When the Life You Pictured Changes: A Tapping Practice for Unspoken Grief

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard the words.
I had just been diagnosed with moderately severe hearing loss.

The audiologist looked at my hearing chart, then looked back at me with quiet surprise.

“Based on the pattern,” he said, “you were probably born with this.
How have you been managing all this time?”

And honestly, I didn’t know how to answer him. I just… had.
I adapted. I filled in the blanks.
I relied on lip reading and body language and context clues.

But I didn’t know what I didn’t know — and when someone finally named it,
something in me cracked open.

Later, I was talking with a friend who also has hearing loss — someone considered legally deaf — and she said something I didn’t fully understand at the time:

“You have to mourn the loss.”

I brushed it off. Why mourn something I’ve always had?
This wasn’t new. I’d lived this way my whole life.

But now I get it.

It wasn’t the hearing I needed to mourn — it was the life I thought I had.
The version of me who didn’t have to pretend I heard someone’s name.
Who didn’t second-guess phone calls or feel drained after social events.
The woman who didn’t build her confidence on a patchwork of guesswork.

That version never existed.
But I still had to mourn her.

The Grief We Don’t Know We’re Carrying

We often think grief belongs only to death.
But grief can show up in places we don’t always expect.

It might come when something important shifts —
when your health changes,
or a relationship ends or quietly fades,
or your career takes an unexpected turn,
or your body doesn’t feel like it used to,
or your energy doesn’t return the way you hoped,
or maybe your child’s life looks different from the one you imagined.

Sometimes the grief is quiet.
Sometimes it roars.
And sometimes it’s tucked into the small moments —
the milestone that didn’t happen,
the photo you didn’t take,
the version of your life you thought you’d be living by now.

You might tell yourself:
It’s not that bad.
Other people have it worse.
This isn’t the time.

So you power through. You smile. You keep going.
And the ache doesn’t disappear — it just burrows.

But you’re not weak for feeling it.
You’re not broken for needing space.
You’re human — and humans grieve the things they hoped for, too.

Maybe you didn’t even know you were holding onto that vision.
Maybe you’ve outgrown it.
Or maybe it was never meant to be.
But even so — it still deserves to be mourned.

Because when you give yourself permission to name what you imagined —
even if it never existed,
even if it’s hard to admit —
that’s when healing begins.

Flexibility Isn’t Just Physical — It’s Spiritual

They say flexibility is a sign of physical health.
You stretch. You bend. You recover.

But spiritual flexibility works the same way.

It doesn’t mean giving up.
It means being able to move — emotionally, mentally, spiritually —
when life doesn’t go the way you planned.

But you can’t move forward if you're still tangled in the should’ve beens.

Often our souls cry out to mourn —
to feel heard,
to name the pain,
to acknowledge the life we thought we’d have —
before we can fully receive the one we’re actually living.

Because when you skip the mourning, part of you stays anchored in the past.

Not because you’re stuck — but because grief needs a witness.
And often, that witness has to be you.

An Invitation to Pause

If you're reading this and noticing something stir inside, take a moment.
Breathe.
You don’t have to fix it.
Just feel it.

Let this next part be a small, sacred space — just for you.
Use the tapping script below quietly, gently.
No pressure. Just love.

Maybe your grief is fresh.
Maybe it’s buried under decades of adaptation.
Maybe it’s not even yours — maybe you inherited it through roles you were handed before you had a choice.

Whatever it is, if you're ready, you can begin to loosen the grip.
Not to forget — but to feel.
Not to move on — but to move with.

A Tapping Practice for Mourning the Life You Imagined

🌒 Tap-Out: Releasing the Weight of Unspoken Grief

Eyebrow: Even though I sometimes feel like I have to hide my pain — that it’s too heavy, too messy, too much — I still choose to love and accept myself.

Side of Eye: Even though I sometimes feel like my dreams have slipped through my fingers — or worse, that they never had a chance — I still choose to love and accept myself.

Under Eye: Even though I sometimes feel like my struggles are invisible, and the life I imagined is out of reach, I still choose to love and accept myself.

Under Nose: Even though I sometimes feel ashamed of how much I still grieve, like I should be over it by now, I still choose to love and accept myself — exactly where I am.

🌔 Tap-In: Honoring Grief, Receiving the Life That’s Here

Chin: I am beginning to see that mourning is not weakness — it is the sacred work of letting go.

Collarbone: Grief does not make me broken. It means I dared to love, to dream, to hope. And that deserves tenderness, not shame.

Under Arm: I’m learning that releasing old expectations isn’t giving up — it’s making space for what’s real, what’s now, what’s possible.

Top of Head: I open my heart to what’s real. I meet this moment with gentleness and quiet strength.

Full Circle

For me, this practice began with the words I didn’t hear —
and the life I didn’t realize I’d been building around them.

Maybe for you, it’s something else entirely.
The role you never got to play.
The partner you never became.
The version of yourself you thought you'd grow into.

Whatever the loss, it’s real.
And it’s worth mourning.

Because in that mourning, something sacred happens:
We make space.
We soften.
We start to belong to the life we actually have.

And that’s where healing lives.

Hugs,

Kathy Watts