The Grief I Was Afraid to Feel

The Grief I Was Afraid to Feel

featured in The Open Letters | by Claudia Sindoni Bonilla

The open Letters

Oct 12, 2026

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From

Claudia Sindoni Bonilla

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A Grief Observed

The past two years of my life have been nothing short of challenging: my dad was diagnosed with blood cancer, my twin sister with breast cancer, then my grandpa died a slow and painstaking death, and the relationship I hoped would end in marriage and children ended in a break up.

There is no escaping grief: it’s like a wet, sticky blanket that clings to you, no matter how determined you are to get it off and get on with life. It’s like walking around mildly drunk: well enough to play pretend, yet unable to do much more than think about the awful headache you have, probably brought on by the million and a half thoughts you’ve avoided. This was my grief, finally observed.

Accepting the Uncertainty

If you had read my journal from just over two years ago, it would have most definitely gone to great lengths to describe my ideal future. It would have read something like, “My sister and I live in Puerto Rico, I am married and starting my big family of four children, which my partner, my parents and I are all so excited about, I have opened a school, and everything has finally fallen into place.”

It’s hard accepting that my life doesn’t look like this. It’s even harder accepting that my life

may never look like this

. Yet, an unfamiliar peace came over me once I accepted this uncertainty. It compelled me to reimagine a life where I was content, regardless of the

external outcome. I don’t think I had ever, consciously, tried that before. “Do not let your happiness depend on something you may lose,” C. S. Lewis says.

The Dark Shadow Monster

As a child I was convinced that from bedtime til dawn, a dark shadow monster hovered by my bedroom door. The minute I looked in its direction, I believed it would swoop down and pounce. Unable to fall asleep, I would do everything

except

look in the direction of my bedroom door: I would look up at the ceiling, squeeze my eyes shut as I rolled over, then stare at the wall. I would cover my head under the bedsheets, then

steal a peak at the door through the mirror. My avoidance tactics never did make the fear of the monster go away.

The grief I felt was similar. I feared that if I finally looked my grief in the eyes, it would overcome me, devour me and I would be left a hollow shell of myself. By the time I finally did come around to acknowledging this new dark shadow monster, it nearly did swallow me whole.

It hurt to consider the wrong I had done: the years I had spent away from my dad or avoiding my sister, the months I had spent ignoring my grandpa because I didn’t want to hear him complain about taxes for the one hundredth time, the role I had played in the demise of my romantic relationship and in my partner’s pain. It hurt to acknowledge how much my grief resembled the fear that maybe I was, in fact, the dark shadow monster I had been hiding from.

But those days passed. I can’t tell you how or when, but they did. I realized there is no shadow monster, just people who loved, which means people capable of experiencing great pain and inflicting great hurt. “To love at all is to be vulnerable.” I think I am nearing the end of my grief observed.

About the Author:

Claudia is a progressive educator and graduate student at Columbia University, where she studies psychology. Her interests lie at the intersection of education, human behavior, and the ways we learn, grow, and understand one another.

Substack ID:

Claudia Sindoni Bonilla

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