Turning towards grief: walking gently through the five gates

We are often tricked into believing that grief is reserved only for those experiencing the death of a loved one. While bereavement is one of the most visible and socially recognised forms of grief, it is far from the only one. 

Grief comes into our lives in many forms, often shape-shifting as it moves through our bodies and stories. It can arrive quietly through disappointment, loudly through loss, or subtly through a sense that something is missing.

Drawing on the work of Francis Weller, we can begin to understand grief not as a problem to solve, but as a deeply human response to loving, longing, and living in a fragile world. Weller speaks of the Five Gates of Grief, offering a wider lens through which to view our sorrow. When we recognise these gates in our own lives, we often discover that what we have been carrying makes more sense than we realised.

Grief beyond bereavement

In a culture that prizes resilience, productivity, and “moving on,” grief is often treated as something to be fixed or hurried through. There is an unspoken expectation that sorrow should be brief, tidy, and private. But grief does not work to a timetable. It is not linear, and it rarely fits neatly into socially acceptable boxes.

Many people come to counselling feeling low, anxious, irritable, or disconnected, without necessarily identifying grief as part of their experience. Yet when we gently explore their story, grief is often there – unmourned endings, unmet longings, lost parts of self, or quiet heartbreaks that were never given space.

Grief is not a sign that something is wrong with you. It is a sign that you have loved, hoped, or cared deeply.

The first gate: all that we love we will lose

The first gate reminds us that change is universal. Everything we love is subject to time –relationships evolve, children grow up, health shifts, careers end, seasons turn. Even joyful transitions can carry grief within them.

You may grieve:

• the end of a relationship, even if you chose it
• a version of yourself that no longer fits
• a home you left behind
• the passing of youth or vitality

To love is to accept, consciously or not, that loss will one day follow. This is not meant to make us fearful, but tender. When we allow ourselves to grieve these inevitable changes, we deepen our capacity for presence and appreciation.

The second gate: the places that did not receive love

This gate is often more hidden. It speaks to the parts of us that were neglected, rejected, misunderstood, or never fully welcomed. Perhaps as a child, you learned to silence your feelings. Perhaps your sensitivity, creativity, anger, or vulnerability was not met with care. These unloved parts do not disappear. They wait.

Grief here may feel like:

• a persistent sense of not being enough
• shame or self-criticism
• difficulty receiving love
• a longing you cannot quite name

In counselling, we can begin to turn towards these younger or exiled parts with compassion. Rather than pushing them away, we acknowledge the sorrow of what was missing. This is not about blaming the past; it is about allowing your system to finally receive the understanding it needed.

The third gate: the sorrows of the world

We live in a time of immense global uncertainty – eco-crisis, war, division, injustice. Many people carry a quiet but profound grief for the state of the world. This grief can feel overwhelming or even irrational: “Why am I so affected by things I can’t control?” Yet to feel sorrow for the world is a reflection of empathy. It is a sign of connection.

You may notice:

• anxiety about the future
• grief for environmental loss
• helplessness in the face of suffering
• numbness as a way of coping

Rather than dismissing this as “too sensitive,” we can honour it as part of being human. In a supportive therapeutic space, this collective grief can be shared, named, and metabolised so it does not remain trapped inside your body.

The fourth gate: what we expected but did not receive

This gate holds the grief of broken dreams and unmet expectations. The life you imagined may not be the life you are living. Perhaps you hoped for children, and that did not happen. Perhaps your career has not unfolded as planned. Perhaps love has not arrived in the way you longed for.

Disappointment can carry deep shame. We may tell ourselves to be grateful, to stop wanting more. But ungrieved disappointment has a way of hardening into bitterness or despair.

When we allow ourselves to mourn what did not come to pass, something softens. Grieving a dream does not mean giving up on life – it means making room for a new relationship with reality, one that includes both loss and possibility.

The fifth gate: ancestral grief

The final gate recognises that we do not begin with a blank slate. We carry stories, patterns, and unresolved sorrows from those who came before us. Family histories of migration, poverty, trauma, silence, or emotional repression can live on in subtle ways.

You may sense:

• emotional responses that feel bigger than your own story
• repeated relational patterns
• a weight you cannot fully explain

Exploring ancestral grief is not about dwelling in the past but about acknowledging the wider river you are part of. When we honour what was endured by previous generations, we often feel less alone and more grounded.

Grief in the body

Grief is not only emotional; it is physical. When sorrow is silenced or suppressed, it can settle in the body – tightness in the chest, fatigue, headaches, digestive issues, or a general sense of heaviness. The more grief we add to our hearts without expression, the more congestion we may experience in our system.

This is why grief needs witnessing. It needs movement, breath, sound, and presence. Grief is not something to be fixed or hurried through – it is a landscape we must walk through slowly, with care.

Walking with grief, together

In our society, sorrow is often hidden. Many people feel they must carry it alone. Yet grief becomes less of a burden when it is shared in safe and compassionate company.

Counselling practice can offer a space where grief can be acknowledged rather than pushed away. We move gently, allowing what is present to unfold at its own pace. I've found that for my clients, working outdoors can help regulate the nervous system; the natural world holds our stories without judgment. Trees do not rush the seasons. Rivers do not apologise for their depth.

When we acknowledge and move with our sorrow, we allow it to breathe. Something shifts. Grief, when tended to, can deepen our sense of connection – to ourselves, to others, and to life itself.

An invitation

If you are feeling stuck, low, overwhelmed, or disconnected, it may be that grief is asking for your attention. Not only the grief of bereavement, but the grief of change, unmet longing, neglected parts, collective sorrow, or inherited pain.

Turning towards grief can feel daunting. Yet you do not have to do it alone. Counselling offers a steady and compassionate space to explore what you are carrying. Together, we can walk through the gates at a pace that feels safe, allowing your grief to be seen, heard, and honoured.

When we make room for sorrow, we often discover that it sits alongside love. And in tending to our grief, we deepen our capacity to live fully, with tenderness and courage.