What Would You Do? Blog Series
What if hope still has a place here, too?
We’ve made it to Blog 5 in the What Would You Do? grief and healing series.
So far, we’ve gathered tools:
🧰 A Resilience Toolkit
👯 A Supportive Community
😂 Permission to Laugh
🎨 Creativity as Expression
Today’s tool? The one that might feel hardest of all: hope.
More specifically—daring to dream again.
Dare to Dream Again
Letting Hope Have a Seat at the Table
When your life has been shattered by loss, the future can feel… blank. Heavy. Like it’s too painful to imagine anything at all.
But part of healing is eventually letting yourself ask:
“What could come next?”
Even if you’re not ready to answer.
Even if the dream feels small.
Even if it makes you cry to say it out loud.
Why Dreaming Feels Hard After Loss
💔 You don’t trust the future anymore.
You’ve seen how fast everything can change.
🧠 Your brain is in survival mode.
When you’re just trying to get through the day, dreaming feels like a luxury.
😔 You feel guilty for wanting more.
As if dreaming again dishonors your grief or the person you’ve lost.
But here’s the truth:
Dreaming doesn’t mean forgetting.
It means you’re learning to carry both love and hope in the same heart.
Grief Tip from My Heart:
Start small.
🌱 A hobby you’ve always wanted to try
🗺 A place you want to visit—even if it’s just looking at photos
📚 A book you want to write, read, or start
💡 A goal that feels too tiny to count (but totally does)
Write one dream down. That’s it. That’s enough.
Let hope peek its head through the door.
Why It Matters
Dreaming again means you're reconnecting with yourself—not betraying your grief.
Your dreams might be different now. They might look messier, softer, simpler.
But they still count.
And they still deserve room.
Ask Yourself:
What’s one thing I used to dream about that still makes my heart flutter—just a little?
Call to Action:
💬 Share one quiet dream in the comments—no matter how small.
🕊 Tag a friend who's helped you start dreaming again.
Next up? We’re diving into Rediscovering Joy in the Small Moments. Because healing doesn’t always roar—it often whispers.