Running Through Grief: How Motherhood, Miles, and Movement Help

There’s a certain magic to running that’s hard to describe to people who haven’t experienced it. It’s not just about endorphins or fitness goals or hitting new PRs. Sometimes, it’s about the quiet. The space. The solitude. Since becoming a mom, my life has become beautifully full—full of noise, needs, schedules, and people who depend on me. But it’s also full in a way that often pushes my own emotions to the side. There isn’t always space to grieve, to process, or to simply feel.

Running has become that space for me.

Over the years, I’ve gone through different seasons of grief—some that were obvious and acute, like the death of someone I loved, and others that were harder to define: the loss of a dream, the closing of a chapter, the slow ache of becoming a different version of myself through motherhood. I don’t always give myself the time to feel these things in daily life. There are lunchboxes to pack, emails to answer, Girl Scout meetings to lead, and dinner to make. But when I lace up my shoes and head out the door, something in me softens. The rhythm of my feet, the sound of my breath, and the simplicity of forward motion create a container for the feelings I’ve been holding back.

And sometimes, I don’t just feel them—I break open.

I’ve stopped mid-run on a quiet trail to ugly cry. Not the single cinematic tear, but the full-body, snotty, gasping kind of cry. The kind that only comes when you finally stop holding it together. More than once, I’ve pulled down my hat, tucked my chin, and let my Tifosi sunglasses shield me—not just from the sun, but from the world. Those glasses have seen me through a lot. Behind those lenses, I’ve let the tears fall freely, knowing that no one expects me to be anything on a run other than in motion.

There’s something deeply healing about those moments. Running doesn’t fix the pain, but it gives me a way to carry it. It helps me metabolize the emotions that get stuck when I don’t have time or space to sit with them. Movement becomes my medicine, my prayer, my therapy.

Grief doesn’t follow a straight path. It ebbs and flows, hits unexpectedly, and sneaks up on us in the quiet moments. And for moms—especially those of us juggling careers, parenting, relationships, and everything in between—it can feel like there’s never a “right time” to fall apart. We’re often the emotional anchors in our homes, the planners, the fixers, the keep-it-together-ers. But we’re human, too. We carry our own losses, heartbreaks, and wounds. And we need space to process them.

Running gives me that. It’s not always pretty. Some days I return home with red, puffy eyes and a heart that still aches. But there’s something different about the ache after a run—it’s been acknowledged. It’s been honored. And that makes it just a little lighter to carry.

I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve coached and connected with so many runners—especially women—who have turned to running during seasons of grief. Whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a miscarriage, a divorce, a diagnosis, or even just the loss of who they used to be, they lace up and head out. They run not to escape the pain, but to feel it more fully in a way that feels safe.

If you’re in the midst of grief right now, I want you to know a few things:

1. You’re not alone.

Even when it feels like no one understands, know that there is a community of runners out there who have cried mid-stride, who have walked when the weight of emotion got too heavy, and who have used every mile as a step toward healing.

2. Your pace doesn’t matter.

Grief running isn’t about speed or distance. It’s about movement. It’s about showing up for yourself. If you walk the whole way or stop after 10 minutes, you still gave yourself something powerful.

3. You don’t have to do it alone.

Sometimes, grief isolates us. And while solo runs can be incredibly therapeutic, there’s also power in connection. Find a friend you trust, a coach, a running group, or a therapist who can help you hold what you’re carrying.

4. There are resources.

If running helps but you know you need more, there are incredible tools and organizations out there to support you:

• The Dinner Party (thedinnerparty.org): A community for 20- and 30-somethings who have lost someone close.

• Option B (optionb.org): Created by Sheryl Sandberg, this platform offers support for building resilience through grief and hardship.

• Modern Loss (modernloss.com): Real talk and real stories about navigating grief.

• Therapy: Whether in person or virtual, speaking to a licensed therapist can help you navigate grief with support and tools tailored to you.

• Books: Some books that have helped me and others I know include “It’s OK That You’re Not OK” by Megan Devine, “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion, and “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chödrön.

Grief will change you. It will reshape how you move through the world. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken—it means you’ve loved deeply. And the beautiful thing about running is that it allows you to carry that love, that loss, that pain… and move with it.

Some of my most memorable runs have been the ones where I started heavy-hearted and unsure if I should even go, only to return with a clearer head and a slightly lighter heart. Not because the grief was gone, but because it had space to breathe.

So if you’re hurting, and you’re not sure what else to do, I invite you to try moving. Grab your shoes, your favorite playlist, your go-to glasses (shout out to my Tifosis), and head outside. Let your feet do what your heart doesn’t have words for yet. Cry if you need to. Scream if you need to. Walk, run, shuffle—whatever feels right.

You don’t have to be strong all the time. You just have to show up. And sometimes, that starts with one step.

⸻

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you. You’re not alone in this, and neither am I. Let’s keep running—through the pain, the healing, and everything in between.

Because sometimes the path forward is one we run, with tears in our eyes and strength in our steps.