By Latifah B.
I initially planned to write this post as a breakdown of the five stages of grief — Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. It made sense on paper. Tidy. Logical. Structured. But that’s not how grief works, and it’s certainly not how my journey has unfolded.
So, I decided to scrap the textbook approach. This blog series will be about vulnerability, transparency, and truth — even when it’s messy. Grief, for many of us, isn’t linear as I stated in the previous blog. We experience it in the quietest of moments, in every decision, every conversation, every corner of life that requires us to feel.
This post is not just about grief. It’s about emotional growth, and more importantly, about the healthy boundaries we must build to protect our hearts and minds. And as I write — or rather, let my fingertips cry across the keyboard — I see now how boundaries are tied to every single stage of grief.
A New Normal
When grief enters your life, nothing is the same. The world doesn’t just shift — it cracks wide open. Your “new normal” requires relearning you. Everything and everyone around you feels different. Even love feels foreign.
People walk on eggshells around you, unsure of what to say. What is said can feel wrong. What goes unsaid? Sometimes even worse. That’s why boundaries in grief are not only important, they’re essential.
When Iman Died, So Did My Relationships
The moment Iman passed, my relationship with everyone else changed. The hardest shift? My relationship with my parents — through no fault of their own.
They had never lost a grandchild. Iman was the first, and for 20 years, she held a special place in their hearts. Now, there are two voids they carry — hers and mine. How do you support your child as they endure the unimaginable? As a parent, your instinct is to protect, but when you’re powerless to help, you suffer too.
They didn’t know whether to speak Iman’s name or stay silent. Mentioning her made my pain visible. Not mentioning her made it feel like she was forgotten. So they said nothing. And I said nothing too. We were all afraid of saying the wrong thing. The silence became our safest space — and our biggest barrier.
Grief in All the Stages — All at Once
I don’t cry much these days unless I’m looking at a picture of Iman. Describing her without a photo? Nearly impossible. But in my defense, I’m terrible at descriptions. Ask me what Samuel L. Jackson looks like, and you’ll get a wildly vague list followed by me pulling up a meme, a photo or yelling a quote from a movie he has been in.
But the feelings? Those, I can describe.
I experienced Anger — asking why communication with people, especially my parents, went from daily to rare.I sat in Denial, telling myself stories to protect my heart.I tried Bargaining, promising that if someone brought her up, I’d stay light-hearted, only focus on the happy memories.
There were so many. Like the time we were at my mother’s house — “Teensy Weensy,” as Iman called her — and Trey Songz’s video “I Need A Girl” came on. He says, “Shorty, where you at?”Without missing a beat, Iman stops playing and responds:“Who me? I’m at Teensy Weensy house, where you at?”Then she turns to the screen and says, “Oh, you at the beach.”
She was full of life and wit and love. She used to call her Pop Pop every Saturday just to check in — or to vent when she was mad at me and needed backup she would call her Great Aunt Linda. A quick little rant would grant her a trip to GameStop. She knew who her allies were.
Then came Depression, because there are no new memories to create. I found healing in a ritual: I took the clothes Iman wore the night before she passed and cut them into little pieces. Now, wherever I go, I leave a piece behind — sometimes with a note and money, sometimes buried in the sand to be carried away by the ocean. It’s my way of keeping her moving with me, everywhere I go.
And eventually, there was Acceptance. Not of her death — that pain will never go away — but acceptance of the boundaries I’ve had to build to survive it. These boundaries are my peace, and I honor them above all else.
She Will Never Not Be With Me
The truth is, Iman is never far. She lives in my heart. She lived in my womb — her first home. She is woven into every fiber of who I am. And though she may not return in this lifetime, I believe we will find each other again in the next.
I lost my daughter, but I gained an angel. And like they say:
All God’s angels come to us disguised.
To Anyone Grieving: Set Your Boundaries Without Apology. Your Healing Deserves It.
This is only the beginning of the story. I hope you’ll join me for the rest of the series, as we navigate grief — stage by stage, moment by moment, heart first.
If you’re walking through grief and need guidance, reflection, or support along the way, I invite you to purchase my workbook,Standing Through Grief — created to help you stand when your world feels like it’s falling apart.
🛒 Shop now at www.latifahb.com and begin your healing journey with intention.
—
—With grace and love,
Latifah B.