Who Holds Space for the Space-Holders?

The world is on fire—again.
And I’m tired.

Not the kind of tired that a nap or a digital detox can fix.
The kind that comes from being wired into too much.
Too much news.
Too much pain.
Too much access.
Too many tabs open in my mind and my heart.

The wildfires in California have devastated communities, leaving destruction and heartbreak in their wake.
Emilie Kiser, a sweet Arizona mom and influencer, is mourning the tragic loss of her three-year-old son, Trigg, who drowned in a backyard pool.

The brave survivors of Diddy are stepping forward, sharing harrowing testimonies of abuse and coercion.
In Washington, three young sisters were taken from this world by their own father.
And in Columbia, South Carolina, a shooting has left a neighboring community reeling.

These listed are just a portion of events in my own country.

It’s all too much.
But here’s the thing: I don’t get to say that, do I?

Because I’m someone people call.
I’m someone with a calm voice, words that help, a steady hand, and an open heart.

But can I be honest?

I don’t know who holds space for me.

I don’t know who reads the room when I walk in.
I don’t know who remembers that the strong ones break too.
And sometimes, I wish someone would just notice—without me having to script it out first.

This isn’t a pity post.
It’s a permission slip.
For me.
For you.
For anyone who’s been carrying too much for too long, and still shows up anyway.

Our souls were not designed to witness the world’s every heartbreak in real-time.
We’re cracked open by constant connection.
We’re bleeding empathy with no bandages in sight.
And we’re told to keep going. Keep holding. Keep leading.

But I need you to hear this:

You don’t have to hold it all.
You’re allowed to fall apart.
And if no one’s holding space for you—I will. Right here. With words, with breath, with truth.

No heartache left behind. Want to be reminded how this is leadership? Have you ever been on a plane and heard, ‘put on your own mask before helping others’?

🖋️ Journal Prompts for Navigating Grief

1. “Right now, grief feels like…”
   Describe your grief using metaphors or imagery. Is it a storm, a weight, a fog?
2. “If my grief could speak, it would say…”
   Give voice to your grief. What messages does it have for you?
3. “I miss the version of me who…”
   Reflect on how you’ve changed and what aspects of yourself you long for.
4. “One thing I want to remember about them is…”
   Focus on a cherished memory or trait of the person you’ve lost.
5. “Today, I’m having a hard time with…”
   Acknowledge current challenges without judgment.
6. “What are some specific qualities or traits of your loved one that you want to remember and carry with you?”
   Identify attributes you’d like to embody or honor.
7. “Write about where you feel your grief in your body. Where does your grief stay?”
   Connect with the physical sensations associated with your grief.
8. “What is something that makes you feel taken care of?”
   Explore activities or comforts that provide solace.

🤝 Calls to Action: Supporting Yourself and Others

• Check on your strong friends. They often carry burdens silently. A simple “Thinking of you” can mean the world.
• Offer specific help. Instead of “Let me know if you need anything,” try “I’m heading to the store; can I pick something up for you?”
• Be present. Sometimes, just sitting with someone in silence offers more comfort than words.
• Acknowledge their pain. Avoid platitudes. Instead, say, “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”
• Remember important dates. Mark anniversaries or birthdays and reach out during those times.
• Encourage self-care. Gently suggest activities that might help, like a walk, journaling, or seeking professional support.
• Share memories. If appropriate, share stories or photos of the person they’ve lost.
• Respect their grieving process. Everyone grieves differently. Offer support without imposing expectations.

Author’s Note:

I wrote the original version of this piece, “Who Holds Space for the Space-Holders?” during a time when the world felt overwhelmingly heavy. Events like the devastating wildfires in California, the tragic loss of Emilie Kiser’s son, Trigg, and the harrowing testimonies from survivors in the Diddy case had just occurred. I was grappling with the emotional toll of constant exposure to such tragedies.

Since then, more heartbreaking events have unfolded: the unimaginable loss of three young sisters in Washington at the hands of their father, and a fatal shooting in Columbia, South Carolina. These events have only deepened the collective grief and underscored the importance of holding space for one another.

I’ve sat with this piece for weeks, reflecting on its purpose and ensuring that sharing it now comes from a place of empathy and respect. My hope is that it resonates with those who, like me, are navigating the complexities of grief, compassion fatigue, and the relentless pace of the world.