On the night my mother died, I dyed my hair and did my nails. Don't ask me why — that's just what I felt like doing.
In the past, when people have asked me what my biggest fear is, I've always joked that it's frogs, but in reality, it's losing my parents. I'd always imagined that when it happened, I'd have to take to my bed for weeks, unable to function in the world, but here I was finally coming face-to-face with that very thing that haunted me all of my life, and I was in my bathroom playing amateur beauty shop. Within days, I was cleaning out her stuff, throwing myself into my work, and taking on a bunch of projects I'd been putting off for years. The moment looked nothing like I thought it would.
When my grandfather with whom I was very close died about a decade ago, I sat down and wrote — that's how I deal with many of my emotions — what would eventually become a eulogy that the preacher would read at his funeral. For weeks after, I felt frozen. I couldn't read or watch TV or let my mind escape my current reality. Being in public felt weird. I just wanted to be with my family.
Last Christmas, when I finally had to say goodbye to my dog, Sadie, who'd been by my side for 16 years, I wallowed. I cried. I obsessed. I looked at pictures and watched videos over and over again for weeks. I still do sometimes.
My point? Grief is not one-size-fits-all. Everyone doesn't do it the same way. Heck, the same person doesn't do it the same way every time. We need to stop judging and shaming people for the way they deal with some of the worst moments in their lives.
Last week, I was horrified when I saw liberal white women (it's always the liberal white women) on social media mocking Erika Kirk for the way she was grieving her husband. They were making fun of her ability to get up and speak despite dealing with such a great loss, claiming she deserved an Academy Award. As Tim O'Brien wrote on Saturday, many also mocked her for daring to laugh and smile while recalling stories of Charlie when she appeared on his podcast last week.
This person reportedly works at @AtriumHealth. She posted this now-deleted video MOCKING Erika Kirk forgiving Charlie Kirk's shooter.
— Libs of TikTok (@libsoftiktok) September 26, 2025
Any comment @AtriumHealth?pic.twitter.com/4A9HTt7d7Z
What is she supposed to do? Put on a black veil and sit in her house for weeks like a Civil War-era widow? One thing you'll learn when you lose the people closest to you is that the world doesn't stop. Life goes on. In the early days, people dote on you, but they get on with their lives, and you must too, the best way you can. If you have children, they will continue to depend on you. While your job may allow you to take some time off, you eventually have to get back to work. Chances are, your loved one left things behind that you must handle. In Erika's case, she had an entire empire to take over.
Several other factors may impact the way we grieve as well. The cause of death or the circumstances surrounding the death typically play a role. You might react differently to someone who dies suddenly at the hands of a criminal than you would to someone who has dealt with a terminal illness for months or years. In the case of my mother, I know there are people in my life who felt that I should have acted "more upset" when she died, but what they didn't seem to understand is that she'd been sick for years, and as her sole caregiver who had a front-row seat to that, I knew deep down what was coming. During that last year of her life, I think I cried every single night in my shower because I knew I was losing her. I started grieving long before anyone knew.
Erika Kirk was used to living a public life, even if she did so from the sidelines. For years, she watched her husband stand up and speak out about his values, no matter what kind of terrible things people said to him or how difficult it may have been at times. I'd argue she was just doing what she knew how to do.
Culture can impact the way a person grieves. So can the grieving person's own personality. Some people can regulate their emotions better than others. Some are more resilient than others. Some face adversity with unwavering strength, while others crumble. That doesn't mean anyone is better than anyone else; it simply means we're all different, and thank God for that. How boring would life be if we all did everything the exact same way?
What matters most is that you do what you need to do to cope. If you want to get out there on a podcast and talk about your loved one, do it. If you want to take a week off work to deal with your emotions, do it. If you want to write a story, paint a picture, or dye your hair, do it. If you want to take a trip, do it. If you want to spend time with friends and family, do it. If you need to take some time to yourself, do it.
The most important thing about grief is that you survive it, that you make it through to the other side. That's not to say that it ever goes away, but if you allow yourself to do the things you need to do to face it, you'll eventually learn how to live with it so that it becomes a little less overwhelming. It may even embolden you in ways you've never imagined. I know it has for me.
Oh, and if people in your life are mocking you, shaming you, or telling you you're doing it wrong, well, they're not your people.
