People are often told they should feel excited or grateful during big life changes. But even positive transitions—like buying a home, starting a new job, or becoming a parent—can bring unexpected grief. There may be a loss of routine, identity, community, or predictability. Together, we can make space to mourn what’s been, while exploring what lies ahead.
People often mean well but end up saying painfully dismissive things like “you can try again” or “at least you know you can get pregnant,” as if a future possibility replaces the loss you’re living through right now. Miscarriage, abortion, stillbirth, infertility, and perinatal loss carry multiple layers of grief: the loss of a child, the loss of a future you imagined, and sometimes the loss of a part of yourself. This grief is real, even when others don’t know how to name it or sit with it. Here, we create a space to honour what has been lost and tend to the layers of grief at your pace.
With impending loss, people often feel pressured to “stay strong” or be grateful for the time they still have. Anticipatory grief can bring sadness, fear, shame, guilt, love, and relief all at once. Many struggle with feeling like they’re grieving too early—or not handling things the way they’re 'supposed' to. Some may also feel numb, which can be mistaken as not caring, even though it’s a natural part of the process. Our approach focuses on helping you meet yourself where you are in your grief journey, noticing and attending to your emotions with care and compassion.
Some losses don’t come with clear endings or public rituals. Estrangement, addiction, infertility, identity shifts, or relationships that end without closure can leave people wondering if their grief even counts. Throughout this process, attention and care is given to all parts of your grief, without question.
When a pet dies, people often hear things like “just get another one,” which misses the reality of the bond. Pets are family, offering love, comfort, routine, and safety, and for many, a primary emotional relationship. This grief is often carried quietly, not because it feels small, but because others may not recognize its depth. In our space, attention and care will be given to your loss, even if the world doesn’t acknowledge it.
Sometimes grief isn’t about losing someone else, but about losing who you were—or who you thought you’d become. This can surface after illness, trauma, infertility, career changes, or other life-altering experiences. People often struggle to name this kind of grief because the loss is internal and ongoing. In our work together, we can create a space to notice these shifts and rediscover who you are.
After a sudden or violent death, people are often met with silence, discomfort, or unanswerable questions. Grief in these circumstances can feel heavy, chaotic, and isolating, especially when others don’t know what to say or avoid the topic altogether. It can be difficult to find space to process both the loss and the trauma. Here, we offer support for complex emotions, meaning-making, and working through what has happened.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross came up with the five stages of grief.
What you may not know:
Bowlby (1969, 1973, 1980) said that when a primary attachment figure dies or leaves permanently, the attachment system gets activated in exactly the way it was when we were a child:
If the protest never quiets... if the despair never lifts... the attachment system never closes the file.
Emotionally, you're still attached—to a ghost. The part of your brain that bonded stays online, scanning for proof they're returning, even when the rest of you knows that's impossible.
Grief tethers you to someone who isn’t there. That unfinished bond leaks into every new hello, every possible “I love you,” turning closeness into a loaded question:
“If the person who was supposed to stay left, why wouldn’t you?”

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
- Mary Elizabeth Frye