Grief and Temporary Happiness
(Hobo at Saba Beach, Gianyar, Bali – Personal Photo)“I just got laid off.”
“I got divorced.”
“I broke up from my long-time relationship.”
“My Mum/Dad/Brother/Sister just passed away.”
“I need to put down my dog/cat.”
“I don’t think I deserve good things or even good people in my life.”
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Losing someone or something very important in our lives—especially when they’ve been one of the strongest pillars keeping us steady—is never easy. Our body and mind are in a constant battle, balancing grief and survival at the same time. The flood of emotions we experience can break us down, either forcing us to hit the pause button or shutting us down completely. And usually, we can’t control when that moment arrives.
We, as human beings, have this tendency to put timelines on everything in our lives—from the smallest tasks to the biggest milestones. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but we’ve been so focused on training ourselves to think this way that we’ve forgotten how to just let things flow, to let them end where they naturally should. And in doing so, we subconsciously prolong our grief, avoid admitting that things haven’t been going well for us mentally or physically, and seek more and more temporary happiness from the outside world.
I, myself, am one of those people—chasing temporary happiness, convincing myself they’d fill the gaps. And to be honest, it’s toxic. It already feels like an addiction.
I wrote a piece about this back in 2020 when we were all stuck at home because of the pandemic. I questioned what our government would do about mental health after the pandemic ended and we were forced to step back into a world that had fundamentally changed.
We weren’t really ready to return to that “new world.” But we had to move forward, no matter what. And it’s been painful. Especially when some of us discovered hard truths about the vaccines and their impact on our physical health. But it is what it is. Nothing we can do about it now. The grief is still there—not just lingering like a residue, but repressed. Some have thrown it away like trash, never really dealing with it.
And then, one day, in one particular moment, those unspoken, unacknowledged grievances resurface. They creep in, hitting the body and mind like a thunderstrike. The brain picks up on it and automatically throws us into fight or flight mode.
Grief is one of the biggest things we tend to undervalue in our lives. We see it as something to avoid the second it arrives. Sure, we touch it, sense it, feel it. But we rarely allow ourselves to fully embrace it.
We always tell ourselves:
“I’ll deal with you later. Right now, I need to chin up and keep going.”
And so we move forward, burying grief beneath distractions. We chase temporary happiness, convincing ourselves it’s the best decision for now. And we keep repeating the same cycle over and over—until we burn out from all the chasing.
How We Process Grief Differently
“We can’t be that version of ourselves, not like women. People expect us to show a macho, strong facade. Boys don’t cry—like that song from The Cure. Men can’t be vulnerable and still look strong at the same time.”
That’s what one of my guy friends told me years ago, while we were hanging out in our usual Irish Pub in South Jakarta.
Meanwhile, women are told they’re too emotional—that they lack logic, that they base every decision on their feelings. It’s socially acceptable for women to cry in public, whether from happiness or sadness. But it also means they’re seen as incapable of leadership, as if emotions make them unfit to hold power.
Mansplaining in business and professional fields? Painful. Seeing it? Annoying. Experiencing it? Infuriating.
I get it—we all grieve differently. But one thing is certain:
There’s No Timeline for Grief.
Hell, I’m still grieving both of my fathers—biological and stepfather. Losing one parent is already a lot. I’m sure most people can’t imagine losing two fathers in the span of two years.
My biological father passed away in 2016. My stepfather passed away in 2018. And I still grieve them to this very day. I don’t think I can ever make peace with it. Even though I’ve come to understand why they did what they did, it doesn’t make it easier.
Being a fully functioning human being is already hard enough. Add on the weight of intergenerational trauma—trauma that comes with no manual, no execution plan, no clear instructions—and it’s even harder.
And yet, we still have to live. We have responsibilities, duties, and obligations. Social relationships, business relationships, work relationships, and romantic relationships. We balance grief with all these moving parts every single day.
It’s hard. But our mindset is the only thing we can control. Our grief collides with our daily lives constantly, testing our resilience, our endurance, and our limits.
I’m not saying that temporary happiness is bad. It’s not—when we know how and when to stop chasing it. Temporary happiness isn’t the problem. The problem is when we use it to avoid what we actually need to face.
The truth is, that we need to take time to sit down, take a deep breath, and start sorting through the weight of our thoughts and emotions.
It’s okay to not be okay.
It’s okay to not have all the answers.
As long as we don’t ignore the grief that needs to be dealt with, we’ll find our way. We need to build our own safe space, our own safe harbor—for ourselves first. Only then can we help others who actually want to change, grow, and heal. Because at the end of the day, no one else can save us but ourselves.
(Hobo at Saba Beach, Gianyar, Bali – Personal Photo)
And the only way out is through.
Through admitting the grief we’ve been carrying for so long.
Through sleepless nights and exhaustion, but still choose to become a better version of ourselves.
Through temporary happiness, and then learning to create real, lasting happiness—by accepting ourselves from within.
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