By Meghan Fitzpatrick, Hospice & Palliative Care Representative
Old Colony Hospice & Palliative Care
I was sitting in a class about compassion fatigue last week when something the instructor said struck me. She was describing how burnout often creeps up, not because of one major crisis, but from the steady weight of many small demands, the constant giving, the emotional strain, the little pressures that never quite let up.
As I listened, I realized how similar that can be to grief.
When we think of grief, most of us picture something enormous: A death, a tragedy, a clear before and after. But grief doesn’t always arrive in one devastating blow. Sometimes it comes quietly, through a series of smaller losses that don’t seem big enough to name, at least not on their own.
It’s losing a job that once gave you purpose. Then selling the home where you built years of memories. Then a close friend moves away. Sometimes the loss is even one we chose, like taking a new job in a different city, downsizing, ending a relationship, or letting go of something that no longer fits. Even when those choices are right, they still leave space where something used to be. Each change asks us to give up a piece of comfort or identity, and over time those pieces add up.
Grief, in those times, feels like a Jenga tower. One block comes out and you steady yourself and keep going. Another block goes and you wobble but manage. Then another, and another, until one day something small, a rainy morning, a forgotten photo, or a familiar song, makes the whole thing tremble. You find yourself wondering why it suddenly feels like too much.
The truth is, we don’t always recognize or give ourselves permission to grieve those smaller losses. We tell ourselves it’s just a job, it’s just a move, I should be fine. But unacknowledged loss doesn’t vanish, it stacks. The more pieces we remove without tending to them, the more fragile we become.
Often we only notice the toll once we’re already unsteady. We feel tired, irritable, disconnected, or just vaguely sad for reasons we can’t quite name. That’s not weakness. It’s accumulated grief. It’s what happens when we carry change after change, loss after loss, without pausing to feel their weight.
Grief isn’t only about death. It’s about any shift that asks us to let go of something familiar. A home, a season of life, a sense of certainty. They all deserve to be acknowledged. When we minimize those experiences, we rob ourselves of the chance to process and adapt.
Whether the loss is large or small, chosen or not, something we loved, needed, or depended on is now gone. Each time that happens, we have to find new balance. If we can learn to notice those shifts as they happen, to pause, name them, and let them matter, we can keep standing a little steadier, with more compassion for the weight we carry and the ways we rebuild.
About the Author: Meghan Fitzpatrick is a business development representatives at Old Colony Hospice & Palliative Care. She has a strong background in assisted living and dementia care. She is also a trained support group facilitator for the Alzheimer’s Association. Her compassion and knowledge make her a vital part of Old Colony Hospice’s outreach efforts. She is a trusted resource in the community, connecting with families, providers, and community partners throughout the region and can be reached at mfitzpatrick@oldcolonyhospice.com.
