Even I am guilty of comparing grief to a journey, but let me explain why that isn’t so. There is no destination. It’s a transformation, a change, or for some an all-out halt to who you were. It brands you, leaves a mark on your spirit. Some of us are better than others at masking that brand over time, which is why it is different for everyone.

It’s like Snow White and The Seven Drawfs are all taking turns with the wheel, but these are characters we’ve never seen before. Say goodbye to Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, and Dopey. You’ll look in the mirror on any given day and see Lost, Angry, Sorrow, Insomniac, Withdrawn, Confused, and Mopey.

People don’t talk about all the different versions of yourself that develop in such short periods of time. For me, I started with anger. The loss of a parent made me mad at the world, myself, and everyone close by. This coincided with bitterness, which overfilled my cup on more days than I’d like to admit. It devastated my character, my willpower—everything. It reduced me to nothing some days.

I transitioned between that and confusion. It’s a comprehension issue; you cannot fathom the loss. Some days you’re a blur, simply going through the motions. You will want. Simple as that. You’ll want so much but won’t be able to explain a thing. You’ll want that lump in your throat to dissipate. You’ll want one more chance, memory, something. You’ll want to quit crying, or maybe you’ll want to stop being angry. The fact of the matter is you’ll want many things but not one single thing will fix the grief.

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I felt like I developed an identity crisis at the moment of my loss. I was at the grocery store and glanced at the self-checkout camera and saw someone broken but still going through the motions of everyday life because life never stops for anyone. It gave me perspective. As I pumped my gas afterward, I watched people going on about their days, and I thought to myself that not one single person knew that me, a stranger, had just suffered a devastating blow in her life. It made me wonder how many times I have crossed paths with someone in my shoes.

I’d say I used this experience to be the best version of myself every day and that I am kind to everyone because I gained perspective through these events, but that would be a lie. I try to be those things, but if anything, I have learned why people aren’t always good to others. The empathy I gained for people in a bad mood out in public or those who always seem so naturally bitter is astonishing. I found myself wondering, “Did they lose someone, too?”

You learn a lot about yourself in short periods of time. You suddenly learn if you like to face reality head-on or if you’ll seek comfort in vices. I’ve witnessed people take either path. The biggest change I felt in myself was the line where my patience rested. Suddenly, it felt very, very thin. What felt small to others, felt enormous for me. Simple things controlled my day because my grief had worn me down so much.

Before it feels like I’ve brought nothing but bad news, please understand that I feel like I have been on this ride all this time so that I can gather my thoughts to prepare others for their own transformation in grief. If someone could have warned me that I would see so many versions of myself looking back in the mirror, I would have spent less time questioning if it was normal and more time coping with my loss. I somehow felt like I was grieving wrong because some days I could function and others I could not.

I’m here to say it is okay to be mad, confused, and lost if that is what you want to feel. It is all too often that society tells us to keep pushing and stay positive right from the start because in death there is also sometimes the comfort of knowing there is no more pain for those we have lost. There are so many expectations from the world around us to behave in a specific way in the midst of pain. Throw those expectations out the window and create your own standards for grief. If your goal is to shower and eat every day, do just that. If your goal is to not stop working or moving, don’t lose your momentum.

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Those who are further down the path of grief shout back at others who are taking their first steps, forgetting how it felt to begin the process in the first place. If I could tell myself something before I suffered this loss it would be, “It’s okay to feel it.”

Enduring grief as a parent is also an entire realm of its own. Much like I needed those groceries and gas despite the pain I was feeling inside, grieving with little witnesses caused me the most confusion. My babies understood something was wrong, but I couldn’t give the full extent of what exactly had mommy acting unlike her usual self. We still had to bathe, eat, and sleep in a normal routine and this motivated me to stay out of bed when I just wanted to ignore reality.

It is now two years down the line, and somehow, I have come out of this entire process branded with grief but inspired to do more with my own life. I gained momentum to be happier in my everyday life because I no longer wanted to risk wasting my time, especially with my husband and children. I had hobbies, skills, and knowledge not used for an entire decade of my 20s that have somehow come back to me in my everyday life since I gained this new perspective. I have learned that sometimes grief will creep into your life when you least expect it and how it affects you is entirely your own choice.