Knowing Your Worth While Grieving

Life can be interesting

For the last three years, life has been… interesting. I’ve learned what it means to keep living—to keep moving forward through moments you never imagined you’d have to endure. For me, that has meant walking through grief. Grief from losing the closest man I’ve known since birth, my father, Ricky Gibson… and grief from losing a nephew I watched grow from day one, my nephew, Colin Hill. Even as I type this, there are tears in my eyes.

Grief, yes, is a part of life. But grieving in your “own” life is something entirely different. Grief becomes a part of your home—like an unwanted guest in your room you can’t ignore. Because if you ignore it, it will eventually take over the whole house.

My experiences with death have been deeply personal. I have stood in the room as relatives took their last breaths. I’ve heard the machines shut off. I’ve watched the doctor walk in and pronounce the moment their life ended. I’ve kissed cold foreheads—moments I wish on no one. These painful, heart‑wrenching memories have become a part of my life story. The pain, the cycle of grief—from denial to acceptance—forces you to acknowledge that life will never be the same. And you, my friend, will never be the same either. That version of you is gone. Whether for better or worse, you are not who you once were.

The father who called me every year an hour after his birthday on December 8th to sing me the longest, most dramatic, hysterical “Happy Birthday” will never call again. My birthday month has not been the same since 2023, the year he passed. And my hardworking, service‑minded nephew—who used to run outside to grab bags from my car—is now a memory.

Grief is not an illness. It is a part of all of our lives. And I am living proof that the emotional and mental weight of losing someone you love does not have to be the end of your life.

What I’ve learned is this: facing the pain gives you room to heal. Running from grief—this “unwanted guest”—only harms your mental and emotional state. Facing it is what begins the healing process. Healing is not instant. It moves at the pace of your own process. It is not a timeline, not a deadline, not a rulebook saying you shouldn’t cry past three years. Grieving does not expire.

I learned much of this through a Grief Share Life Group at my church in the spring of 2024. It helped me confront the reality of close loved ones I’ve lost, it helps me honor their lives, and cherish the memories I had with them. They are alive with those memories.

I don’t know if grief will ever fully leave the room, but I do know this: I can live with it without letting it take over the whole house. Grief may have a room, but it does not own the home.”

I’ve decided to be kind to this unwanted guest—to acknowledge it, sit with it, and give it what it needs so that one day, as I heal, I can help others face their own guest named Grief.

Below are The 5 Stages of Grief (Kübler‑Ross Model) — Explained

How Does This Relate to Knowing Your Worth?

Understanding how grief affects your mind and body is the first step. Grief impacts everything. If you’re someone always on the go, grief forces you to slow down. You don’t “bounce back” the same—and that’s okay.

For the last 4–5 months, I’ve been talking about the dangers of performance mode. We humans slip into it easily. I talk about this in my book Know Your Worth Within. Being strong, capable, resilient—able to “strap your boots up and keep it pushing”—can lead to crashing like a hot-air balloon that suddenly loses its fire if you’re using performance to avoid pain.

Through the Word of God and prayer, I am grateful I haven’t shut down, imploded, or blown up these last few years. That’s only because over the years I’ve separated the performance of what I do to allow myself to understand the core of who I am, isn’t in what I do or can perform. With that being my foundation, the help of the holy spirit and Grief Share, I was able to face the pain. I’ve learned my worth is not in what I do; it is in who I am in God.

Why does this matter while grieving? Because grief changes how you function. It changes what you can do. And not being able to “perform” the way you used to does not make you unworthy. It simply makes you human.

Healing requires honesty. I have allowed myself to cry—deep cries, soft cries, unexpected cries. And I’ve allowed myself to be human. I’ve given myself grace to not feel okay all the time. Even as someone whose strength is positivity, I have chosen to feel my feelings. We are not robots. God gave us emotions for a reason. And when we let Him into our weakness, He brings light, life, and strength.

Grief stands in your room until you look it in the eyes. That is exactly what I had to do—feel the pain. You cannot move forward in a healthy, healed way if you do not acknowledge your hurt. Busyness, substances, distractions—none of these fill the void. Only the sovereign grace of Jesus Christ can hold you when you have no answers. And lately, I have had no answers. But I know the One who gives peace, grace, and strength when I don’t know what to do. In my weakness, I am made strong.

II Corinthians 12:9 And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

This is how I’m able to stay on the wall in prayer, stay in position, stay on the path, and stay in step with what God has called me to do and be. Gratitude plays a huge role in healing well and grieving in a healthy way. I’m now able to look back with gratefulness for the years God lent me my father and my nephew. What beautiful years they were—and what amazing memories I now get to honor for the rest of my life.

Both of them carried a strong gift of service and an incredible work ethic. And even though I still tear up and have my human moments, I can honor their lives through sharing their stories and remembering them with my mother, siblings, loved ones, and friends. Having a community in the midst of grief is truly priceless.

What you see in me is nothing but the grace and strength of God. I’ve learned that His power is made strong in my weakness. So let God in—right there, in your weakness.