What the Hell Is Happening to Me: How Grief Breaks, Builds, and Brings Us Closer to God

Guest Post by Ms. Kimberley Travers, Gifts of Life Ministries, for The Pink and The Black

Ms. Kimberley Travers

Grief has a way of sneaking into our lives and rearranging everything we thought we knew about ourselves, our faith, and our future. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t follow a calendar. It doesn’t respect deadlines or social expectations. It lingers. It reshapes. It rewires.

When my father passed away, I didn’t just lose him; I lost a piece of myself. A part of my identity. A version of me that I’m still trying to find again, or maybe rebuild altogether. His absence became a presence that reshaped everything I thought I understood about life, faith, and meaning.

And months later, yes, months, I still find myself asking: What the hell is happening to me? Not in rebellion. Not in shame. But in confusion and exhaustion. Because this grieving, growing, shifting version of me feels unfamiliar. And yet, God keeps showing up in it.

God Is Not Afraid of Our Questions

One of the most freeing lessons I’ve learned is this: God is not offended by our questions. He’s not intimidated by our honesty. He’s not distant from our pain.

The psalmist cried out:

“Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior!” (Psalm 42:5, NLT)

That’s not just poetry. That’s the voice of someone who’s been through something. Someone who’s felt the silence, the sorrow, the shift.

And Isaiah 43:2 reminds us:

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you… When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up.”

Not if—but when. Which means God already knew grief would come, and He promised to walk through it with us.

Grief Is Not a Weakness—It’s a Witness

Here’s the hard truth: prolonged grief isn’t just about sadness. It’s about silence. It’s about the way people stop asking how you’re doing. It’s about the world expecting you to “bounce back” while you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

You start to feel like you’re failing, like your faith isn’t strong enough. Like, your healing is taking too long.

But grief is not a weakness. It’s a witness. To the depth of your love. To the weight of your loss. To the reality that some wounds don’t close quickly—and that’s okay.

Even Jesus wept. He didn’t apologize for it. He didn’t rush past it. He stood in it. He honored it.

And Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 that God comforts us in our troubles so that we can comfort others. Which means our grief isn’t just personal—it’s purposeful. God doesn’t waste sorrow. He transforms it into compassion, ministry, and testimony.

Becoming Through the Breaking

If you’re still grieving months—or even years—later, hear me clearly:

·         You are not broken. You are becoming.

·         You are not weak. You are wounded. And healing takes time.

Let your grief speak. Let it teach you. Let it transform you. Because even in the prolonged ache, heaven is near.

The love you lost still lives—in your voice, in your actions, in your advocacy, in your legacy. My father’s love didn’t die with him. It lives in how I show up, how I support others, and how I speak truth even when it’s uncomfortable.

For the Ones Still Grieving

This message is for anyone who’s looked in the mirror and thought, I don’t recognize myself anymore. For anyone who’s still grieving months—or years—later, and wondering if God still sees them in the mess, the mourning, the becoming.

I honor you. I see you. And I remind you: even in the valley, God is still God.

A Closing Prayer

Gracious and ever-present God, some of us are grieving. Some of us are tired. Some of us are still asking, What the hell is happening to me? And yet, here we are—still showing up, still seeking, still hoping.

Shine your light into the places where grief has settled like dust. Into the places where questions outnumber answers. Into the places where faith feels fragile and hope feels far.

Let Your Word be more than information. Let it be a transformation. Balm for the brokenhearted. Clarity for the confused. Strength for the weary.

Even in the valley, You are still God.

Amen.