I like to do this thing where I have a million priorities going and then basically make minimal progress on all of them. I don’t think this is unique to me because I know many artists who are the same. I’m just creating with bigger things now: businesses, groups, books, etc. The world is my studio. I invite you all to see yourselves as the creative you are, in a land where you’re creating just to live all the time.

I am still grieving the loss of my father. The number of times I cry about it still baffles me.

When I was 16, it was big and loud and angry grief.

When I was 22, it showed up in a breakup—it felt like I was dying.

Today, it shows up as quiet sadness, the regret that I’ll never have a father walk me down the aisle. Or just the reminder that I miss my dad as Dad. I miss things being a lot less complicated, and I often wonder how things could have been.

And I’m a spiritual person, so deep down, I know, it’s a longing for a real, embodied father altogether—one that would be there in my old age, who would protect me and honor me as a daughter and later as a woman.

And that that longing, truly, is for God, Father God, Divine Masculine. Who is with me all time, If I just let Him be.

But, if you’ve ever been through a massive grief portal, you know we go through stages.

I like the 5 Stages of Grief model by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. We don’t really have anything better than this to understand grief.

She defines the 5 Stages of Grief as:

And the great thing about these stages: they aren’t linear.

Yay for us! A never-ending loop of grief!

These stages are more like continuous circles. You might jump from one side to another, you might pass through anger and go right to depression

And even though my dad transitioned 14 years ago, I still pass through all of these stages. I’ve done all of it, on what feels like a carnival ride I didn’t pay for, that is falling apart, and the guy operating it isn’t listening to me that I’m ready to get off.

And my case is so weird too, so complex for the grief process, because my dad is still here. She’s just not exactly my dad anymore. It is like a person died, but also not.

The key is, you just don’t want to get stuck in any one stage.

Because that’s where you create issues for yourself.

For example, when you’re bargaining (which you all actually see me do a lot), you might be trying to understand, over and over again, what went wrong and why.

As though if you can figure it out, maybe it can change—you might not be outwardly thinking that, but when you finally get to the answer, and still nothing changes, then the grief process must move on, and you’re resisting it.

Bargaining is a natural part of grieving, but if you get stuck there—No, no, I must find the solution!—you’re only hurting yourself. And I still do this all the time.

Last week was:

Me to my Dad: What if it was Montelukast that made you trans? It does cause neuropsychotic episodes in long-term use.

Dad: Let me live my life, please.

Me: Yup, yup. Totally. Totally…

I believe we are given grief portals for powerful transformation.

Grief transforms us. I don’t know if there’s one person I know who went through a grief process (the death of a loved one, the loss of a child, the transition of a parent) and wasn’t profoundly transformed by it.

People with big grief often say, you’ll just never be the same.

And there’s a sadness and a reality to that. And a whole slew of things to unpack about how we hold on, how we accept the unknown, how we move with what life gives us, and how we navigate destiny, time, and change.

But what a gift that is!

What a big spiritual gift to be changed. A spiritual gift to release the version of us we were. The spiritual gift to transform and be transformed. A spiritual gift to surrender.

And I know everyone’s portal is different. In mine, it’s beckoned me close to Father God, for the Divine Masculine I really need in my life. To pray more. To let God hold everything because He can. To heal. To become aware of the very complex parts of myself that I get from my father. To see and know the impact of the systems we live in.

And I know the other side is there. The side of grief where you’re just fine. Where maybe you’re even really happy about what happened!

And honestly, it’s absolutely hilarious that my father transitioned (you have to laugh about it), and I can truly say, it’s not something I would change about my story or my life.

But it’s not just one point in time either.

It’s not just one year from now or 10 years from now, I’m totally fine all the time and never return to the grief.

Because acceptance isn’t one point on the mountain. It’s a moving target.

Especially with the transition, a lot of people see the familial grief as bigotry. I’ve often had people use the “acceptance” part of the grief process as a way to gaslight me, and I’ve both seen and heard many stories of people, often the one transitioning, doing it to others.

But they couldn’t be more wrong.

My not “accepting this reality” would be me actively trying to fight my father to detransition. I’ve never done that.

It might be me shutting my father fully out of my life. I haven’t done that either.

But what I have done is grieve with my eyes open.

Which is to say I don’t have to believe everything you’re feeding me, and I can still accept this is you, your life, and what you’ve chosen. I can accept that this is part of my path as well, and I have to take my teachings for the class is in session.

And, I accept that you’ve done that, but I will still grieve because I lost my father in a very complex way. I just must remember not to get stuck in any one stage.

And I don’t know, at this time, if there’s a better place to be than that.

I love my father.

And I also see a reality that’s going on that I can’t unsee, and that’s not about accepting something blindly. That’s not about not putting no boundaries where they’re needed. That’s not about swallowing a belief system and an ideology that doesn’t make sense. That’s not about shutting down your awareness for breadcrumbs of what could be.

It’s harder to grieve with your eyes open.

Because you, like me, might also be asked to grieve a little more than you even knew was there.

And you might never be able to go back to a reality you once thought was.

And that is a profoundly new place to be in.

So take all the time you need to grieve.

Love,
Val

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