by Rebecca Horch, BACYC, CPC
Reading Time: 5 Minutes

It’s a strange thing to feel the weight of grief without having lost something specific. A heaviness in the chest. A low-grade tension in the body. A sense that something is off, but we can’t always name it.

Many of us are living with a kind of ambiguous grief.
A grief for the world we thought we’d have by now.
A grief for the ways people speak to each other.
A grief for connection that feels harder to find.

It’s not just one thing. It’s everything, all at once.

We are surrounded by uncertainty – conflicting beliefs, fear, injustice – and even when we try to look away, it hums in the background. It can make our nervous systems tired. It can make us quiet. Or reactive. Or frozen. And for many of us, it can make us feel like we’re just barely keeping it together for the people who need us.

So what do we do with all of that?

I don’t have a perfect answer, but here’s what I’ve learned. We need to stay connected to something bigger than ourselves. Not in a way that bypasses pain, but in a way that helps us keep showing up inside it.

“Generosity isn’t about giving until it hurts. It’s about giving because it matters.”

– Adam Grant

And I think that’s where we start.

When the world feels unsteady, we need practices that keep us rooted in our values. Not just self-care, but soul-care.
Not just productivity, but presence.
Not just survival, but service.

It’s easy to shut down when everything feels overwhelming. It’s easy to get stuck in our own loops. But we are not meant to do this life alone. And we’re certainly not meant to carry the weight of the world without community.

On Grief, Generosity, and the Healing Power of Community

One of the most foundational books in my understanding of grief has been The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller.

Weller puts into words something I had felt for a long time but hadn’t been able to name. That so much of our sorrow doesn’t come from clear, defined losses, but from the ache of ambiguous grief. The kind that lingers quietly. The kind we carry when the world around us doesn’t feel safe or familiar anymore. The kind that Western culture often gives little space or language to.

Grief, as Weller reminds us, is not a problem to fix. It’s a reflection of love. It’s a signal that something mattered.

“Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning.”
– Francis Weller

He also speaks to the importance of community in processing sorrow.

“Imagine the relief…if we knew that when we were in the grip of sorrow or illness, our village would respond to our need…not out of pity, but out of a realization that every one of us will take our turn at being ill, and we will need one another.”

This kind of shared care and responsibility has also shown up in my work with people in recovery. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of working with many clients who are part of 12-step communities. Through them, I’ve learned powerful lessons about healing and service.

One that has always stayed with me is the idea that healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in relationship. People stay well not just by working on themselves, but by reaching back and helping others. That spirit of offering what you can, when you can, because someone once did it for you – that’s a model of community care that has shaped the way I think about support in all areas of life.

And I’ve carried that forward into my own practice.

When I first started working in the community, straight out of university, I thought I was going to save people. I had the energy. The idealism. The “If I care enough, it’ll be enough” mindset.

That illusion didn’t last long.

The suffering I witnessed – kids without safe homes, parents barely surviving, trauma layered over trauma – humbled me. I started to realize that I was trying so hard to do other people’s work for them. And honestly, I now know that part of that drive to “save” came from projection. There was my own work I hadn’t done yet. I was pouring myself into fixing others so I wouldn’t have to turn the mirror around and face what was inside me.

A mentor of mine, the founder of a shelter for at-risk youth, pulled me aside one day and said something that changed everything. He told me,
“We offer a hand up, not a hand out.”

That line has been with me ever since.

It reminded me that support is about dignity. That people don’t need rescuing. They need someone to walk beside them while they do the hard work of rebuilding. My job wasn’t to carry them. It was to witness, to believe in them, to trust their capacity while offering the steady presence and tools I could give.

A Gentle Call to Action

So here’s what I keep coming back to.

Gratitude, not just for what’s good in my own life, but for the resilience I see in others. The quiet strength of people raising kids, caring for elders, standing up, staying kind.

Generosity, not always in money or time, but in spirit. A text that says “Thinking of you.” A pause before reacting. A kind word to the tired barista. These small gestures remind us who we are.

Reflection, about what kind of world we want to help build – not just for ourselves, but for the next generation. What values will guide us forward? Who might need us to show up for them?

Community, in whatever form you find it. A group chat, a neighbor, a place of worship, or the friend who always shows up.

And compassion, even for the people who think differently than we do. I’ve learned that underneath most of our decisions is the same driving force – care. People want to protect their families. They want to feel safe. They want to preserve what matters to them. That looks different depending on our experiences, our communities, and our beliefs. But I don’t know anyone who isn’t trying, in their own way, to do right by the people they love.

We won’t all agree on how to get there. But we can still treat each other with respect. We can still ask ourselves what it means to be generous, even when it’s hard. We can still stay rooted in our shared humanity.

And finally, self-leadership. That quiet, steady part of you that knows how to listen inward and lead from love, not fear. When we act from that place, we don’t need to have it all figured out. We just need to stay in motion.

We can’t fix everything. But we can keep becoming the kind of people who show up. For ourselves. For our families. For each other.

That matters. More than ever.

So today, pause. Breathe.
Notice what you need.
Notice what someone else might need.
And take one small step toward a more connected, value-led life.

That’s how we stay steady in unsteady times.
And maybe that’s the real work right now – staying human, staying open, and staying connected to what matters.

Until next time,

Rebecca

Rebecca Horch( BACYC, CPC )

Rebecca strives to support others in building resilience, self-compassion, connected relationships and self-awareness. She loves to work with people who are ready for the hard work of inner growth and is passionate about helping others tap into their intuitive gifts and use them in this world.

Book a Free Consult