The Obligation That Comes With Grief

Grief, in theory, is meant to be personal. In practice, it rarely is.

Loss arrives quietly and violently at the same time. It dismantles the familiar rhythm of life and leaves behind a rawness that words cannot hold. And yet, almost immediately, grief becomes something that is watched, assessed, commented on, and shaped by others. There seems to be an unspoken script for how grief should look, sound, and move through the body. Particularly in the context I grew up in, grief does not just belong to the person who has lost. It belongs to the family, the community, the neighbourhood, and sometimes even to distant acquaintances.

There is care in this, no doubt. There is history, culture, and collective wisdom. But there is also pressure and obligation.

People often struggle to tolerate the discomfort that death brings. Sitting with grief means sitting with uncertainty, helplessness, and the reminder of our own mortality. So instead, we act. We do something. We show up with food, advice, rituals, phone calls, and constant checking in. We fill the silence because silence feels unbearable.

In many households, grief is immediately surrounded by people. Someone is always calling. Someone is always coming over. Food arrives in abundance. Messages keep coming in asking, “How are you holding up?” or “Are you being strong?” Advice follows quickly. What to eat. What not to do. How long to cry. When to stop crying. When to resume normal life.

I understand that these gestures come from care. But I wonder if they also come from a deep discomfort with grief as it truly is. Grief that is messy. Grief that does not perform sadness in recognisable ways. 

There is an expectation to look bereaved. To cry visibly. To withdraw in ways that make sense to others. To grieve in public, so that grief can be acknowledged, validated, and then, eventually, resolved. If you do not cry enough, concern follows. If you cry too much, worry and corrections will arrive. If you want solitude, it is seen as unhealthy. If you want normalcy, it is seen as denial. There is a subtle violence in forcing grief to perform. In demanding visible proof of sadness. In expecting someone to show us their pain so that we feel reassured that loss has been appropriately acknowledged. It places the burden of making others comfortable on the person who is already carrying loss.

Traditional practices around grief were meant to hold people. Community mourning, shared rituals, collective remembrance all served an important function, especially in times when survival depended on collective living. These practices offered containment and meaning. They told people: you are not alone in this loss. But somewhere along the way, these practices have also become rigid. What was meant to support has sometimes turned into something that constrains. What was meant to walk alongside grief now often tries to direct it. Can we sit with the discomfort of not fixing, not advising, not filling every moment with presence? Can we trust that someone else’s way of grieving does not need our constant intervention?

Grief can be quieter, embodied and private. What if someone does not want to cry in front of others? What if they want to work, create, move, or even feel moments of joy alongside their grief? Does that make their grief less real? Community support does not have to mean constant access. Care does not have to mean correction. Love does not have to mean surveillance.

Grief asks for honesty. It asks us to notice our own discomfort with death and loss. It asks us to recognize when our need to help is actually a need to soothe ourselves. And it asks us to make room for difference. There is no single right way to grieve. There never was.

Perhaps the most compassionate thing we can offer is permission. Permission to grieve loudly or quietly. Traditionally or differently. In company or alone. Permission to not perform sadness. Permission to exist with loss in ways that may never fully make sense to others.

About the Author:

Mugdha Shivapurkar is curious about how people live, feel, and make meaning within the worlds they come from. Trained as a Psychologist and Art Psychotherapist, she is interested in how inner lives are shaped by relationships and culture. This piece is her first attempt at writing emerging from lived experience and observation.