
The Catherine Plano Podcast
EP 477: The Grief That Has No Name Is Often the Heaviest Kind
Have you ever grieved something that no one else could see? A friendship that quietly dissolved. A version of yourself you left behind. A relationship that is still technically intact but has become unrecognisable. And wondered why it hurt so much when, on paper, nothing had actually ended? There is a kind of grief that has no funeral. No flowers. No one checking in to ask how you are holding up. Because nothing has technically ended. No one has died. And yet something in you is grieving, quietly, persistently, and completely alone. In this Moment of Awe, we explore what ambiguous grief actually is, why it is one of the most isolating forms of human suffering, and three ways to begin honouring it. The Grief That Has No Name Maybe it is a friendship that slowly dissolved without a single defining moment. A version of yourself you left behind when life took a different turn. A relationship that is still technically intact but has become unrecognisable. A dream you set down so long ago you barely remember putting it there. This is ambiguous grief. And it is one of the most common, most isolating, and least validated forms of human suffering I encounter in my work. The reason it is so hard to carry is that the world only makes room for grief it can see. But the grief that has no name is often the heaviest kind. What Ambiguous Grief Actually Is Psychologist Pauline Boss first coined the term ambiguous loss in the 1970s to describe grief that occurs without closure, without the social permission to mourn, and without a clear ending. She identified two types. The first is when someone is physically absent but psychologically present. A parent with dementia who is still alive but no longer quite there. An estranged child. Someone you lost to addiction or mental illness who is still breathing but unreachable. The second is when someone is physically present but psychologically absent. A partner you have slowly grown away from. A friendship that became surface-level without either of you noticing. A version of yourself that showed up before the grief, before the loss, before life reshaped you. But ambiguous grief extends further than Boss originally mapped. It lives in identity loss, the grief of who you were before burnout, before motherhood, before the career change, before the diagnosis. It lives in life chapters closing without ceremony. In the slow fade of a relationship that was never officially over. What makes it so destabilising is that without a clear ending, there is no clear permission to grieve. And grief without permission goes underground, where it quietly shapes everything. Three Ways to Begin Honouring It Name it. Say it out loud, or write it down. I am grieving this friendship. I am grieving the version of myself I was before this happened. I am grieving the life I thought I was going to have. Naming it does not fix it, but it brings it out of the shadows and into the light where you can actually work with it. Grief that is named is grief that can move. Create your own ritual of acknowledgement. Ambiguous grief struggles because it has no funeral, no marker, no moment of collective recognition. So create one privately. Write a letter you never send. Light a candle. Take yourself somewhere meaningful and simply sit with what you are carrying. Ritual tells your nervous system that something real happened here, and that it is worth acknowledging. Resist the pressure to resolve it. Ambiguous grief does not always have a tidy ending. Sometimes the most psychologically healthy thing you can do is learn to hold the uncertainty without needing it to close. Not toxic positivity. Not forced forgiveness. Just the gentle, courageous act of saying: this is real, it matters, and I do not have to be over it yet. The Sadness You Have Been Trying to Outrun So here is the invitation. What if the sadness you have been trying to outrun is not a sign that something is wrong with you, but a sign that something mattered deeply to you? What if giving yourself permission to grieve the things that had no funeral is one of the most profound acts of self-compassion available to you right now? You do not need a reason the world would recognise to deserve to grieve. You just need something that mattered. And if it mattered to you, it was real. And real things deserve to be mourned. Because the more human we are with each other, the more we all rise. You can watch the video of this episode on YouTube . Newsletter: Catherine Plano for transformation. Instagram: @catherineplano for inspiration.






