Jacqui Knight
I used to think I had to be done with my grief before I could even begin to consider moving on. I thought there would be a point where I’d sat with the pain long enough, processed it deeply enough, and then—somehow—I would graduate into a new phase of acceptance and moving forward.
But the truth hasn’t been that neat or linear.
What resonates more with my experience is the “Growing Around Grief” model*, which suggests that we don’t move on from grief so much as we grow around it. We learn to live alongside it—sometimes growing in spite of it, sometimes because of it. And sometimes, moving forward just becomes something we learn to do while carrying it with us.
I’d be lying if I said that certain moments don’t still catch me off guard. A pregnancy announcement. News of a new grandchild. These things still take my breath for a moment—they touch the core of my loss and give it a good prod. But what’s changed is twofold.
First, my response. I no longer scold myself with, “You shouldn’t still feel this way.” Instead, I accept that of course I do. And the truth is, yes—it still hurts. But I’ve learned I can tolerate it. That familiar ache has become a signal, a quiet invitation to pause, honour my grief, and give it the space it asks for—whether that’s two minutes, two days, or two weeks.
Second, I’ve discovered that I can feel genuine joy for others at the same time. My hurt and their happiness can co-exist. One doesn’t cancel out the other.
I’ve come to understand that there’s no single, correct path to moving forward. There’s no “right” way that insists we leave our grief behind and forge some grand new meaning. And there’s no “wrong” way either. There’s just our way.
If you’re someone who wants to dream big and fill the space a child might have occupied with bold plans, that’s beautiful. And if you’re someone who takes tentative, uncertain steps while waiting for something to gently evolve—that’s just as beautiful.
If I’ve learned anything on this path of childlessness, it’s that there are no guarantees. No matter what I imagine for my future—no matter the dreams I entertain or the fantasies that spark excitement—life often unfolds differently. What actually happens rarely matches the script I’d written in my head.
What I’ve come to understand is that my childlessness isn’t something I can—or even want to—leave behind as I move forward. It’s part of me. It always will be. The turning point has been learning not to resent it or try to silence it, but to acknowledge it as part of my story, part of my messy life. Learning to live with it has meant learning to hold it with compassion, even love—not as a flaw to fix, but as a thread woven into who I am, one that sometimes needs an extra hug.
*Growing around grief model, developed by Lois Tonkin
