🩵 When Grief Seeks a Villain 🩵

In moments of heartbreak, it’s natural for the human heart to search for meaning.

We want to understand what happened.

We want to stop the pain.

We want somewhere to direct the rage and sorrow that feel too big to hold.

And often, in that reaching, we look for someone to blame.

But I want to invite a pause here.

A breath.

A zooming out.

Because sometimes the very act of blaming—of making someone the villain—is not the healing balm we think it will be.

It’s the survival response of grief searching for control in a moment where everything feels lost.

But here’s what I know deep in my bones:

Grief is not wrong.

Anger is not wrong.

But weaponizing pain rarely leads us toward healing.

When we allow grief to fully move through us—not bypassing it, not sugar-coating it, not intellectualizing it—but truly feeling it…

We begin to remember something deeper:

That what we actually need in those moments is love.

Not cancel culture.

Not character assassination.

Not takedowns.

Love.

Love for the ones we’ve lost.

Love for the ones left behind.

Love for ourselves, even in our messiest expressions.

The Law of Attraction teaches that what we give our attention to expands.

That our energy, focus, and intention help shape our lived reality.

So if we focus our grief into vengeance or destruction, we build a world shaped by those energies.

But if we channel our heartbreak into remembrance, connection, and love…

Then that is the world we are inviting into form.

This doesn’t mean we ignore harm or silence our boundaries.

This doesn’t mean we bypass injustice.

But it does mean we check in:

Is what I’m doing bringing more love into the world, or more harm?

Do I have the full story?

Is this expression rooted in curiosity and truth, or in projection and pain?

Nonviolent Communication (NVC) can be a lighthouse in these stormy moments.

It asks us to strip away accusations and speak from the core of our needs.

To name what we’re feeling without placing blame.

To return to humanity, even when it feels impossibly hard.

Because when we zoom out—past the noise, past the grief, past the projections—we remember what really matters:

This villainization isn’t it.

This isn’t the legacy we came to leave.

This isn’t the timeline our hearts came to co-create.

We came to weave love.

To restore safety.

To build spaces where grief is honored, but not turned into fuel for destruction.

So if you are hurting—if your chest feels cracked open, if you don’t know where to place your pain—

Place it here.

In the sacred container of your breath.

In the ground beneath your feet.

In the arms of someone who can witness you without trying to fix you.

And from that place—regulate, reflect, and then choose.

What do I want to build from this?

What reality do I want to expand?

Let the answer be shaped by love, not fear.

Let us grieve.

Let us rage.

Let us love.

And let us remember that the world we create begins with the words we choose, the thoughts we think, and the ways we show up for one another—especially when it’s hard.