Naming It: Grief, Desire, and the Honest Work of Coming Home

Lorran Wild
Aug 21
4 min read

We don’t talk enough about the moment a role gets too heavy.

The job you could “handle.”The marriage you could “manage.”The persona that kept everything “together.”

You did it. You held it. You wore the cape.And somewhere between the spreadsheets, the school pickups, and the sacred duty to keep it all from unraveling—you misplaced you.

What follows is often mislabeled: laziness, ingratitude, failure.But the name is simpler, truer, and far more human:

Grief.

Not just tears (though tears are holy).Grief is lonely. Frustrated. Numb. Bored. Hopeless. Powerless. Afraid.Grief is the unspoken weight inside love

—the quiet ache that whispers, something was lost.

What Was Lost?

Maybe it was spontaneity.Maybe it was wonder.Maybe it was the version of you who chased fireflies and believed your life would feel like a song.

Loss happens in a thousand small ways:

When you shrink to be “easier.”
When you’re praised for being responsible and learn to call hunger “selfish.”
When the applause goes to your reliability while your radiance goes unfed.

We vow to keep our sh*t together because chaos scares us.Then the structure we built to keep us safe becomes the cage that keeps us small.

Feeling Truth Doesn’t Make Life Easier. It Makes It Real.

There’s a cultural obsession with fix-it plans—five steps, seven hacks, three mantras to bypass the ache. But pain avoided is pain prolonged. When we name grief, we don’t make it heavier; we make it honest. Honesty brings air. Air brings movement. Movement brings life.

This is the work of emotional alchemy:

We meet what’s here without judgment.
We let it move through voice, breath, body, ink.
We listen for the message it carried the whole time.

Because emotions aren’t malfunctions; they’re messengers. And grief’s message, more often than not, is this:

“Something deep in you wants more than survival. It wants aliveness.”

The Desire Beneath the Ashes

Desire has been unfairly tried and sentenced—called selfish, silly, excessive. So it goes underground, speaking in symptoms: resentment, fatigue, a brittle kind of perfectionism. When we finally pause and ask, What do I want? the silence can feel terrifying.

But silence isn’t emptiness; it’s a room waiting for music.

Start there.

I would love… to feel beautiful for no reason.
I would love… to laugh until my face hurts.
I would love… a full, unapologetic hug—from myself, for myself.
I would love… to be surprised by joy.

Desire isn’t a shopping list. It’s a compass. It doesn’t need to be practical to be truthful. And it doesn’t demand we blow up our lives; it invites us to re-inhabit them.

Connection Heals What Control Can’t

We tried to control everything because we were scared. We learned that love meant managing outcomes, smoothing edges, anticipating everyone’s needs. Control is brittle. Influence is alive. Influence grows from presence, empathy, and boundaries that honor both me and we.

We don’t heal hurts by tightening the reins.We heal through connection—with ourselves first, then with others who can sit with our truth without trying to tidy it.

Curate your circle. Ask for reflection, not rescue. Offer the same.

Badassery, Reframed

Badassery is not domination, manipulation, or the tough-guy act in lipstick.Badassery is the soft, brave power of a woman who refuses to abandon herself.

She can hold joy and grief at the same table.
She practices self-care as presence, not performance.
She leads with empathy and sustains herself with boundaries.
She flirts with life (yes, even on Tuesdays) because delight is medicine.
She lets humor soften intensity so wisdom can land.

Authenticity might make some people uncomfortable. That’s not cruelty; that’s clarity. Your truth reorganizes rooms. It also calls in the ones who can meet you there.

A Tiny Practice: Name It, Move It, Harvest It

1) Name it (2 minutes).Close your eyes. Put a hand on your chest. Whisper the simplest truth: I am grieving… (finish the sentence). If words don’t come, just breathe and let your body nod.

2) Move it (3 minutes).Pick one micro-expression: sway, hum, scribble, exhale with sound, shake your hands, stamp your feet, cry. Let the feeling have motion. No explanation. No fixing.

3) Harvest it (2 minutes).Ask, What are you trying to protect? What do you want for me? Write the first honest line that comes. That line is gold. It’s desire in its native tongue.

Repeat tomorrow. Alchemy loves repetition.

A Playful Add-On: Flirt with Your Life

Set a timer for 60 seconds. Wink at your reflection. Compliment your coffee steam. Thank your favorite sweater for its devotion. Flirtation is not trivial; it’s a permission slip for aliveness.

Meliora—Ever Better Days

When we stop denying grief, we stop denying love.When we listen to desire, we regain our compass.When we choose presence over performance, we come home.

Let this be your quiet revolution:

One breath. One boundary. One honest sentence.

One moment of delight you allow on purpose.

Not harder—truer.Not perfect—alive.

If this resonated

Save this post for the next wobbly day.
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