Notes from Erin

“When You Don’t Even Want to Go”

A couple weeks ago, we got invited to something.
Nothing big-just a few friends, food, laughter.
The kind of night that used to sound fun.

But I stared at the text and thought,
I don’t want to go.

And not in the “I’m tired” kind of way.
In the “I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m okay” kind of way.

Before grief, I was the one who showed up early, stayed late, started the laughter.
Now, even getting ready feels like dragging through mud.
The idea of small talk feels like running a marathon.

Because when you’ve been through loss, joy can feel foreign.
You can love people and still not want to be around them.
You can miss connection and still crave quiet.
You can know it might help and still not want to go.

Grief changes how much energy life takes.
It’s not just sadness-it’s the emotional cost of holding it together.

So sometimes, you don’t go.
And that’s okay.
Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is stay home and let your soul rest.

Other times, you push yourself a little-
not because you “should,”
but because a small part of you remembers what connection feels like,
and you want to believe it’s still there.

Both choices are part of healing.
Both count as courage.

Because grief doesn’t always look like crying.
Sometimes it just looks like sitting in the driveway,
keys in hand,
deciding if you can show up for life today.