Speaker 1: Welcome to grief. Let's make sense of this shit. I'm Dylan.
Speaker 1: If your loss has been questioned or brushed aside by
Speaker 1: people around you, you are not alone in that experience.
Speaker 1: Many listeners reach out because their grief receives little recognition
Speaker 1: from family or friends. That situation creates an extra layer
Speaker 1: of isolation on top of the pain itself. Today we
Speaker 1: focus on losses that lack social permission to grieve. The
Speaker 1: working title for this episode is disenfranchised Grief when your
Speaker 1: loss isn't taken seriously. We will spend time with this
Speaker 1: topic because it shows up in different forms. Some people
Speaker 1: lose a partner the community never knew about. Others grieve
Speaker 1: a job that shape their identity for years. Still others
Speaker 1: mourn a pet or a home that meant everything to them.
Speaker 1: Each of these situations carries real weight, yet society often
Speaker 1: withholds the usual supports, like time off or simple acknowledgment.
Speaker 1: Because of that gap, the morning stays hidden. Meanwhile the
Speaker 1: person carries it alone. The reality is that grief does
Speaker 1: not require outside approval to exist. It simply is I
Speaker 1: want to move at a steady pace through this conversation,
Speaker 1: we will name the concept clearly and explore why it
Speaker 1: matters on a day like today. Since grief arrives without warning,
Speaker 1: it helps to have language for the parts that feel unsupported.
Speaker 1: That said, we will keep the discussion grounded in what
Speaker 1: listeners actually face. Instead of rushing toward any fix, we
Speaker 1: will sit with the experience first. Although the feelings can
Speaker 1: feel invisible to others, they remain valid here. The truth
Speaker 1: is that naming disenfranchised grief gives us a starting point.
Speaker 1: From there, we can consider one small ritual that fits
Speaker 1: into a morning or evening moment. This approach stays gentle
Speaker 1: because the topic itself calls for care. We recognize that
Speaker 1: every loss holds its own story. No comparison is needed.
Speaker 1: While the world moves on quickly, your process continues at
Speaker 1: its own rhythm. That difference matters. We begin now with
Speaker 1: the idea that some grief stays quiet by default, yet
Speaker 1: it still deserves space. When we talk about these quiet losses,
Speaker 1: one term that comes up is disenfranchised grief. Kenneth J.
Speaker 1: Doka defined it in his nineteen eighty nine book Disenfranchised Grief,
Speaker 1: recognizing hidden sorrow as grief that people experience when their
Speaker 1: loss is not openly acknowledged or socially supported. The definition
Speaker 1: points to situations where others may not see the loss
Speaker 1: as real or worthy of mourning. That gap in recognition
Speaker 1: often leaves the person carrying the weight alone. Because the
Speaker 1: loss it receives no outward validation, the person may feel
Speaker 1: they have to hide their feelings or move on faster
Speaker 1: than feels right. Meanwhile, the absence of simple gestures like
Speaker 1: a card or a conversation can make the sorrow sit heavier.
Speaker 1: In fact, the lack of acknowledgment does not erase the
Speaker 1: attachment that existed. Instead, it can intensify the pain because
Speaker 1: the grief has nowhere to land in daily life. Take
Speaker 1: miscarriage as one example. The person may have carried hopes
Speaker 1: and plans, yet family or friends sometimes treat it as
Speaker 1: a private medical event rather than a death. Pet loss
Speaker 1: offers another clear case. A companion animal often provides daily
Speaker 1: comfort and routine, yet some workplaces or social circles dismiss
Speaker 1: the sadness as overreaction. Job loss works as a third example.
Speaker 1: The role may have shaped identity and community, yet comments
Speaker 1: about finding something new can close off space to name
Speaker 1: the real sense of rupture. In each instance, the common
Speaker 1: thread remains the same society withholds permission to grieve, so
Speaker 1: the person wonders whether their feelings count. However, the attachment
Speaker 1: itself does not disappear simply because others stay silent. Therefore,
Speaker 1: the sorrow can circle back in unexpected moments, such as mourning, dread,
Speaker 1: or sudden waves of guilt. That said, the experience does
Speaker 1: not mean the loss holds less, meaning it simply means
Speaker 1: the support structures around it stayed missing. On top of that,
Speaker 1: the person may second guess their own reactions because no
Speaker 1: one else names the loss out loud. Here's the thing.
Speaker 1: A story from my own life shows how this plays
Speaker 1: out in practice. A few years back, a close friend
Speaker 1: lost a pregnancy that had been kept quiet until the
Speaker 1: later months. When the news came, the circle around us
Speaker 1: offered little outward space to mark what had ended. I
Speaker 1: found myself sitting with the silence and noticing how the
Speaker 1: grief still demanded room even when the world kept moving.
Speaker 1: That moment stayed with me because it showed the definition
Speaker 1: in motion rather than on paper. The attachment remained real,
Speaker 1: and the missing acknowledgment made the days after feel more
Speaker 1: isolated than they needed to be. From there, the conversation
Speaker 1: can turn to what happens next when we name these losses. Anyway,
Speaker 1: I went through something similar a few years back, when
Speaker 1: my dog passed after twelve years together. He had been
Speaker 1: there through three apartment moves and several job changes that
Speaker 1: left me feeling unsteady. Yet, when I told a few
Speaker 1: co workers about it the next day, most of them
Speaker 1: said something like it was just a pet and I
Speaker 1: could always get another one soon. Because of those comments,
Speaker 1: I started telling myself the same thing. Even though the
Speaker 1: house felt completely empty at night, the quiet kept reminding
Speaker 1: me of his breathing next to my chair and the
Speaker 1: way he waited by the door every evening. However, I
Speaker 1: kept those details to myself because mentioning them seemed to
Speaker 1: make people uncomfortable. Meanwhile, this sadness did not line up
Speaker 1: with what anyone around me expected. I still went to
Speaker 1: work and answered emails, but the evenings stretched out longer
Speaker 1: than they used to. At one point, I even caught
Speaker 1: myself apologizing when someone asked how I was doing. The
Speaker 1: apology came out before I could stop it because part
Speaker 1: of me believed the loss should not take up that
Speaker 1: much space. Then, one afternoon, I read a description of
Speaker 1: grief that never receives outside permission. The words landed differently
Speaker 1: because they described exactly what had been happening. Although no
Speaker 1: one had said the loss was invalid out loud, the
Speaker 1: message had still come through in small ways. Therefore, I
Speaker 1: began to notice how often I had shortened my own
Speaker 1: stories about him. Instead of talking about the last walk
Speaker 1: we took, or the way he leaned against my leg
Speaker 1: when storms rolled through, I would simply say he was gone.
Speaker 1: That pattern changed once the right label sat in front
Speaker 1: of me. The relief arrived quietly at first. It showed
Speaker 1: up when I stopped editing every memory before it reached
Speaker 1: my mouth. Because as the experience finally had a name,
Speaker 1: I could stop measuring it against what other people seemed
Speaker 1: ready to hear. The same thing happened later, when a
Speaker 1: neighbor asked if I had plans for the weekend. I
Speaker 1: mentioned missing our morning routine, and she offered the usual
Speaker 1: line about time helping. This time, though I did not
Speaker 1: rush to agree. Instead, I let the sentence sit and
Speaker 1: then added that some days still felt heavier than others.
Speaker 1: The conversation did not last long, but it felt different
Speaker 1: because I had not hidden the feeling behind a quick nod.
Speaker 1: Over the next few weeks, I started keeping a small
Speaker 1: bowl of his favorite treats on the shelf, even though
Speaker 1: no one else would see them. The choice mattered because
Speaker 1: it belonged only to me and the bond we had shared.
Speaker 1: Since then, the term has come up again whenever someone
Speaker 1: describes a loss that gets brushed aside. A friend once
Speaker 1: talked about the end of a long engagement and how
Speaker 1: relatives kept saying, at least it happened before the wedding.
Speaker 1: The pattern matched what I had lived through because both
Speaker 1: situations carried real weight that others did not want to name.
Speaker 1: The relief still comes from the same place. Naming the
Speaker 1: grief gives the feeling somewhere to land instead of drifting
Speaker 1: inside unanswered. If a loss in your own life has
Speaker 1: felt smaller than it actually was because others could not
Speaker 1: see it, I would like to hear that story too.
Speaker 1: Your experience adds to this point in ways that matter.
Speaker 1: Will pause here for a short break. When we return,
Speaker 1: we will continue the conversation when we look at what
Speaker 1: Kenneth J. Doka laid out in his two thousand and
Speaker 1: two book Disenfranchised Grief, New Directions challenges and strategies for practice.
Speaker 1: He breaks the experience into five categories where recognition falls short.
Speaker 1: The first covers relationships that others do not count as real.
Speaker 1: A bond with a pet fits here because many people
Speaker 1: treat the connection as lesser, even though the daily presence
Speaker 1: shaped years of routine. The second category involves losses that
Speaker 1: society downplays or refuses to name as losses at all.
Speaker 1: Miscarriage sits in this group, since the absence stays private
Speaker 1: and conversations often skip over it. The third points to
Speaker 1: people whose grief others assume will not appear. Young children
Speaker 1: or older adults sometimes land here because surroundings expect them
Speaker 1: to bounce back without space to pause. The fourth includes
Speaker 1: deaths that carry stigma or silence, such as those tied
Speaker 1: to suicide or certain illnesses where talk itself feels restricted.
Speaker 1: The fifth looks at ways of showing grief that do
Speaker 1: not match what people expect, like quiet withdrawal instead of
Speaker 1: open tears or continued conversation with the person who died.
Speaker 1: In each case, the missing permission does not change how
Speaker 1: the sorrow moves through the body or mind. The process
Speaker 1: stays the same because the attachment informed over time, and
Speaker 1: the absence lands with weight, regardless of outside acknowledgment. When
Speaker 1: support stays absent, the internal work still requires moments to
Speaker 1: register the shift and to carry the connection forward in
Speaker 1: whatever form feels possible. My own experience with a dog
Speaker 1: followed that pattern, because the routines of feeding and walking
Speaker 1: created a steady presence that simply stopped one day. The
Speaker 1: sadness arrived in ordinary hours, and yet the people around
Speaker 1: me often changed the subject or offered quick reassurances that
Speaker 1: left the feeling untouched. Adams and colleagues reported findings in
Speaker 1: death studies during twenty eighteen that showed similar patterns around
Speaker 1: pet loss, with dismissal rates appearing often enough to leave
Speaker 1: owners questioning whether their response counted at all. Those results
Speaker 1: line up with the broader picture Doka described because the
Speaker 1: loss itself receives little room in daily talk. The absence
Speaker 1: of validation therefore adds a second layer that sits on
Speaker 1: top of the original sorrow without altering its core movement.
Speaker 1: Because the categories overlap in real life, one loss can
Speaker 1: touch more than one area at once. A person might
Speaker 1: face both an unrecognized relationship and an unrecognized way of
Speaker 1: grieving when they continue talking about the one who died
Speaker 1: long after others expect silence. Meanwhile, the internal steps of
Speaker 1: noticing the gap, remembering shared moments, and adjusting to a
Speaker 1: changed day still unfold at their own pace. The lack
Speaker 1: of outward permission can make those steps feel heavier or
Speaker 1: more hidden, yet the sequence does not disappear. In fact,
Speaker 1: the quiet nature of the grief sometimes leads to shortened
Speaker 1: stories or avoided mentions in conversation as a way to
Speaker 1: manage the mismatch with surroundings. Over time, that habit can
Speaker 1: leave the loss feeling even more separate from ordinary life. However,
Speaker 1: the attachment does not require public agreement to remain meaningful.
Speaker 1: The routines and memories continue to hold weight because they
Speaker 1: grow from actual shared time, rather than from approval by others. Therefore,
Speaker 1: when these situations arise, the steady work stays personal and
Speaker 1: private for a while. Some days the weight shows up
Speaker 1: in small reminders, like an empty chair or a mist habit.
Speaker 1: Other days, the absence stays in the background, yet still
Speaker 1: shapes how energy moves through ordinary tasks. The process itself
Speaker 1: does not speed up or slow down based on whether
Speaker 1: friends or family offer space. It moves according to the
Speaker 1: depth of the original connection and the way each person
Speaker 1: registers change. That said, the five categories help name why
Speaker 1: the experience can feel especially isolating without turning the isolation
Speaker 1: into something that must be fixed quickly. Naming the pattern
Speaker 1: simply offers a way to see the situation more clearly
Speaker 1: while the sorrow continues on its own terms. The same
Speaker 1: holds true when the loss involves anticipatory elements, such as
Speaker 1: watching a decline unfold before the final separation occurs. The
Speaker 1: categories still apply because the surrounding world may withhold recognition
Speaker 1: even as the internal preparation and worry build. Ultimately, the
Speaker 1: unchanged nature of the grief process means the same need
Speaker 1: for gentle acknowledgment appears whether the loss receives outside notice
Speaker 1: or not. Listeners have described these same patterns in their
Speaker 1: own words, and I want to bring some of those
Speaker 1: accounts forward now so the experience can sit in shared
Speaker 1: space for a few minutes. Many listeners have shared their
Speaker 1: own accounts of these quiet losses and the way they
Speaker 1: land when others look past them. One person wrote about
Speaker 1: losing a long time pet and how relatives kept saying
Speaker 1: it was time to move forward because it had only
Speaker 1: been an animal. They described sitting alone with the empty
Speaker 1: space in the house while everyone else returned to daily routines.
Speaker 1: The note ended with a question about whether the ache
Speaker 1: counted at all. Another submission came from someone who experienced
Speaker 1: a miscarriage early in a pregnancy. Friends offered brief sympathy,
Speaker 1: yet quickly changed the subject of future plans. That listener
Speaker 1: wondered why the sadness kept returning weeks later, even though
Speaker 1: the loss had never been named out loud. A third
Speaker 1: person described the slow decline of a neighbor they had
Speaker 1: checked on for years. When the neighbor passed, the wider
Speaker 1: circle offered no recognition because the relationship was not considered family.
Speaker 1: Each of these accounts points to the same pattern of
Speaker 1: isolation that follows when permission to grieve stays missing. Because
Speaker 1: the surrounding world offers little room for the feeling, the
Speaker 1: person often begins to question the response itself. Self. Doubt
Speaker 1: grows when the story gets shortened in conversation or skipped
Speaker 1: entirely during gatherings. Meanwhile, the body still registers the absence
Speaker 1: through restlessness at night or sudden tightness during ordinary tasks.
Speaker 1: Although the situations differ, the thread that runs through them
Speaker 1: stays consistent. The sorrow continues even and when no one
Speaker 1: else sees it. Since the earlier sections touched on pet
Speaker 1: loss and similar quiet endings, these notes fit the same
Speaker 1: picture without needing further explanation. The reality is that isolation
Speaker 1: does not erase the connection that existed. Instead, it can
Speaker 1: deepen the sense that the experience must stay hidden. Therefore,
Speaker 1: the doubt sometimes turns inward and the person wonders what
Speaker 1: is wrong with them for continuing to feel the weight.
Speaker 1: In other words, the lack of outward acknowledgment leaves the
Speaker 1: internal process without any steady reference point. However, the feelings
Speaker 1: themselves remain real and attached to the specific loss that occurred.
Speaker 1: Turning from these shared accounts, it helps to consider small
Speaker 1: steps that honor the experience without requiring anyone else to
Speaker 1: understand it. First. One approach involves setting aside a brief
Speaker 1: period each day to sit with the memory in whatever
Speaker 1: form it takes. This keeps the connection present rather than
Speaker 1: forcing it aside. For example, a listener might choose five
Speaker 1: minutes in the morning to hold a photograph or recall
Speaker 1: a single detail from the relationship. The focus stays on
Speaker 1: allowing the thought to arrive and then letting it pass
Speaker 1: without judgment. Because the practice stays short, it fits into
Speaker 1: days when energy feels low. Meanwhile, it offers a private
Speaker 1: space that does not depend on outside validation. Although the
Speaker 1: stories we read today carry different details, they all point
Speaker 1: back to the need for that private space. The common
Speaker 1: thread of self doubt lessens when the experience receives even
Speaker 1: a small amount of room. In fact, that room can
Speaker 1: be created without fanfare or explanation to others. Therefore, the
Speaker 1: next time the weight appears, the person already carries one
Speaker 1: simple way to meet it. Ultimately, the choice remains theirs
Speaker 1: to decide when and how to use it. Grief quiet
Speaker 1: reflection gives one such option. It takes five minutes upon
Speaker 1: waking and involves placing one hand on the chest while
Speaker 1: naming the loss in a single sentence. The sentence can
Speaker 1: change each day or stay the same. The point rests
Speaker 1: in the act of speaking at once, without adding any
Speaker 1: requirement to feel better afterward. Many people find that building
Speaker 1: something just for themselves makes room for the feelings to
Speaker 1: exist without explanation. Because the quiet losses often leave little
Speaker 1: space in daily life for that kind of honesty. Private
Speaker 1: rituals can take shape in small ways that stay between
Speaker 1: the person and the memory itself. Someone might choose a
Speaker 1: certain cup of tea each morning while thinking about the
Speaker 1: one who is gone, or set aside a few minutes
Speaker 1: to hold an object connected to that life. These actions
Speaker 1: need no audience, and they ask for no agreement from
Speaker 1: anyone else. The point remains that the ritual belongs only
Speaker 1: to the one carrying the grief. Because outside approval never
Speaker 1: defined the original connection, it does not need to define
Speaker 1: how the connection continues now. Some choose to repeat the
Speaker 1: same simple gesture at the same time each day, while
Speaker 1: others let the practice change as the days move forward.
Speaker 1: Either way, the choice stays internal, and that freedom matters
Speaker 1: when the wider world has already said the loss does
Speaker 1: not count. Journaling the lost story in full detail offers
Speaker 1: another private step that requires nothing from anyone else. Writing
Speaker 1: everything that happened from the first moment through every memory
Speaker 1: that still surfaces allows the experience to take its own
Speaker 1: shape on the page. The details can include the ordinary
Speaker 1: moments that others might overlook, or the words that were
Speaker 1: never spoken out loud. Because the page holds no judgment
Speaker 1: the writer can include the guilt, the anger, or the
Speaker 1: questions that stay unanswered. Many find that returning to the
Speaker 1: same notebook over several days helps because the story does
Speaker 1: not have to finish in one's Instead, the words can
Speaker 1: add themselves when new memories surface or when old ones
Speaker 1: feel different than they did before. The practice stays between
Speaker 1: the person and the paper, so the length and the
Speaker 1: tone remain entirely up to the writer. Finding one person
Speaker 1: or one online group that does validate the loss can
Speaker 1: ease some of the isolation that builds when others look
Speaker 1: past what happened. That single connection does not have to
Speaker 1: replace every relationship or explain the grief to the whole
Speaker 1: circle of family and friends. It simply offers a place
Speaker 1: where the loss receives the weight it already carries. Because
Speaker 1: the search for that kind of understanding can feel uncertain
Speaker 1: at first, it helps to start small by reaching out once,
Speaker 1: rather than trying to locate a whole community at once.
Speaker 1: Some listeners discover that groups focused on similar experiences provide
Speaker 1: that recognition without requiring explanations that never fit. Others prefer
Speaker 1: a single, trusted friend who listens without rushing to fix
Speaker 1: or compare. Either path works as long as the space
Speaker 1: stays open to the full truth of what was lost.
Speaker 1: These steps begin with giving yourself permission first, because the
Speaker 1: rest follows from that single choice to treat the grief
Speaker 1: as real, even when the surrounding voices do not. The
Speaker 1: permission can arrive quietly in the middle of an ordinary
Speaker 1: afternoon or during a restless night, when the mind returns
Speaker 1: again to the missing person or pet or future that
Speaker 1: will not happen. Once that inner allowance settles into place,
Speaker 1: the private ritual, the written pages, and the search for
Speaker 1: one validating voice each become possible without apology. We will
Speaker 1: take a short break now and return shortly. The absence
Speaker 1: of social recognition does not make the grief less real
Speaker 1: because others may look away or change the subject. The
Speaker 1: sorrow still moves through the body in the same way.
Speaker 1: It still asks for space and attention even when no
Speaker 1: one else offers it. However, the quiet nature of this
Speaker 1: experience often leads back to those old doubts. When they surface.
Speaker 1: It helps to meet them with a gentle word instead
Speaker 1: of another question about whether the feeling counts. Speaking kindly
Speaker 1: to yourself in that moment changes how the day unfolds.
Speaker 1: You might pause and simply say that the loss mattered
Speaker 1: and that the response makes sense. This small act builds
Speaker 1: on the private steps already in place, such as returning
Speaker 1: to a journal or setting aside time for a simple ritual.
Speaker 1: Because those practices belong only to you, they create room
Speaker 1: for the truth of what happened without needing outside approval. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: patience with the timeline of grief applies here too. The
Speaker 1: process does not follow a schedule set by anyone else,
Speaker 1: and it does not need to match what others expect.
Speaker 1: Although the world may move on, the connection you carry
Speaker 1: stays steady in its own rhythm. Therefore, giving yourself that
Speaker 1: same allowance keeps the weight from growing heavier through self judgment.
Speaker 1: Over time, these moments of kindness add up. They let
Speaker 1: the story of the loss sit without pressure to shrink
Speaker 1: or disappear. The reality is that each person finds their
Speaker 1: way through these quiet losses at a pace that fits
Speaker 1: their own life. Looking ahead, there remains room for more
Speaker 1: days where the grief feels held rather than hidden. You
Speaker 1: are not alone in carrying a loss that others may
Speaker 1: overlook or dismiss without meaning to. Many people have described
Speaker 1: the same quiet weight after a pet dies or a
Speaker 1: relationship ends without ceremony, those stories remind us that the
Speaker 1: absence of recognition does not reduce what the connection meant.
Speaker 1: Because the practices we discussed earlier, such as private journaling
Speaker 1: or a small daily ritual, belong only to you. They
Speaker 1: can create space for the feelings to stay without needing
Speaker 1: outside approval. While the days still shift between heavy and
Speaker 1: lighter moments, patience with yourself continues to matter. If stories
Speaker 1: like this help you understand the weight of disenfranchised grief,
Speaker 1: join our Supporters Club for three dollars a month, add
Speaker 1: free listening and early episodes. Independent media only stays alive
Speaker 1: when listeners back it. You can find the link to
Speaker 1: join in the episode description. If this episode resonated, professional
Speaker 1: support can offer additional steadiness when the isolation lingers. Next week,
Speaker 1: we will turn to grief that arrives before a loss happens,
Speaker 1: and how it can sit alongside daily life. Meanwhile, if
Speaker 1: your own experience fits this theme, reach out and share
Speaker 1: your story through the contact form on our site. Hearing
Speaker 1: from listeners shapes what we explore together. Until then, keep
Speaker 1: honoring the quiet parts of your grief in whatever way
Speaker 1: feels true right now,