When Grief Looks Like Overproduction

Grief doesn’t always sit quietly in the corner. Sometimes it runs me ragged.

For me, grief often shows up as overproduction — doing, planning, organizing, filling every minute with something that feels important. On the outside, it might look like strength, but on the inside, it often feels like a battle I’m losing.

I don’t rest well. I don’t sleep much. And when I try to slow down, my mind whispers — you’re not doing enough, you’re letting him down, people will forget. That voice is exhausting.

The world praises busyness. And in grief, people praise “strength” — but sometimes strength is not what they think. Strength can be the mom who doesn’t want to be strong anymore. Strength can be the woman who wishes she could just sit still like everyone else, watch a show without guilt, take a nap without her brain telling her she failed the day.

I wish I could tell you I’ve figured out balance. That I’ve learned how to rest and let grief just be. But the truth is, I haven’t. I’m still in the thick of it. I still wrestle with the pressure to do more — to prove through busyness that my child’s life mattered. And even though I know love isn’t measured in productivity, it’s hard to silence that voice that demands more.

This is the part of grief people don’t often see. The part where being “productive” isn’t inspiring — it’s survival. Where “strength” isn’t a choice — it’s what’s left when you don’t know what else to do.

I’m trying to remind myself that my son is honored in the quiet moments too — in the stillness, in the love that never stops, in the ache that is always there. But if I’m honest, I’m still learning how to believe that.

So if you’re reading this and you’re struggling like I am, please know you’re not alone. Grief is heavy, and sometimes doing less is harder than doing more. Maybe one day I’ll learn to rest. Maybe one day I’ll let myself breathe without guilt. Until then, I’ll keep stumbling forward — messy, tired, and still loving him with everything in me.

-Katy