I never would have thought of myself as “grieving.”

If you’d asked, I would have said I was restless. Nervous. Numb. Bored. I would have said that I didn’t feel much of anything.

But I wouldn’t have called it grief.

Not because it wasn’t there, but because I couldn’t see it.

I’ve just begun to notice something: every day I go back to the same memories. When I shave or brush my teeth, I often think about the individuals I’ve lost. Friends that passed away too soon. Jobs that slipped away. Things from my childhood that still hurt, like waiting for my dad to show up and then realizing, again, that he wouldn’t.

It’s not dramatic… nor overwhelming. It’s just always there. Like noise in the background that I’ve learned to deal with.

And for the first time, I think I understand: this is grief.
Not loud. Not visible. Just quiet, heavy, and constantly there.

The Lungs and the Spirit of Grief

Each organ system in Daoist medicine has a physical function, an emotional tone, and a spiritual significance. The Lungs are linked to:

• Breathing
• The skin and boundaries
• The process of letting go
• And most importantly, grief

The Lungs stay open when grief is completely felt and expressed. Breathing is easy. Sadness can come and go like a wave. But when grief is buried, suppressed, and never allowed to move through, Lung qi gets weak or stagnant. The breath gets shorter. The chest tightens. The emotions collapse inward.

Some common signs of Lung imbalance are:

• A weak or breathy voice
• Recurrent colds, bronchitis, or sinus problems
• Waking up between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m.
• Skin sensitivities
• Having trouble letting go—of people, roles, memories, pain
• And a strange flatness where tears should be

I can clearly see how the Lung pattern has been with me all along as I look back. As a child, I was often sick. I have a thin chest. As I’ve gotten older, my voice has gotten more breathy. And I’ve never really learned how to let my sadness move through me. I’ve been doing acupuncture on myself for decades, and to be honest, I’ve rarely used the Lung channel. I guess I’ve always been a little scared of it.
I think I know why now.

When Grief Hides in the Background

Not everyone who’s grieving cries or has a broken heart. Grief can show up in a number of ways, such as:

• A general lack of interest in things
• Losing joy in things we used to love
• Morning routines that are haunted by old memories
• An inexplicable tension in the chest that won’t go away

For trauma survivors especially, grief is often inaccessible—not because it’s not there, but because the body learned it wasn’t safe to feel it.

As a child, we often have to bypass our pain to survive. We push it down because we don’t have a space to express it. There was no one there to witness it. No one to say, “Yes, this hurts.” And “No, you’re not weird for feeling this way.”

But just because we avoid it doesn’t mean grief goes away. It speaks in other ways, such through the body, the breath, and feelings of numbness and apathy. It stays hidden until it thinks it’s safe to come out.

How I’m Starting to Feel It

It’s hard to tell what changed. Maybe I’ve just been quiet long enough to hear it now. Maybe I can finally see that the melancholy I feel isn’t a weakness in my personality; it’s just something that’s still there. Grief that was never felt and never had a witness.

I still can’t always name it. I still struggle to cry. But I can see it. I can notice it when I want to scroll through sad memories. I can notice how often I wake up about 3 a.m. with constricted Lungs and a tense or hot body. I can tell when I feel heavy for no reason.

And instead of pushing it away, I might ask myself, “Is this grief?” Is this something that’s ready to be seen now?

That’s where I am. Not attempting to make it better. Not trying to heal everything at once. I’m just starting to see it.

Maybe You’re Carrying Invisible Grief Too

If you struggle with apathy, disconnection, or a vague ache you can’t explain—there’s a chance grief is living underneath it all.

Not loud grief.
Not visible grief.
But the sort that’s quiet. The type that never got to be felt.

You don’t need to force it out. You don’t have to make it into something.
Just pay attention to it.
Sit next to it.
Give it some space.