New Chapter in Grief Advocacy: Writing for Healing Roots Support

New Chapter in Grief Advocacy: Writing for Healing Roots Support 🌿

I’m incredibly honored to share that I’ve joined the Healing Roots Support team as a contributing writer. Healing Roots is a compassionate grief support organization dedicated to helping individuals and families navigate the lifelong journey of loss. Founded by Dr. Katie Wiggins, Healing Roots offers a safe and affirming space for those grieving the death of a loved one—especially sudden, traumatic, and out-of-order deaths.

Their work is deeply aligned with everything I believe in: validating the messy, nonlinear truth of grief and holding space for healing that honors the whole person—mind, body, and spirit. Whether it's through support groups, educational resources, or shared stories, Healing Roots makes sure no one has to grieve alone.

My first article with them is now live, and it’s titled:

“When the Boxes Multiply: Living with Layered Grief.”

In this piece, I open up about the unique pain of carrying multiple kinds of grief at once—how it feels when loss piles up and life keeps moving, and how hard it is to make room for healing when the world only seems to expect resilience.

🕊️ Read the full article here:

👉 https://www.healingrootssupport.org/when-the-boxes-multiply-living-with-layered-grief

Expanding the Ball in the Box Theory to Make Room for Real Life

This collaboration means so much to me, and I truly hope my words offer comfort to those walking through the darkest parts of their grief. Thank you for continuing to walk with me, to read with me, and to believe in the power of storytelling as a healing tool.

With love and purpose,

CasieCasem

Expanding the Ball in the Box Theory to Make Room for Real Life

When I first heard the Ball in the Box theory, it changed the way I saw grief.

The metaphor goes like this: Grief is like a ball inside a box.

Inside that box is a pain button. In the beginning, the ball is so big it’s constantly pressing that button. Over time, the ball gets smaller. It still hits the button, but less often. The pain is still there, but it doesn’t consume every second of every day.

It helped me understand the waves. The triggers. The gut punches that come out of nowhere. It gave me language for something invisible.

But as I sat with it longer, I started to notice something missing.

The Ball in the Box theory assumes you’re grieving one thing. One loss. One story. One box.

What if you’re carrying ten? My life isn’t defined by a single loss.

There’s the loss of my mother, which will never not be a sharp ache. There’s the grief of divorce — two, actually — and everything I thought those relationships would be.

There are friendships that slipped away, the parts of me I outgrew, and the pieces I thought I’d get back but never did. There’s the version of life I imagined before the trauma. And there’s the version I’m still figuring out how to live in now.

Each of these losses has its own box. Its own ball. Its own pain button.

Sometimes, they all rattle at once.

There are days it feels like I’m walking around with a stack of grief boxes balanced in my arms, praying I don’t drop one.

Other days, it feels like a few of them have already fallen, burst open, and I’m standing in the mess trying to act like I’m fine.

And still, I keep going. I keep loving. I keep healing.

This is what most people don’t see when they picture grief.

They expect the pain to be tied to a single event. To have a timeline. To shrink on schedule.

But layered grief doesn’t work that way.

Sometimes, healing from one loss makes you feel another more deeply.

Sometimes, joy opens a door to unexpected sadness.

Sometimes, you’re celebrating one thing and grieving another, in the exact same moment.

What I’ve learned is this: You don’t have to earn your grief. You don’t have to justify it.

Whether it’s fresh or old. Whether it’s about a death, a breakup, a betrayal, or a dream that slipped through your fingers. If it hurts, it matters.

Your grief is valid, even if someone else doesn’t understand it.

Even if it’s invisible.

Even if you can’t find the words for it yet.

If you’re carrying more than one box, I want you to know you’re not alone.

You’re not dramatic. You’re not behind. You’re not too much.

You’re a human being living through real life, with a heart that’s been stretched and reshaped by loss.

The boxes may always be there. But with time, with tenderness, with the right support, the weight gets easier to carry. And you get better at holding them with grace.

- Survivor & Mental health advocate, Casie Ellison