It's Okay to Feel This Way: Processing Caregiver Grief

Grief doesn't begin when a loved one passes away. It starts long before the final goodbye, with the sleepless nights, the quiet sacrifices.

No matter how long the end-of-life process lasts, it stirs up sadness, relief, guilt, exhaustion, and, sometimes, an aching sense of emptiness. It's easy to talk about grief in tidy stages — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance — but real grief doesn’t unfold in order. It’s not neat or linear.

Instead, like our coast, it's a tide that rises and falls, unpredictable and consuming. And when caregiving has been part of the story, that tide can carry layers of emotional debris that few people talk about openly.

The Hidden Grief of Caregiving

Caring for a loved one through illness, aging, or decline is one of the purest acts of love — and one of the hardest. It demands patience, empathy, and strength, but it also takes a quiet toll. Caregivers often carry their own grief in secret long before death arrives: grief for the person as they once were, grief for lost routines, and grief for the parts of their own lives that had to be set aside.

There’s an unspoken pressure to be endlessly selfless — to never complain, to never need a break, to find meaning in every moment. But the truth is, caregiving can be overwhelming. You can love someone deeply and still feel resentment, exhaustion, or frustration. You can wish for just one day without worry — and still be devoted to them with your whole heart.

Too often, caregivers silence those feelings out of guilt. We tell ourselves we should be stronger. We shouldn’t feel angry or trapped. But grief thrives in silence. When we hide what hurts, the pain only grows heavier. Being honest about your feelings — even the messy, uncomfortable ones — isn’t a betrayal of love. It’s a necessary act of self-compassion.

Recently, I visited the home of a local family to sit vigil. As we sat together by their mother's bedside, her time near, I learned of the months of agony their mother had been through. I heard about her desire to live through the suffering, the treatment trials, the unwavering determination to get well, despite the illness, and the toll it took on two sisters who had careers, dreams, and their own children. Toward the end, one of the sister spoke aloud of her frustration. She asked her mother to go, to let herself go in peace, to let them go in peace. Before I lost loved ones and became an end-of-life doula, I may have perceived this pleading as insensitive, maybe even selfish. These days, I see it as more of a natural catharsis; an understandable, human response to pain that we have not yet in life had the displeasure to witness.

Giving Yourself Permission to Live in Truth

When I talk to caregivers, I tell them that no thought is too unreasonable, too ugly for the grieving process. Whether it's a child of an elderly parent who loves their parent deeply but just wants the holidays to be normal this year — or a spouse who can't bear to see their loved one suffer any longer — sometimes we long for the pain to end. This is in no way reflective of how much we love our loved one, or how willing we are to care for them.

We can love someone deeply and feel the urge to rest and be alone. We can have feelings and still make selfless decisions. Being able to acknowledge and release our thoughts and feelings is important in the caregiving process. An end-of-life doula, mental health counselor, therapist, or peer supporter who understands grief can make you feel less alone in your experience.

Giving Yourself Permission to Rest

One of the most healing steps in processing grief after caregiving is permission — permission to rest, to cry, to do nothing, to not “move on” before you’re ready. For months or years, your life may have revolved around someone else’s needs. It takes time to remember what you need, what brings you peace, and what feels like home in your own skin again.

It can help to start with small acts of care directed toward yourself — a walk outside, journaling, cooking a simple meal, or reconnecting with people who understand. Grief support groups for caregivers can be powerful spaces for honesty. Sometimes, the greatest comfort comes from hearing someone else say, “Me too. I felt that way.”

If you find it hard to talk about your experience, consider writing letters — to your loved one, to yourself as a caregiver, to the version of you that’s learning to heal. The goal isn’t to make sense of everything right away, but to create room for truth.

Honoring the Whole Story

It’s okay if your memories of caregiving are complicated. You might remember both tenderness and tension, laughter and tears. You might feel pride in what you did and regret for what you couldn’t. All of it belongs. The beauty of grief is that it asks us to hold contradictions — to remember with love even as we ache with loss, to forgive ourselves even as we miss what’s gone.

You don’t need to “get over” caregiving. You carry its lessons and its scars. You learn to weave the experience into your life — not as something to hide, but as a chapter that shaped your capacity for compassion and resilience.

As you move forward, may you give yourself the same gentleness you once offered your loved one. May you allow grief to ebb and flow without shame. And may you trust that even in the quiet aftermath of loss, you are still whole — still becoming, still healing, still allowed to rest.

Finding Your Safe Space

Discovering a safe space can help you process your grief and make you feel more emotionally and physically well. Sometimes, it's processing your grief with a doula or a mental health professional. Other times, it looks like a support group or a workshop. If you're curious about the community resources available to caregivers, I can help you find everything from a local caregiver support group to an outlet for grief or creative expression. Feel free to email me anytime at support@empoweredeol.com, and we'll find the resources that work best for you.

-Jessica