The Intersection of Grief, Joy, and Gratitude

Holding Space for the Holidays After Loss

By Melanie E. Burnett, M.S., LCMHC

As the holidays approach, I’ve been thinking a lot about the intersection of grief, joy, and gratitude. It’s a space I didn’t truly understand until this year—until I lost my mother in January.

The holidays were our thing. The smells, the songs, the silly moments in the kitchen—those were the spaces where our love came alive. She had a way of making even the simplest traditions feel magical. And now, as the season begins to unfold without her, I’m learning what it means to exist in that vulnerable, yet complicated place where warmth and sorrow meet.

As both a therapist and a grieving daughter, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that this intersection isn’t something that we as humans can fix or escape. However, it is something that we can hold. It’s a reminder that our hearts are capable of carrying many truths at once: the ache of loss, the flutters of joy, and the soft beat of gratitude for all that remains.

Grief.

Grief is unpredictable during the holidays. One moment, you can feel okay, and the next, a familiar scent, a holiday song, or a family tradition can open the floodgates of memory and longing.

In the therapy room, I often describe grief as love with nowhere to go—a form of attachment energy that continues to reach for connection. And that’s exactly what it feels like for me now. My mother’s absence carries the quiet echo of her love, still shaping the contours of my life in subtle, everyday ways. Allowing myself to feel that ache, rather than fight it, has become an act of self-compassion.

Grief is not an enemy to joy. It’s a reminder of the magnitude of love we’ve experienced– that tears and laughter can belong in the same breath. Both are ways of honoring what was– because grief doesn’t demand resolution; it asks for recognition.

Joy.

These days, joy feels different. It’s softer, quieter—like a whisper rather than a shout. And honestly, it can make you feel guilty when joy enters the room. How could I laugh or feel excited when my favorite girl isn’t here to share in it with me?

Over time, I’ve come to understand that joy doesn’t erase grief; it coexists with it. Joy is a signal that love still lives within us. It’s the echo of my mother’s voice in my mind—nudging me to add a few more lights to the tree, to wrap the gifts carefully, to start Christmas shopping early, or to smile at our memories instead of only mourning them.

In my work as a therapist, I encourage clients to allow joy to enter—not as a replacement for sorrow, but as a companion to it. 

Gratitude.

Gratitude, for me, has become a bridge between the life I shared with my mom and the life I’m learning to live without her. It’s not about pretending everything is okay—it’s about finding meaning and presence even within the emptiness. Gratitude provides a gentle lens through which we can view our story differently, offering perspective and space for healing.

I’m grateful for every holiday we shared, for the years of love, laughter, and wisdom she gifted me. I’m grateful for the ways she continues to live within my values, my voice, and my work. Even in moments of deep sadness, I feel gratitude for the privilege of having been loved so fully that her absence now hurts.

The beauty of gratitude is that it allows both presence and absence to coexist. It doesn’t negate the pull of grief, but it does invite us to honor love in its entirety—cherishing what was, holding what is, and creating space for what still lives within us.

Holding the Intersection.

This season, I’m learning to hold grief, joy, and gratitude like threads woven through a homemade blanket. Some days, one thread feels stronger than the others—and that’s okay. Healing isn’t about choosing one emotion over another; it’s about allowing them to exist side by side, each holding its place.

If you’re navigating the holidays after loss, I want you to know: there’s no right or wrong way to do this. You don’t have to be cheerful all the time. You don’t have to suppress your sadness or justify your laughter. Grief is love. Joy is resilience. And, gratitude is remembrance.

This holiday season, I invite you to create space for it all. 

Light a candle for your loved one.

Cook one of their favorite recipes. 

Allow yourself to cry when the memories feel heavy.

And, laugh when a moment feels too sweet not to.

These are all ways to honor their legacy. They remind us that healing isn’t about choosing a single emotion, but about living fully within the intersection of grief, joy, and gratitude—where every feeling has a place and belongs simultaneously.

Peace & Blessings,

Melanie E. Burnett, M.S., LCMHC