Speaker 1: Welcome to grief. Let's make sense of this shit. I'm Dylan,
Speaker 1: and it means a lot that you are here with
Speaker 1: me today. Many of us hold grief from relationships that
Speaker 1: never felt simple or safe, yet still left deep marks.
Speaker 1: The working title for this episode is Grief complicated bond,
Speaker 1: love and pain after a hard relationship, and our focus
Speaker 1: stays on those complicated bonds. Take a moment right now
Speaker 1: and notice how your body feels. Because these bonds often
Speaker 1: mix love with pain, we can lose track of what
Speaker 1: belongs to us. However, the feelings remain real even when
Speaker 1: the relationship itself felt tangled. Therefore, we begin by naming
Speaker 1: what we carry instead of pushing it aside. In other words,
Speaker 1: this kind of grief does not require a cl clean
Speaker 1: story or a tidy ending. Meanwhile, your body may already
Speaker 1: be holding tension or fatigue that comes from years of
Speaker 1: mixed signals. Although the connection looked different from the outside,
Speaker 1: the loss still counts. That said, we turn our attention
Speaker 1: today to complicated bond grief itself. This term covers the
Speaker 1: mix of attachment and hurt that lingers after relationships marked
Speaker 1: by conflict or inconsistency. Since the bond never settled into
Speaker 1: one clear feeling. The grief can arrive in waves that
Speaker 1: surprise us. For example, you might notice anger and longing
Speaker 1: showing up at the same time. Plus, the absence can
Speaker 1: feel both like relief and like an ache that refuses
Speaker 1: to settle. Ultimately, we sit with this reality without forcing
Speaker 1: it into a single box. The specific type of grief
Speaker 1: we are discussing today is complicated bond grief. Complicated bond
Speaker 1: grief shows up when attachment sits right next to unresolved conflict.
Speaker 1: Researchers at the Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia University
Speaker 1: describe this form of loss as one that carries both
Speaker 1: connection and friction at the same time. The person is gone,
Speaker 1: yet the relationship still holds pieces that never settled. That
Speaker 1: mix leaves emotions pulling in opposite directions on the same day.
Speaker 1: Listeners often notice the lack of outward permission that comes
Speaker 1: with this grief. Friends and family may assume the relationship
Speaker 1: ended years ago, or that distance already solved everything. Without
Speaker 1: shared rituals or even simple acknowledgment, the morning stays private.
Speaker 1: People keep going to work and answering messages, while the
Speaker 1: inside story stays hidden. Relief can appear alongside the sadness,
Speaker 1: and that combination brings its own weight. Someone might feel
Speaker 1: a quiet loosening because arguments no longer happen, Yet the
Speaker 1: very next moment, shame arrives. For thinking that way, Both
Speaker 1: feelings belong here. They do not cancel each other out.
Speaker 1: In other words, the grief does not wait for a
Speaker 1: clean story before it arrives. It shows up in the
Speaker 1: middle of unfinished conversations and half healed hurts. Meanwhile, the
Speaker 1: outside world keeps expecting a simpler version of events. That
Speaker 1: gap between what happened and what others can see makes
Speaker 1: the days feel heavier. For example, a listener once describes
Speaker 1: sitting with an old photo and feeling both warmth and
Speaker 1: a sharp reminder of the last argument they never resolved.
Speaker 1: This point stayed on the shelf because throwing it away
Speaker 1: felt wrong and keeping it visible felt impossible. Small choices
Speaker 1: like that pile up when no one else sees the
Speaker 1: full picture. However, the absence of public rituals does not
Speaker 1: mean the loss itself carries less weight. It simply means
Speaker 1: the support looks different some days. That difference shows up
Speaker 1: as extra quiet in the evenings. Other days, it appears
Speaker 1: as sudden anger at a song that used to play
Speaker 1: in the background of those difficult conversations. Meanwhile, the shame
Speaker 1: around relief tends to grow when the relationship involved repeated hurt.
Speaker 1: The mind replays moments of care and moments of pain
Speaker 1: in quick succession. Both memories remain true. Neither one needs
Speaker 1: to be edited out before the grief can move. That said,
Speaker 1: the Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia University notes that
Speaker 1: naming this pattern helps people stop measuring their reactions against
Speaker 1: someone else's timeline. The attachment and the conflict can exist
Speaker 1: together without one being required to disappear. Listeners sometimes find
Speaker 1: that simply saying the words complicated bond grief out loud
Speaker 1: gives the experience a place to land. In fact, the
Speaker 1: lack of social scripts leaves room for private practices that
Speaker 1: fit the actual relationship. Instead of aversion others expect. A
Speaker 1: short note written and then set aside can hold space
Speaker 1: for what never got said. A single object moved from
Speaker 1: one drawer to another can mark the shift without needing
Speaker 1: an audience. Yet the relief and the shame still circle back.
Speaker 1: On ordinary afternoons, the key becomes allowing both to exist
Speaker 1: in the same hour without forcing a single feeling to win.
Speaker 1: That allowance takes practice, because most messages received from the
Speaker 1: wider world pushed toward one clean emotion at a time.
Speaker 1: Now Here is a story that brings these pieces together.
Speaker 1: A woman named Elena lost her father after years of
Speaker 1: strained visits and sharp phone calls. She felt the loss
Speaker 1: land in her chest. The same week, she also noticed
Speaker 1: her shoulders drop for the first time in months. The
Speaker 1: relief arrived quietly during the first quiet morning, without waiting
Speaker 1: for his next criticism. Shame followed within hours. She wondered
Speaker 1: whether the relief made her ungrateful or cold. Elena kept
Speaker 1: the old key to his house on her own key ring,
Speaker 1: even though the house had already sold. The key itself
Speaker 1: carried no practical use, yet it reminded her of the
Speaker 1: bond that once existed alongside the arguments. Each time she
Speaker 1: reached for her keys, the mixed feelings returned. She did
Speaker 1: not try to sort them into separate boxes. Instead, she
Speaker 1: let them sit next to each other while she made
Speaker 1: coffee or drove to work. Over several weeks, she began
Speaker 1: to notice the shame softened. When she stopped expecting it
Speaker 1: to leave. The attachment remained and the conflict remained. Both
Speaker 1: stayed part of the story she carried. Elena started a
Speaker 1: short evening practice of placing the key on the counter
Speaker 1: for five minutes before returning it to the ring. The
Speaker 1: act gave the day a small marker without requiring anyone
Speaker 1: else to understand the full weight behind it. That practice
Speaker 1: grew from the same definition we discussed earlier. The grief
Speaker 1: included love and pain in the same relationship, and it
Speaker 1: did not need outside permission to count. Elena's days still
Speaker 1: contain both elements, yet the private ritual gives them room
Speaker 1: to breathe. I remember the way my father could sit
Speaker 1: beside me on the porch after a long day and
Speaker 1: ask about something small, like the book I was reading
Speaker 1: or the game I played at recess. Those were the
Speaker 1: moments that stayed with me because they felt safe and steady.
Speaker 1: Yet the same man could turn sharp without warning and
Speaker 1: remind me of every mistake I had made that week.
Speaker 1: The contrast lived inside the same house and the same afternoons.
Speaker 1: When he passed away, the memories did not line up
Speaker 1: in any order that made sense. Instead, they arrived together
Speaker 1: on the same evening, when I tried to clear out
Speaker 1: his desk. There was a note he left on the
Speaker 1: kitchen counter, once, telling me he was proud after I
Speaker 1: brought home a good report card. I kept that note
Speaker 1: for years because it felt like proof that the good
Speaker 1: parts were real. At the same time, there were arguments
Speaker 1: that ended with doors slamming in long stretches of silence. Afterward,
Speaker 1: those silences left marks that did not fade just because
Speaker 1: he was gone. The grief that followed carried both the
Speaker 1: note and the slam doors At once. I found myself
Speaker 1: reaching for the phone to call him, before remembering there
Speaker 1: was no one left to answer. Some days, the missing
Speaker 1: felt simple and direct, like a chair left empty at
Speaker 1: this point. On other days, the missing arrived with a
Speaker 1: tight feeling in my chest because I was still sorting
Speaker 1: through what I wished had been different. I would walk
Speaker 1: past his favorite coffee shop and think about the times
Speaker 1: he bought us both a cup and actually listened without interrupting.
Speaker 1: Then the next thought would land on the times he
Speaker 1: dismissed something important. I tried to share. Both thoughts belonged
Speaker 1: to the same loss, and neither one canceled the other out.
Speaker 1: Friends sometimes asked how I was doing, and I gave
Speaker 1: short answers because the longer version felt too tangled to explain.
Speaker 1: I missed the version of him that showed up for
Speaker 1: school events and helped fix my bicycle chain. I also
Speaker 1: carried anger about the version that made me feel small
Speaker 1: when I needed support. Instead, the anger and the missing
Speaker 1: sat side by side without any rule that said one
Speaker 1: had to leave before the other could stay. That mix
Speaker 1: showed up most clearly during the first holidays after he
Speaker 1: was gone. This point felt lighter in one way because
Speaker 1: the tension he sometimes brought was absent. It also felt
Speaker 1: heavier because the chance to try again had disappeared with him.
Speaker 1: I kept a few of his old tools in a drawer,
Speaker 1: even though I rarely used them. Holding the worn handle
Speaker 1: of a screwdriver brought back the afternoons when we worked
Speaker 1: on small projects together in the garage. Those afternoons held
Speaker 1: care and patience that I still valued. Yet the same
Speaker 1: drawer held a stack of old letters where his words
Speaker 1: had been critical and quick to judge. I would open
Speaker 1: the drawer intending to organize it, and close it again
Speaker 1: without touching anything. Because the two sets of memories refused
Speaker 1: to separate. The question that kept returning was simple and
Speaker 1: stubborn at once, What do I do with this grief?
Speaker 1: Researchers described this experience as one that stays rooted in
Speaker 1: an ongoing attachment, even when the relationship carried real conflict.
Speaker 1: The attachment does not require the story to become neat
Speaker 1: before the feelings arrive. Meanwhile, the question itself becomes part
Speaker 1: of the daily texture rather than something that needs an
Speaker 1: immediate answer. We'll pause here for a short break and
Speaker 1: return to continue in just a moment. When the relationship
Speaker 1: we lose held both warmth and sharp edges, the feelings
Speaker 1: afterward rarely line up in any order we expect. Because
Speaker 1: the attachment carried contradictions, the process of mourning stretches out
Speaker 1: in ways that feel circular rather than sequential. Guilt arrives
Speaker 1: on one morning, then anger shows up later the same day,
Speaker 1: and both return without warning. Researchers at the University of
Speaker 1: Minnesota found in their twenty twelve study published in the
Speaker 1: Journal of Abnormal Psychology that these mixed bonds produce grief
Speaker 1: patterns marked by repeated returns to the same questions rather
Speaker 1: than steady movement through them. Michelinser and Shaver have written
Speaker 1: extensively on attachment, and their work helps explain why these
Speaker 1: connections resist simple resolution. An ambivalent tie keeps the mind
Speaker 1: returning to moments of care alongside moments of hurt. The
Speaker 1: result is a grief arc that lengthens because the brain
Speaker 1: keeps checking old memories for new meaning. That checking shows
Speaker 1: up as sudden irritation, followed by deep sadness, then back again. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: listeners often describe sitting with an old photo and noticing
Speaker 1: both comfort and frustration at once. Since no single feeling
Speaker 1: claims the whole story, the days can feel like they loop.
Speaker 1: Anger at what went wrong sits next to missing the
Speaker 1: good parts, and neither one settles the other. This back
Speaker 1: and forth does not signal that something is wrong with
Speaker 1: the morning. Instead, it reflects the actual shape of the
Speaker 1: bond that existed. While some people around us may hope
Speaker 1: for a quicker shift, the reality stays tied to how
Speaker 1: attachment formed in the first place. Therefore, the guilt that
Speaker 1: surfaces often comes from wishing one more conversation could have
Speaker 1: changed the ending. Anger appears when we realize that conversation
Speaker 1: never arrived. Both emotions can keep circling because the relationship
Speaker 1: itself never reached a single clear note. A listener once
Speaker 1: shared how a simple drive past the old house brought
Speaker 1: tears and then a wave of irritation at the same time.
Speaker 1: Those responses make sense when the original connection mixed care
Speaker 1: with conflict. Although the culture around us sometimes expects grief
Speaker 1: to sort itself out, the evidence from attachment studies points
Speaker 1: to longer arcs, precisely when love and pain shared the
Speaker 1: same space. The University of Minnesota findings highlight how unresolved
Speaker 1: elements keep pulling attention back. Michelinser and Shaver described this
Speaker 1: as the mind working to integrate two sides of one person.
Speaker 1: That integration takes time and repetition, rather than one clean
Speaker 1: step after another. In fact, the looping itself can feel
Speaker 1: exhausting on days when energy already runs low. Yet the
Speaker 1: pattern also keeps the relationship present in menamor, which for
Speaker 1: some listeners brings a strange comfort, even inside the discomfort.
Speaker 1: Because the bond was never simple, the mourning honors that
Speaker 1: complexity by refusing to flatten it. Friends may ask when
Speaker 1: the hard parts will ease, However, no fixed answer fits
Speaker 1: every story. Meanwhile, the invitation remains open for anyone who
Speaker 1: recognizes this pattern in their own loss. If you have
Speaker 1: written in about a relationship that carried both affection and tension,
Speaker 1: your words land here with care. Many listeners carry similar threads,
Speaker 1: and the space stays ready whenever you choose to share them.
Speaker 1: As evening approaches, a short practice can mark the close
Speaker 1: of the day without trying to settle everything at once.
Speaker 1: The bedtime grief grounding takes roughly five minutes and begins
Speaker 1: with naming one moment from the relationship that still Lingers
Speaker 1: write that moment in a single sentence, then set the
Speaker 1: paper aside, follow with three slow breaths while resting a
Speaker 1: hand on the chest. Finish by saying out loud, one
Speaker 1: thing you carry forward from that bond. This brief sequence
Speaker 1: gives the looping feelings a place to rest for the night,
Speaker 1: while honoring the full shape of what was lost. One
Speaker 1: listeners shared how their mother had always mixed sharp criticism
Speaker 1: with unexpected moments of care. They described keeping an old
Speaker 1: scarf because the scent still brought both comfort and the
Speaker 1: sting of words that never softened. Another wrote about a
Speaker 1: brother they argued with for years yet missed deeply after
Speaker 1: his sudden passing the note mentioned sitting with photos, where
Speaker 1: smile sat next to remembered tension, without any clear way
Speaker 1: to sort the two. A third person spoke of an
Speaker 1: ex partner whose kindness showed up right after arguments that
Speaker 1: left lasting hurt. Their message focused on how certain songs
Speaker 1: now pull up warmth and regret in the same breath.
Speaker 1: These notes arrived separately, yet each one named the same
Speaker 1: mix of affection and friction that lingers after the relationship ends.
Speaker 1: Hearing someone else put that combination into words often brings
Speaker 1: a quiet sense of relief because it shows the feelings
Speaker 1: do not need to line up neatly. First, while the
Speaker 1: details differ, the thread of holding love alongside pain runs
Speaker 1: through them all. Since the attachments resist simple labels, the
Speaker 1: stories tend to circle back to that same tension without
Speaker 1: forcing a single explanation. Meanwhile, listeners sometimes mention how reading
Speaker 1: these accounts aloud to themselves creates a small space to pause.
Speaker 1: Although the grief stays present, the act of seeing it
Speaker 1: reflected can ease the sense of carrying it alone instead
Speaker 1: of rushing toward resolution. Many find value in simply letting
Speaker 1: the mixed feelings exist side by side for a while
Speaker 1: therefore the common experience seems to rest in recognizing that
Speaker 1: attachment and conflict can share the same history without canceling
Speaker 1: each other out. Because these bonds leave behind unfinished conversations,
Speaker 1: the days afterward can loop through both gratitude and frustration. However,
Speaker 1: the notes also point towards small practices that help people
Speaker 1: remain present with whatever surfaces. One approach that has helped
Speaker 1: several listeners involves a short breathing sequence done at the
Speaker 1: end of the day when thoughts tend to gather grief calm.
Speaker 1: Breathing starts with finding a quiet spot and settling in
Speaker 1: for about five minutes inhale slowly through the nose while
Speaker 1: counting to four, then hold the breath for the same
Speaker 1: count before releasing it over another four counts. Repeat the
Speaker 1: cycle while allowing any thoughts about the person or the
Speaker 1: relationship to drift through without pushing them away or holding
Speaker 1: on tightly. The practice gives the body a steady rhythm
Speaker 1: to rest against, while the mind notices the mixture of
Speaker 1: memories that appear. Since the focus stays on the breath
Speaker 1: rather than on changing the feelings, the time passes without
Speaker 1: pressure to reach any particular outcome. Listeners who have tried
Speaker 1: this often return to it on evenings when the complicated
Speaker 1: bond feels especially close. The sequence works because it meets
Speaker 1: the grief where it stands, rather than asking it to
Speaker 1: shit into something else. Although the relief may come and go,
Speaker 1: the steady rhythm offers a reliable anchor during those moments.
Speaker 1: Some days, the pull toward the person we lost feel
Speaker 1: steady and familiar, while the sharp edges of what went
Speaker 1: wrong sit right beside it. Writing can give those two
Speaker 1: sides a place to rest without forcing them together. You
Speaker 1: might sit with a pen and paper, or open a
Speaker 1: blank document and begin one letter that speaks only to
Speaker 1: the love that remains. Let that page hold the moments
Speaker 1: of warmth or the simple ways this person mattered. Then
Speaker 1: start a second letter that names the pain or the disappointment,
Speaker 1: or the parts that still sting. These stay separate because
Speaker 1: the feelings often refuse to blend into one tidy note.
Speaker 1: Once both pages exist, you can decide later whether either
Speaker 1: one needs to leave your hands or whether they stay private.
Speaker 1: That choice belongs to you, and it can shift from
Speaker 1: one week to the next without any pressure to decide
Speaker 1: write away. Meanwhile, a short body practice can help when
Speaker 1: the mind keeps circling the same questions. A ten minute
Speaker 1: daily body scan works by moving attention slowly from the
Speaker 1: top of the head down through the shoulders, arms, torso, legs,
Speaker 1: and feet. The only task is to notice what shows
Speaker 1: up as warmth, coolness, tightness, or ease. No effort goes
Speaker 1: into changing those sensations or labeling them good or bad.
Speaker 1: Because the scan stays with the body, it can interrupt
Speaker 1: the loop of thoughts that often arrives with complicated bonds.
Speaker 1: You might try it in the morning before the day
Speaker 1: gathers speed, or in the evening when the quiet feels heavier.
Speaker 1: Over time, the practice simply trains attention to return to
Speaker 1: the present moment, rather than staying caught in the unfinished story.
Speaker 1: In other words, the goal stays small. The scan does
Speaker 1: not aim to quiet every feeling or to make the
Speaker 1: grief smaller. It offers a few minutes where the body
Speaker 1: gets to report what it carries and the mind. Practice
Speaker 1: is watching without jumpumping in to fix anything. Listeners sometimes
Speaker 1: find that pairing this scan with the two letters creates
Speaker 1: a rhythm. One day, the writing surfaces what still hurts,
Speaker 1: and the scan that follows gives the body a chance
Speaker 1: to settle Another day, the scan comes first, and the
Speaker 1: letters feel less urgent, because the tension in the chest
Speaker 1: or the weight in the shoulders has already been noticed.
Speaker 1: A small ritual can also mark the bond in a
Speaker 1: way that does not demand forgiveness. You might choose one
Speaker 1: object that belonged to the relationship or that reminds you
Speaker 1: of a shared moment, and place it where you will
Speaker 1: see it each morning. The act of noticing the object
Speaker 1: for a minute or two becomes the ritual. No words
Speaker 1: need to be spoken, and no resolution needs to arrive.
Speaker 1: The object simply stands as a quiet acknowledgment that this
Speaker 1: connection existed, and that both the affection and the friction
Speaker 1: were real. Because the ritual carries no requirement to reach
Speaker 1: a certain emotional state, it can continue even on days
Speaker 1: when anger or sadness still feels lefe However, these steps
Speaker 1: often meet resistance. Progress can look uneven because one morning
Speaker 1: the letters feel useful, and the next morning the same
Speaker 1: page brings fresh irritation. Self compassion enters here because the
Speaker 1: uneven pace belongs to the nature of these bonds, rather
Speaker 1: than to any shortcoming on your part. The body scan
Speaker 1: or The ritual does not measure success by how calm
Speaker 1: you feel afterward. It succeeds when it happens at all. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the decision about whether to send either letter can stay
Speaker 1: open because the feelings themselves keep changing. Therefore, the practices
Speaker 1: stay flexible. You might write only one letter on some days,
Speaker 1: or shorten the scan to five minutes. When energy runs low,
Speaker 1: the ritual can move from one object to another if
Speaker 1: the first choice stops fitting. Each adjustment keeps the focus
Speaker 1: on honoring what remains, rather than pushing toward an outcome.
Speaker 1: In fact, listeners often report that the real value appears
Speaker 1: in the permission to keep the love and the pain
Speaker 1: side by side without forcing one to disappear. Because these
Speaker 1: bonds leave so many conversations unfinished, the practices offer gentle
Speaker 1: ways to continue the dialogue on your own terms. The
Speaker 1: letters hold space for both sides. The body scan returns
Speaker 1: attention to the present. The ritual keeps the connection visible
Speaker 1: without demanding agreement or closure. When the days feel heavy
Speaker 1: or when the mix of emotions refuses to settle, the
Speaker 1: same tools remain available without any expectation that they will
Speaker 1: produce steady improvement. Passion, recognizes that some days the letters
Speaker 1: stay in the drawer, the scan feels too long, and
Speaker 1: the ritual gets skipped entirely. Those days still belong to
Speaker 1: the process, because the grief itself moves at its own pace,
Speaker 1: will return after this short break. Mixed feelings often arrive
Speaker 1: together in complicated bond grief. Sadness can sit beside relief,
Speaker 1: while gratitude shares space with frustration. Because these responses belong
Speaker 1: to the same relationship, they do not cancel one another.
Speaker 1: The right to grieve stays intact even when the story
Speaker 1: feels unfinished. This grief is allowed to be complicated. That
Speaker 1: short sentence can serve as a daily anchor when the
Speaker 1: mind begins to argue over which feeling deserves attention. While
Speaker 1: the culture around us may push for a single, clear narrative,
Speaker 1: the reality is that attachment rarely follows such rules. Therefore,
Speaker 1: repeating the phrase quietly can create a small pause before
Speaker 1: judgment takes over. Treating yourself as you would treat a
Speaker 1: friend in the same situation brings another layer of patients.
Speaker 1: Instead of questioning why the pain still surfaces, you might
Speaker 1: offer the same steady presence you would give someone else.
Speaker 1: Although the loss carries both warmth and sharp edges. The
Speaker 1: kindness you extend outward can turn inward without requiring perfection. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the small body practice from earlier can pair with this
Speaker 1: reminder when the loop feels especially tight. Because the days
Speaker 1: after such a loss often bring unexpected waves, the simple
Speaker 1: act of meeting yourself where you are keeps the focus
Speaker 1: on presence rather than correction. Grief. Calm breathing can support
Speaker 1: this same patience when the questions start circling again. Since
Speaker 1: the bond itself was never simple, the responses afterward earn
Speaker 1: the same allowance. Therefore, extending that allowance becomes an ongoing
Speaker 1: practice rather than a one time fix. As we close
Speaker 1: the main part of this conversation, I want to leave
Speaker 1: you with the reminder that showing up for yourself in
Speaker 1: these ways honors the bond without demanding it be anything
Speaker 1: other than what it was. Love and pain can sit
Speaker 1: together in the same breath after a complicated bond. One
Speaker 1: does not cancel the other out. The small body practice
Speaker 1: we touched on earlier can hold space for both sides
Speaker 1: when the questions circle back. Meanwhile, the days keep moving
Speaker 1: even when the feelings stay mixed. If this podcast helps
Speaker 1: you make sense of your shit. Join our supporters Club
Speaker 1: for three dollars a month. You get ad free listening
Speaker 1: and early episodes. Independent media only stays alive when listeners
Speaker 1: back it. You can find the link to join in
Speaker 1: the episode description. If this episode resonated, professional support can
Speaker 1: still be a steady next step for some people. Because
Speaker 1: these bonds leave so much unfinished. The next episode will
Speaker 1: look at grief when the ending arrives without warning. Thank
Speaker 1: you for spending time here today. If a story from
Speaker 1: your own life wants to be heard, you can send
Speaker 1: it to the address in the show notes. That connection
Speaker 1: stays yours to carry in whatever shape it takes.