Hey there. Welcome to “Grief Isn’t a Flowchart,” the blog post where I’m diving into the infamous Five Stages of Grief. If you haven’t heard of this yet (lucky you!) they are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Sounds neat, right? Like grief is just a checklist you tick off on your way to emotional enlightenment.
Spoiler alert: it’s not.
Let me be real with you. I’ve grieved. I’m grieving. And if you’re reading this, chances are you are too. And if you’ve ever felt like you’re doing it “wrong” because you’re not following the textbook stages, let me just say: you’re not broken. The stages are.
So let’s break this down. The Five Stages of Grief were introduced by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in the 1960s, originally meant to describe the emotional journey of people facing terminal illness.
Did you read that? Terminal. Illness.
Not the grieving process of the people left behind by their loved ones.
Somewhere along the way, it got repackaged by physicians as the universal roadmap for grief. Like, “Congratulations, you’ve reached Stage 3: Bargaining. Please proceed to Depression.”
Yeah. No.
Let me share with you a little story about how I learned about this concept of “5 Stages”.
My daughter died and I was not functioning well. Months after she had passed I still couldn’t get my head straight.
I couldn’t sleep (two hours was a miracle). Eating was null and void one day & overindulgent the next.
I didn’t know how to regulate everything so I thought I needed to see a doctor because something might really be wrong with me.
So I go and the physician I saw tells me that it appears I have gotten off track from the Five Stages of Grief and that I need help getting back on track. Wait…what?
What is this Five Stages of Grief you speak of? So…she briefly explained them to me.
I thought I’d experienced nightmares before – they were about to get worse.
I was prescribed anti-depression medication.
Anyone who has taken these type of meds knows there is no one med fixes all.
You take one med one week, it doesn’t work (meaning – it makes you think demons are in the room with you when you wake up in the middle of the night) then you change to another, and maybe even another.
Nine months flew by, I’d been on four different meds, and I actually laughed at the arsenal of unused medication I had in the cabinet.
I was a zombie. I’d gained almost 100 pounds. I was not better.
I tried to get the physician to take me off of the medication but she said I just needed to give it time. I actually worked at the clinic where I had been prescribed and they basically told me that part of returning from my FMLA was following the advice of the doctor and staying on the medication.
So I took matters into my own hands. I sought a second opinion of a psychiatrist.
We talked for about 3 months and he finally told me that I wasn’t depressed – I was grieving.
He wasn’t used to people seeing him for the purpose of getting off meds but he weaned me off and, finally, I was able to continue grieving, coping, and finding my new normal.
It just took tie.
The physician I had first visited used a piece of paper about mental illness to evaluate my current state. She didn’t take into consideration that my daughter had just died weeks before and answering questions like “do you have days where you feel down?” were just a new way of life for me.
The five stages of grief do not happen in stages. These “symptoms” (I guess that’s what we will call them) are just present. So let’s break them down:
Denial? Sure, maybe. But sometimes it’s not denial—it’s shock. Or numbness. Or just trying to remember how to breathe while the world keeps spinning like nothing happened.
Anger? Oh yeah. But it’s not always rage. Sometimes it’s irritation at people saying dumb things like “everything happens for a reason.” Sometimes it’s anger at yourself for not doing more. Sometimes it’s just being pissed that the person you love is gone and the universe doesn’t seem to care.
Bargaining? That one’s weird. It’s not always “God, if you bring them back I’ll be a better person.” (although this can be something that happens). Sometimes it’s replaying every moment, wondering what you could’ve done differently. Bargaining with memories. Bargaining with guilt.
Depression? That’s a heavy word. And yeah, grief can feel like depression. But it can also feel like emptiness. Or exhaustion. Or laughing at a stupid meme and then crying five seconds later because you feel guilty for smiling.
Acceptance? Don’t even get me started. People act like acceptance is the finish line. Like you reach it and suddenly you’re healed. But acceptance isn’t peace. It’s just… reality. It’s waking up and remembering they’re gone. Again. And again. And again. Then it’s accepting that this is just your life now and in order to continue living it, you just have to let this be your new normal.
Grief isn’t linear. It’s not a staircase. It’s a damn rollercoaster with broken tracks and no seatbelt. Some days you’re okay. Some days you’re not. Some days you’re both at the same time.
And that’s normal.
So if you’re grieving and you feel like you’re failing because you’re not following the stages that so many professionals claim is “normal” —stop. You’re not failing. You’re surviving. You’re feeling. You’re human.
Grief is personal. It’s chaotic. It’s sacred. And it doesn’t need to be categorized to be valid.
If this resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to hear it. And remember: you don’t owe anyone a timeline. You don’t owe anyone a stage. You owe yourself grace.
Now you know what to do: Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
See you soon!
