Finding My Way Through Grieving Grove

Wayne Mylin
May 4
4 min read

Updated: May 9

It's not a pretty place. Not a place you would visit on purpose. If you’ve found yourself here — deep in the Grieving Grove — you’re not alone. At some point in life, we all find ourselves here.

You may not remember how you got here. One moment, life was moving forward. Next, it was as if the path gave out beneath you. The plans, the dreams, the sense of stability — unraveling slowly over time or gone in an instant. And now, you’re standing still in unfamiliar territory. There’s no clear way forward. Just silence. And sorrow.

The Grieving Grove is one of the oldest places in the wilderness of life. Everyone walks through it at some point, though few of us come prepared. Grief can come from death, yes — but also from heartbreak, illness, lost opportunities, identity shifts, even the quiet letting go of plans and expectations that will never be.

I remember my first time in the Grove. It was a rough and scary experience. I hadn’t packed for it. I didn’t know the terrain. Everything I thought I understood — about trust, about love, about how the world worked — had collapsed overnight. There was no trail. No compass. Just pain, confusion, and the creeping sense that I might never find my way out.

It was terrifying. But I did find my way through — not by avoiding the pain, but by learning to walk with it.

What Grief Really Is

Grief is often misunderstood. It’s not just sadness, and it’s definitely not a weakness. It’s an intelligent, necessary process of emotional and neurological integration. Grief allows us to adjust to a new reality, to slowly reweave the inner map that’s been torn to pieces.

Psychologically, grief can stir up a mix of reactions: shock, sadness, anger, disbelief, numbness, guilt, and longing. It can impact sleep, appetite, memory, and our ability to concentrate. It can feel like disorientation — like you were dropped into an unfamiliar forest with no idea which direction leads home.

In the wilderness metaphor, grief is a distinct terrain — a grove of stillness, thick with emotion and memory. But the Grove rarely stands alone. Right beside it lie Betrayal Bog, Anger Abyss, and Memory Hollow. They’re all part of the landscape. If you’ve visited one, you’ve likely wandered through the others.

It’s important to know this: grief is not a detour. It is the path. It’s not something to conquer or bypass. It’s something to meet, to sit with, to understand. And in time, to move through.

Using Emotional Intelligence as a Map

In the Explorer Metaphor that shapes my coaching and community, emotional intelligence is your Map — the inner terrain you get to know and learn to read. In the Grieving Grove, taking time to map out the details is essential.

When I was first there, I couldn’t name anything I was feeling. All I knew was pain. It wasn’t until I began gently labeling my emotional experience that I started to feel slightly more grounded. I wasn’t just lost — I was grieving. I wasn’t weak — I was wounded. I wasn’t broken — I was becoming.

The more I came to understand my emotional territory, the less afraid I was of it and the better I was at navigating it.

🔍 Map Notes from the Grieving Grove

Emotion	What It Might Feel Like	What It’s Pointing To
Sadness	“Everything I loved is gone.”	The loss itself
Betrayal	“I didn’t see this coming.”	Shattered trust
Anger	“This isn’t fair.”	A violated boundary or unmet need
Numbness	“I don’t feel anything.”	Overwhelm; a protection mechanism
Longing	“I just want it back.”	The connection or meaning you had

Naming our emotions doesn’t take the pain away, but it gives us a sense of orientation. It helps us recognize where we are, which is the first step to finding our footing.

Lessons from the Grove

What I know now, years after my first walk through the Grieving Grove, is that grief is not the enemy. It’s not dangerous. It’s not trying to destroy you. It’s trying to teach you how to live with loss — and still choose life.

I’ve learned:

You can survive the ache, even when it feels unbearable.
Grief has its own seasons — you can’t rush spring while it’s still winter.
Avoiding grief prolongs it. Meeting it and sitting down with it creates space for healing.
Grief is a teacher — harsh and wise — who shows you what truly mattered.

And I’ve learned to trust that you don’t have to be “strong” to move forward. You just have to be willing to sit, breathe, and feel — one day at a time.

Each person develops their own way of being in the Grove. For some, it’s journaling. For others, walking, crying, creating, resting, or talking. There’s no right way — only your way. The only mistake is pretending you’re not there at all.