly you’re ambushed by time itself. Maybe it’s your birthday without them. Maybe it’s theirs. Maybe it’s the anniversary of the day everything changed.

Whatever the occasion, these “special” days have a way of sitting on your head and farting or giving you a noogie. (Ok time to move on from the older brother jokes)

The Weight of Remembering

Grief warps time. Some days, it feels like decades since they were here. Other days, you swear you just heard their voice in the next room. Anniversaries and birthdays collapse those distances. They pull the past right up to the surface, raw and alive all over again.

People mean well when they say, “They’d want you to be happy today.” And maybe they would. But that doesn’t mean happiness is possible on command. Sometimes, remembrance is the most honest thing you can offer. Sometimes the best you can do is whisper, I miss you. I wish you were here.

And that counts as honoring them.

The Myth of “Milestones”

Milestones make sense when life is moving forward.  Birthdays, anniversaries, achievements. But after loss, those same milestones can sting. Each year marks another lap around the sun without them, another candle on the cake they don’t get to see.

It’s not just grief for the person, it’s grief for the future you were supposed to share.

There’s no right way to handle these dates. Some people throw themselves into rituals like lighting candles, visiting graves, cooking favorite meals, etc. Others avoid them entirely, treating them like any other day. Both are valid. What matters is what feels kind to your nervous system, not what looks “appropriate” to anyone else.

If you wake up on your birthday and want to celebrate, do it. If you want to hide under a blanket, that’s fine too. You don’t owe anyone cheer.

The “Second Birthday”

There’s a saying in the grief world: after a major loss, you’re born again. You become someone new.  Someone who understands fragility, depth, compassion, and pain in a way you didn’t before.

So maybe these days, the birthdays, the anniversaries,  are a kind of second birth. A chance to pause and ask: Who am I becoming through this grief? Not despite it, not around it, but through it.

That question isn’t comfortable, but it’s powerful. Grief doesn’t destroy you.  It rebuilds you. Every year you survive another lap through loss, you grow roots in places you didn’t know existed.

How to Survive the “Big Days”

Here are a few gentle ideas for navigating them:

• Plan ahead, even if your plan is “do nothing.” These dates have emotional gravity; they pull on you whether you want them to or not. Name the day, choose what you need, and protect it.

• Create a ritual that feels true. Light a candle. Write them a letter. Eat their favorite dessert. Tell a story about them out loud. It doesn’t have to be all gloomy, it just has to be real.

• Give yourself permission to change your mind. You might wake up wanting company and end the day craving solitude. Let the day unfold without judgment.

• Mark your growth. Take a moment to notice what’s shifted since the last time this date came around. You’re still here. You’ve made it through so many “firsts.” That’s not small.
  

A Birthday Reflection

So, here’s to another year. In the quiet and humble sense of I’m still here.

If today happens to be your birthday (then you’re an awesome Scorpio like me!), maybe you’re torn between gratitude and grief. You’re allowed to hold both. You can celebrate the life you’re still living while mourning the people who can’t join the party. You can cry while cutting the cake. You can laugh through tears. You’re still doing it right.

Birthdays after loss are not just about counting years. They’re about honoring survival, love, and the sacred mess of being human.

So light your candle.  For them, for you, for all the versions of yourself that didn’t think you’d make it this far.

That flame isn’t just a reminder of what’s gone. It’s proof that something still burns.

How Death Doulas Can Help Ease Family Conflict

If you’ve ever seen a family trying to make end-of-life decisions together, you know it can get… um….messy. Even the most loving families can find themselves bickering over medical choices, funeral plans, or what Mom “would have wanted.” (OMG this one kills me) Grief has a way of bringing old wounds to the surface and when emotions are high, logic tends to take a backseat

That’s where a death doula can quietly step in and bring a little calm to the chaos.

The Family Battlefield

End-of-life care isn’t just about death and dying.  It’s also about the living part leading up to it.  And trying to make sense of it all.

Something I see a lot; One sibling wants to “do everything possible.” Another insists on comfort care only. Someone’s trying to find the will. Someone else is crying in the hallway. Everyone’s tired, scared, and trying to do the right thing.  They just have different definitions of what that means.

Add in years of family dynamics (like that fight from 1998 that never really ended) and you’ve got a recipe for emotional wildfire.

When conflict flares during an already sacred and vulnerable time, it can rob families of the chance to truly be present.

Enter the Death Doula (picture me in a flowy cape here)

A death doula isn’t there to take sides. We’re there to hold space.  For everyone. Think of us as neutral guides who help bring clarity, compassion, and grounding to a situation that often feels like quicksand.  

Here’s how we help ease family conflict in real, practical ways:

1. Creating a Safe Space for Conversations.  For Everyone.

Many families avoid talking about death until they have no choice, which means the conversations usually happen in crisis mode.  No bueno.
A doula can facilitate those talks early, helping loved ones express fears, wishes, and values before a medical emergency forces the issue.

We set up the room for honesty. We ask open questions like, “What does comfort mean to you?” or “What would feel most peaceful for your loved one?” When people feel heard, they stop shouting to be understood.

Let me repeat that: When people feel heard, they stop shouting to be understood.

2. Translating Between Love Languages

Not everyone shows love the same way. One person’s “fighting for every treatment” might come from the same love as another’s “let them rest.”  A doula helps reframe those differences, so instead of seeing opposition, families see shared care expressed in different forms.

Sometimes it’s as simple as saying, “You both want what’s best for Mom but you just have different visions of what that looks like.” That one sentence can change the whole temperature in the room.

3. Grounding Through Education

Fear breeds conflict.  And most fear around death comes from not knowing what to expect. When a doula explains the dying process, what’s normal, and what choices are available, the mystery shrinks and the panic softens. Understanding replaces assumption. And when families understand what’s happening, they fight less about what they can’t control.

4. Supporting Each Person Individually

A good death doula sees the whole family ecosystem. We notice the daughter who’s taking charge but hasn’t slept in three days. The son who’s angry because he feels helpless. The partner who can’t bring themselves to talk about “after.”

We offer support tailored to each person!  A listening ear, grounding tools, a compassionate presence.  Whatever it takes so everyone has somewhere to put their pain other than at each other.

5. Centering the Dying Person’s Voice

When families start pulling in different directions, a doula gently brings the focus back to the person at the center of it all. “What did they want?” becomes the guiding question.  (Hopefully, we got to know them enough that we already know what they wanted)

Even if those wishes were never formally written down, we help uncover them through stories, values, and shared memories. This re-centering can dissolve a lot of tension. It reminds everyone that love is the reason they’re there.

I’ve seen many defenses let down after a good session of sharing memories.

6. After the Death: Helping Heal the Fractures

Conflict doesn’t always die with the person. Sometimes the hardest part comes after, when grief exposes everything that’s unresolved. A death doula can help families process guilt, resentment, or regret so those feelings don’t calcify into lifelong rifts.

Grief is heavy enough without adding family fallout to the load.

The Doula Difference

Death doulas don’t have magic wands (Man, I wish I did though). What we have is time, presence, and neutrality.  Three things that most families desperately need at the end of life.

We’re not there to fix the pain, but to make sure it doesn’t swallow people whole. We help families breathe, pause, and remember: you’re all on the same side here.

Because when the noise quiets down, love is usually what’s left.

The Myth of the Perfect Death: What Hollywood Gets All Wrong

Movies have taught me a lot about death growing up.  At least, they’ve tried to. The camera pans in, soft music swells, and our dying hero whispers something poetic before peacefully closing their eyes. Everyone looks impossibly clean. The lighting is beautiful. Their loved ones are perfectly positioned around the bed, hands clasped, tears glistening at just the right angle.(I’m looking at you Beaches)

It’s moving. It’s cinematic.  And it’s almost always B.S.

Because here’s the thing: there is no such thing as a “perfect death.”  *steps down off soapbox *  (Actually, lemme hop back up there for this)

Hollywood’s Favorite Lie

We’ve been sold a script about how death is supposed to look. The gentle goodbye. The tidy last words. The deep exhale that signals closure. But in real life, death is rarely that neat and tidy. It’s wildly unpredictable, often messy, sometimes awkward, but always deeply human.  (And if humans are nothing else, we are unpredictable beasts, are we not?)

People don’t usually get to choose the soundtrack or the lighting. They might not say profound final words.  Sometimes, they’re confused, or silent, or cracking jokes about hospital food. Bodies change in ways that aren’t camera-ready. Breathing becomes irregular. Emotions swing wildly between tenderness and frustration.  And sometimes…..icky things occur.

And yet, because of what we’ve been shown on screen, so many people end up feeling like they’ve failed when reality doesn’t match the movie version.

“She didn’t get her moment.”

I’ve heard this from families before. Someone will say, “I thought she’d say something beautiful,” or “I wish it had been more peaceful.” It’s so hard to hear.  And I try to warn folks ahead of time, but they don’t always want to hear me.  But there’s a disappointment that the ending wasn’t what they expected.

Death isn’t a performance. There’s no director calling “Cut!” and asking for another take. It’s raw, unfiltered life happening in its most honest form. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes it’s both in the same ten minutes.  (I mean is birth as pretty as hollywood makes it out to be?)

When we strip away the Hollywood myth, we make room for something far more real: authenticity.

What a “Real” Death Looks Like

A real death might look like a family crowded around a hospice bed, exhausted but still holding hands. It might sound like laughter mixed with tears. It might mean someone slips away in the middle of the night, when no one’s watching.  (Honestly, this is usually the case)

Real death isn’t always graceful. There may be moments of fear or agitation. There are last-minute reconciliations and words left unsaid. There are nurses and caregivers doing sacred, unglamorous work with cleaning, comforting, sitting in the silence.  (And yes I’ve heard utterances of “why aren’t they gone yet?!” or “why are they hanging on?”)

And yet, within all that imperfection, there’s profound beauty. Because it’s real.

There is love in showing up even when it’s uncomfortable, and family choosing presence over perfection. It takes courage to witness the end without needing it to look “right.”

Why This Myth Hurts Us

When people expect a cinematic death, they can feel guilt or shame when things don’t go “as planned.”

They might think:

• I should have been there when they took their last breath.  (OMG I hear this ALL.  THE.  TIME)

• We didn’t get to say goodbye properly.

• They seemed restless, does that mean they were suffering?  (Likely, no)
  

Those thoughts come from love but also from cultural conditioning. Hollywood rarely shows what death actually looks like. It romanticizes it and wraps it up in a neat emotional bow.  Usually in under 2 hours.

The truth is, death is a transition, a labor.  It’s not a scene. 

Rewriting the Script

So how do we unlearn the myth of the perfect death?

We start by talking about it.  And no, talking about death does not make it happen!!!  We normalize the messiness, the unpredictability, the humanness of dying. We remind people that gasping or fidgeting near the end isn’t a sign of suffering, it’s biology. That silence doesn’t mean fear. That peace can exist even in imperfection.

As a death doula, I see the sacredness in all of it. The awkward moments, the laughter, the unexpected timing, the…erm…. Gaseous emissions.  It’s all part of the story. Sometimes the most beautiful deaths are the ones that look nothing like a movie, but everything like real life.

And maybe that’s the better ending after all.  Not one written by a screenwriter, or god forbid AI, but by the people who loved and lived it.

The Takeaway

Hollywood may give us the myth of the perfect death, but real life gives us something deeper: connection.  When we stop chasing the movie version, we can start being fully present for the human version.

Because the truth is death doesn’t have to be pretty to be meaningful. It just has to be real.

Understanding Compassion Fatigue for Caregivers

Hooooo boy.  I ask you to please go into this post with an open mind and heart.

If you’ve ever cared for someone through illness, decline, or the end of life, you know how much heart it requires. Caregiving asks for patience, presence, and a bottomless well of compassion. But here’s the hard truth: even the most loving caregiver’s well can run dry. That’s where compassion fatigue comes in.

What Is Compassion Fatigue?

Compassion fatigue is often described as “the cost of caring.” It’s what happens when you give so much of your empathy, attention, and energy that you begin to feel emotionally depleted. Unlike burnout (which is more about being overwhelmed by tasks and demands), compassion fatigue shows up in your heart. It’s the emotional exhaustion that comes from constantly showing up for someone else’s suffering.  Guys I have been here.

Caregivers experiencing compassion fatigue might notice:

• Feeling numb or detached when you used to feel tender and patient.

• Irritability or resentment toward the person you’re caring for (followed by guilt for feeling that way).

• Trouble sleeping or feeling constantly tired.

• A sense of hopelessness or questioning your purpose.
  

None of these signs mean you’re a “bad” caregiver. They mean you’re human.

Why Caregivers Are at Risk

Caregivers are especially vulnerable because they’re often carrying both practical and emotional weight. You’re not just managing medications, appointments, and daily tasks; you’re also witnessing decline, suffering, or even approaching death. Add in the pressure of balancing your own life, family, or work, and it’s no wonder compassion fatigue creeps in.

Many caregivers also feel they can’t admit they’re struggling. They believe they have to “stay strong” or that asking for help means they’re failing. This silence only deepens the fatigue.

The Consequences of Ignoring It

Left unaddressed, compassion fatigue can chip away at your health, relationships, and ability to keep caregiving. It can lead to depression, anxiety, and chronic stress symptoms in your body. And perhaps most heartbreaking; it can steal away the ability to fully connect with the very person you love and are caring for.

Steps Toward Healing

The good news? Compassion fatigue isn’t permanent. It’s a signal, not a life sentence. Here are a few ways to begin addressing it:

1. Acknowledge It: The first step is simply admitting it’s happening. Naming compassion fatigue takes the shame out of it.

2. Set Boundaries: Saying no, asking for respite, or carving out personal time isn’t selfish.  It’s necessary. Boundaries protect both you and the person you’re caring for.

3. Lean on Support: Join a caregiver support group, talk to a counselor, or connect with friends who understand. Sharing the load lightens it.

4. Tend to Your Body:  Sleep, hydration, movement, and nutrition matter more than you think. Your body is the container that holds your care and you can’t pour from an empty one.

5. Recenter on Meaning: Compassion fatigue often blurs your sense of purpose. Reconnecting with why you’re caring, remembering the love behind the labor, can help you find your footing again.
   

A Final Word to Caregivers

Compassion fatigue doesn’t mean you’re weak or failing. It means you’ve been giving deeply and generously, maybe without enough refilling of your own cup. If you’re noticing the signs, please hear this: it’s okay to step back, to rest, and to receive care yourself.

Because caregiving is a marathon, not a sprint. And the best way to walk it is with compassion not just for others, but for yourself.

If you feel yourself hitting fatigue or burnout and need an ear, I am here to help

The Emotional Impact of Deathbed Regrets

When people are nearing the end of life, conversations often become stripped down to what really matters. The masks fall away, the busywork of daily life loses its importance, and what’s left are the raw truths of love, loss, and unfortunately, sometimes regret.

As a death doula, I’ve sat beside beds where laughter filled the room, and I’ve sat beside beds where the air was heavy with words unspoken. Regret, in particular, can cast a long shadow in those final days, not just for the dying person but for the loved ones gathered around them.

The Weight of “If Only”

Regret often shows up as unfinished business:

• If only I had worked less and spent more time with family.

• If only I had said “I love you” more often.

• If only I had been brave enough to live the life I wanted.

Oddly enough, no one has ever said “I wish I'd not missed that one meeting.”  These “if only” statements carry enormous emotional weight. For the dying person, they can feel like missed opportunities that can’t be undone. For loved ones, hearing these regrets can stir up guilt, sadness, or a desperate wish to turn back time.

The Ripple Effect on Families

Deathbed regrets don’t exist in a vacuum. When someone shares their regrets aloud, it often lands heavily on family members. A parent regretting not showing enough affection may leave their child questioning whether they were truly loved. A partner expressing sorrow over wasted time can leave their spouse wrestling with resentment or unresolved anger.

These regrets can become part of the grief that follows.  And sometimes motivating survivors to live differently, but sometimes creating new wounds to carry.

What Regrets Teach Us About Living

Here’s the paradox: while regrets can be painful, they can also shine a light on what truly matters. They remind us that time is finite and that our priorities aren’t always aligned with our values.

One of the most common regrets are things like working too much, neglecting relationships, silencing dreams.  This offers all of us a mirror. They ask: Are we living in a way that will feel complete when the end comes?

Instead of brushing off deathbed regrets as sad or inevitable, we can use them as a call to action. To say “yes” more often. To mend relationships. To take the trip. To speak the love we often keep to ourselves.

Holding Space for Regret Without Judgment

As doulas, caregivers, and loved ones, one of the greatest gifts we can give is simply holding space for these confessions. The dying don’t always need their regrets fixed (and often, they can’t be). What they need is a witness.  Someone to hear them, acknowledge the weight of their truth, and offer compassion without rushing to make it tidy.  (And no I will not share things that have been said to me, please don’t ask!)

Sometimes that means sitting in silence. Sometimes it’s saying, “I hear you. Thank you for trusting me with that.” And sometimes it’s helping them take small steps toward healing.  Writing a letter, recording a message, or even just naming their wish aloud.

Transforming Regret Into Legacy

Not every regret can be resolved, but even naming it can bring relief. And for loved ones, it can spark more intentional living going forward. Families who hear regrets about lost time together often find themselves re-prioritizing connection. Children who hear a parent’s honesty may feel motivated to live more authentically themselves.

In this way, regrets can become more than burdens.  They can become teachers, shaping the lives of those left behind.

Final Thoughts

Deathbed regrets are painful, but they’re also profoundly human. They remind us that life is fragile, that love and authenticity matter far more than perfection, and that it’s never too late to choose differently.  Until it is.

If you’ve ever wondered how to live without regrets, the truth is you probably can’t. But you can live with awareness, courage, and intention. And when the end comes, that may be enough to soften the weight of “if only” into the peace of “I tried.”

And if you need an ear to talk through some regrets, please reach out.  

Understanding Different Grief Styles

Grief.  We all experience it. But how we grieve? That’s as unique as fingerprints. And yet, many of us expect grief to “look” a certain way: tears, sadness, maybe some time off work, followed by eventual “closure.” (Spoiler: closure isn’t really a thing.) When our grief or someone else’s doesn’t match that expectation, it can leave us feeling judged, isolated, or even like we’re “doing it wrong.”

The truth is, there are different grief styles, and none of them are wrong. Knowing about them can help you make sense of your own process and extend compassion to others.

Intuitive Grievers

Intuitive grievers feel their grief deeply and express it outwardly. They might cry often, want to talk about their loved one frequently, or seek support groups. Their mourning tends to be full of intense emotions rising and falling.

If you’re an intuitive griever: honor your emotions, but also give yourself space to rest. Grief is exhausting, and you don’t need to feel everything all at once to prove your love or loss.

Instrumental Grievers

Instrumental grievers cope by doing. They process their loss through action.  Organizing the funeral, setting up a memorial scholarship, diving into work, or even tackling household projects. They may not cry much (or at all), but that doesn’t mean they aren’t grieving.

If you’re an instrumental griever: remember that productivity isn’t a replacement for emotion. Allow yourself moments of stillness, even if it feels uncomfortable.

Blended Grievers

Most people fall somewhere in the middle. A blended griever might cry one day, then throw themselves into a project the next. They toggle between feeling and doing, depending on the moment.

If you’re a blended griever: pay attention to which side you lean on most, and make sure the other side isn’t being neglected.

Why This Matters

When families don’t understand grief styles, conflict often arises. One sibling might be frustrated that another isn’t showing emotion, while the other feels overwhelmed by constant displays of sadness. Recognizing that different grief styles exist helps ease those tensions. It allows us to see that grief isn’t a contest or a performance. (There is no best griever trophy) It’s simply how each of us navigates the unthinkable.

Supporting Each Other Across Styles

• For intuitive grievers: Be gentle with instrumental folks. Just because they aren’t sobbing doesn’t mean they don’t care.

• For instrumental grievers: Resist the urge to “fix” an intuitive person’s emotions. Sometimes they need to feel it out loud.

• For blended grievers: Use your flexibility as a bridge. You might be able to empathize with both sides and help others feel seen.
  

Final Thoughts

There’s no right way to grieve. There’s just your way. Understanding these styles can give you permission to grieve authentically and help you extend grace to others doing the same. Because in the end, grief isn’t about fitting a mold. It’s about finding your own rhythm in the dance of loss.

If you need help understanding your grief, that’s ok!  Please reach out.

Coping with a Terminal Diagnosis: How a Death Doula Can Help

Few words land as heavily as “terminal diagnosis.” It can feel like the ground opens up right underneath you.  And now you’re falling with fear, confusion, and a hundred unanswered questions. Whether it’s your diagnosis or a loved one’s, the news shakes your sense of stability and sparks an avalanche of emotions; grief, anger, disbelief, even relief in some cases (yes, that’s normal too!).

So, how do you even begin to cope with something this enormous? And where does a death doula fit into the picture?

Facing the Emotional Rollercoaster

A terminal diagnosis brings an inevitable mix of emotions. Some days, you may feel strong and accepting and ready to fight!  Other days, you might rage against the unfairness of it all. Maybe you want to plan every last detail, or avoid the topic altogether. None of these responses are wrong. They’re part of the messy, nonlinear way we process mortality.

Here’s where a death doula can come in: we don’t come in with a checklist of how you “should” feel. Instead, we hold space for whatever is true for you in the moment. Some days that might mean sitting with you in silence. Other days it could mean listening to your fears, or helping you put words to feelings you didn’t know you had. Having someone outside the swirl of family dynamics can create a safe harbor where your emotions don’t have to be filtered or softened.

Sorting Through Practical Decisions

Alongside the emotional weight comes the mountain of logistics. Medical appointments, treatment options, advance directives, financial planning, funeral arrangements, and even managing all the people who want to come say their goodbyes.  It can all feel crushing. A death doula doesn’t replace doctors, lawyers, or therapists, but we bridge the gaps.

We can walk you through what documents you might want in place, help you communicate your wishes to loved ones, or sit beside you as you draft an advance directive. Think of us as part project manager, part guide: someone to help untangle the knot of “to-dos” so that you and your family can focus on what matters most.

Nurturing Relationships

Terminal illness changes family dynamics. (and boy howdy does it ever) Sometimes it draws people closer; other times, it stirs up old wounds. A death doula can act as a gentle mediator facilitating those tricky conversations, helping loved ones share memories, and encouraging everyone to say what often goes unsaid. These moments can create connection and closure that might otherwise get lost in the chaos of appointments and decline.

We can also encourage creative ways to strengthen bonds: recording legacy projects like letters, videos, or memory books; creating rituals of comfort; or simply carving out intentional time for meaningful conversations.

Supporting Daily Life and Self-Care

Coping isn’t only about the big milestones. It’s also about the day-to-day. Simple things like eating well, resting, or finding moments of joy, often fall to the bottom of the list when a terminal diagnosis takes center stage. A death doula can remind you (and your caregivers) that tending to daily needs isn’t indulgent; it’s essential.

We may suggest small practices like guided relaxation, journaling, or even something as ordinary as sitting outside in the sun for ten minutes. These small acts can become anchors in the storm, giving you moments of presence and peace.

Honoring Your Wishes and Values

Perhaps the most powerful role a death doula plays is making sure your voice stays central. When illness threatens to take away control, it can feel like your autonomy is slipping through your fingers. A doula helps you reclaim that.

Do you want a quiet home death surrounded by family? Do you want music playing, candles lit, or even a football game on in the background? Do you want your memorial to feel like a solemn service or a joyful celebration? These preferences matter. A doula makes sure they’re spoken aloud, documented, and honored.

The Gift of Presence

At the heart of it, death doulas are companions. We’re not here to fix or cure, we’re here to walk alongside. To hold your hand when things feel unbearable, to laugh with you when humor sneaks in, and to remind you that you’re more than a diagnosis. You are still a whole person with stories, choices, and dignity.

Final Thoughts

Coping with a terminal diagnosis will never be easy. It’s heavy, painful, and often unfair. But it doesn’t have to be navigated alone. A death doula can help shoulder some of the weight. Emotionally, practically, and spiritually, so that you and your loved ones can focus less on fear and more on living fully with the time that remains.

Because in the end, coping isn’t just about dying well. It’s about living well, right up until the last breath.

Creating a Personalized Plan for End-of-Life Wishes

*Rubs hands together* I love talking about what I get to do in my work.  Let's dive in!!

Talking about death or end of life feels far away, uncomfortable, or just plain overwhelming for most of us. But here’s the thing: not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. (SPOILER!!  We all die!) What it does is leave your loved ones guessing, sometimes in moments of crisis, about what you would have wanted. Creating a personalized plan for your end-of-life wishes is one of the most loving gifts you can leave behind.

Why Personalization Matters

End-of-life planning isn’t just about checking boxes on a legal form. It’s about reflecting on what you value, what brings you comfort, and what kind of legacy you want to leave. For one person, it might be “I want to be at home, with my dog at the foot of the bed.” For another, it might be “Play music, keep the mood light, and don’t let anyone fight over my collection of cat figurines.” (ahem) These details matter. They shape the way your story closes.

When you take the time to write down your wishes, you give your loved ones the gift of clarity. Instead of making hard choices while second-guessing themselves, they can move through the moment knowing, This is what they wanted. This is how I honor them.

What Goes Into a Plan?

A personalized plan covers more than just medical decisions. Here are some of the bigger areas to consider:

• Medical care: Do you want all possible interventions, or are there limits to what feels right for you? Think about things like resuscitation, life support, feeding tubes or comfort-focused care.

• Environment: Where would you feel most at peace?  At home, in the hospital, somewhere else? Do you want music, prayer, silence, laughter, or something else?

• Practical decisions: Who will handle your finances, your paperwork, your pets? Do you want a funeral, a memorial, or something completely different?

• Legacy and meaning: Are there letters you’d like to leave? Stories you want preserved? Causes you’d like supported in your honor?
  

A plan can be as simple as a few handwritten pages or as detailed as a formal advance directive paired with a personal letter. The point isn’t to create the “perfect” plan, it’s to create your plan.

How to Get Started

Beginning this process doesn’t have to feel heavy. Think of it like storytelling your story.

1. Reflect: Start with questions. What makes you feel safe? What values guide your choices? How do you want to be remembered?

2. Write it down: Memories fade, and stress clouds judgment. Writing ensures your wishes are clear.

3. Choose your people: Identify a health care proxy or power of attorney; someone who will carry your wishes forward when you can’t.  (Make sure they're ok with the job!)

4. Have the conversations: Plans are most powerful when shared. Talk to your loved ones so they understand not just what you want, but why.

5. Review and update: Life changes. So do our perspectives. Revisit your plan every few years to keep it aligned with who you are now.
   
   

The Gift of Peace of Mind

When people talk about end-of-life planning, they often assume it’s depressing. But in truth, it can be liberating and even fun!  Knowing that your wishes are documented and shared allows you to live more fully now. It’s a weight lifted for you and for the people who love you.

I’ve seen families crumble under the pressure of making hard decisions without guidance, and I’ve seen families move through loss with more ease because their loved one had spelled out exactly what mattered most. The difference is striking.

Closing Thought

Creating a personalized plan for end-of-life wishes isn’t about focusing on death. It’s about living in a way that’s aligned with your values, right until the very end. It’s about leaving behind clarity instead of confusion, comfort instead of chaos.  (Guys.  Death gives our lives meaning!)

So, take a deep breath. Pour yourself a cup of tea. Start jotting down what matters most to you. It doesn’t have to be finished today, it just has to begin. Your future self, and your loved ones, will thank you.

If you need some guidance on where to start, check out my workbooks!!  Or reach out to me for help.

Understanding the Impact of Sudden Death vs. Anticipated Death

No two losses are the same. We don't react to any loss the same as we did the last one.  The way grief lands with us often depends on how that death showed up. When someone dies suddenly, it’s a bit like a punch in the face. When death is anticipated, it’s more like a slow dimming of the light. Both leave us in the fumbling dark, just in different ways.

When Death Comes Suddenly

I once heard someone describe sudden death as “being shoved into a room you didn’t know existed, with no lights on and no way back out.” That’s pretty accurate honestly. Shocking and confusing.

If your loved one was here one moment and gone the next, your mind might keep circling the same questions: How can this be real? Did I miss something? Why didn’t I…? What if…? The unfinished conversations and abrupt ending can feel unbearable.  (Remember my post on closure?)

Some people feel anger. Anger at the circumstances, at the randomness of it all, sometimes even at the person who died (“How dare you leave without warning?”). Others feel completely numb, as if the world has gone quiet and blurry. There’s no time to brace yourself, no gradual letting go. It’s just gone.

When Death Is Expected

Anticipated death is different.  It’s more like walking a long road where you can see the horizon. Families navigating terminal illness or the decline of aging often live in two worlds at once: caring for someone who is still here, while quietly grieving the losses already happening along the way.

Maybe you’ve felt it; mourning the fading memory of a parent, the shrinking independence of a spouse, or the changing roles within your family. This is anticipatory grief, and it can be draining because it stretches on and on. You carry sadness alongside caretaking, all while waiting for a moment you don’t want to come.

When death finally arrives, people are often surprised by their own reactions. Relief and sorrow can show up at the same time. Relief that the suffering is over. Sorrow that the goodbye is final. And sometimes guilt sneaks in too: Why am I relieved when I should only feel sad? But here’s the truth: relief does not not mean relief that they are gone. It simply acknowledges the cost of watching someone you care about slowly fade away.

The Differences and Overlap

It’s tempting to wonder which is “easier”: sudden death or anticipated death.  And people ask me this all the time!!  The truth is, neither one is easier or harder. Sudden death leaves you stunned, scrambling to catch up, weighed down with “what ifs.”  While anticipated death stretches your heart thin over time, layering exhaustion and pre-grief long before the end.

Both can feel isolating, especially when the world expects you to “move on” at a pace that doesn’t match your reality.

What Helps 

Grief always needs companionship, but the kind of support can be different.

• In sudden death, what helps most is presence. Sitting with someone in silence, helping with everyday tasks, and resisting the urge to explain or fix.  (YOU CAN’T FIX THIS, DON'T TRY) The shock alone is heavy; your steadiness is the gift.  BE with them and let them feel seen and heard.

• In anticipated death, what helps most is validation. Caregivers may need to hear that their exhaustion, their mix of emotions, even their sense of relief; all of it is normal. Offering breaks, listening without judgment, and staying present after the death matters deeply.  Keep showing up
  

The Common Thread

Whether death arrives suddenly or after a long ending, grief doesn’t follow a schedule. There isn’t a day when your soul suddenly says, “I’m good, all better!” Instead, we carry our love forward in new ways.

If you’re grieving, and your experience doesn’t look like someone else’s, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means your story with the person you loved was one-of-a-kind, and so is your grief.

Closing Thought

We don’t get to choose how death comes. But we do get to choose how we show up for one another in its wake. Sometimes that means steadying a friend who has just had their world torn in two. Sometimes it means holding space for a caregiver who is both relieved and devastated at once. In every case, compassion is the bridge between us.

Whether death is sudden or expected, the truth is the same: grief is love, learning to live in a world that looks completely different without the person you lost.