Why I Chose to Specialise in Grief, Loss and Trauma

When I qualified as a counsellor twelve years ago, I didn't set out with a clear plan to become a grief counsellor or trauma therapist. Like many big decisions in my life, the path I followed was shaped by my own personal experiences.

My decision to specialise in this area began with a book: Staring at the Sun by psychiatrist and existential therapist, Irvin D. Yalom. It may sound cliché, but this book genuinely changed my life.

The title comes from a seventeenth-century proverb suggesting that there are two things human beings cannot do: stare directly at the sun or stare directly at death. Yalom proposes that by confronting our mortality by metaphorically "staring at the sun", we may begin to live more meaningful and authentic lives.

He also suggests that many experiences of anxiety, dissatisfaction, depression, relationship difficulties, or struggles around significant life transitions may, at least in part, be connected to an underlying awareness of our own mortality. Questions such as Am I living the life I wanted? Have I wasted time?, or What really matters? 

So, the theory came first, but then came my own experience of profound loss.

I lost someone who was deeply important to me. The relationship itself was complicated, which made both the lead up to their death and my grief afterwards equally complex. It was not a peaceful death. It was traumatic, painful, and deeply sad.

Of course, all deaths carry sadness, but some losses leave us with unanswered questions, unfinished conversations, and feelings that are difficult to put into words. I was there when they took their last breath, yet I never truly had the opportunity to say goodbye. As I have already said, it was complicated.

Afterwards, I found myself reflecting on the many other losses I had experienced throughout my life: friends, family members, beloved pets (Bruce), relationships and parts of myself. Some deaths were expected; others came suddenly. Some involved older people, others people who were far too young. Some losses occurred through suicide.

I also began to think about the many forms that grief can take. We do not only grieve people. We grieve relationships, friendships, identities, careers, hopes, dreams and versions of ourselves that we thought would exist. As I said (well, as Yalom said), loss can touch every aspect of our lives.

And then I thought about my clients.

As a counsellor for over twelve years, I have had the privilege of sitting alongside people during some of the most vulnerable and painful moments of their lives. As hard as it can be, it is a profound honour to accompany people through such deeply human experiences.

But at times, grief reminds us that there is no solution to offer. I cannot remove someone's pain or problem-solve their grief. Grief is not something that needs fixing.

What I can do is be present.

I can sit with people in their pain. I can talk openly about death, trauma and loss. I can offer a space where every thought, feeling and reaction is welcome, including the

complicated ones.

Because grief is often complicated.

Sometimes we feel relief alongside sadness. Sometimes there is anger, guilt, resentment, regret or unfinished business. Sometimes we deeply miss someone while also acknowledging that the relationship was difficult. All of these experiences are valid.

Specialising in grief, loss and trauma has taught me that healing does not mean forgetting, "moving on," or returning to who we were before. Significant losses change us – we learn to move forward, and to live around grief. It is often a gradual and slow process that deserves patience, compassion and respect.

This is why I chose to specialise in grief, loss and trauma counselling.

Because I have experienced and have seen how profoundly these experiences can affect a person's life, and I have also witnessed the healing that can occur when someone no longer has to face them alone.