Kondwera: Grief is universal and we need to make space for it at work because it touches all of us.

For 21 years, I’ve tried to push through April 11th as if it’s just another day. Back then, it was pep rallies, tests, deadlines... anything to avoid the anniversary I never asked for. Today, I lead meetings and hit milestones. But behind the professional title and polished screen is a whole person and this side of me that feels like shattered glass is real too.

This is the professional world, where we often present a curated version of our career selves. Yet, behind every employee number is someone carrying something unseen. The quiet colleague might be holding back tears, while the bubbly one might be hurting too.

I aimed today to celebrate her life, but I might also sneak off to the bathroom and cry. I have the eye drops ready and a fake smile. I will be leading a few calls today and walking past coworkers. I have to be “okay,” right? That got me thinking, how many of us walk around like this?

Grief is cruel.

I was a freshman in high school when my mom passed away. I remember everything about that day. I’ve replayed it in my head so many times, wishing I could change the outcome. One time, I spent hours drafting different phrases my dad could have used to say she was gone instead of, “Tondi, your mum has passed. I’m sorry.” I screamed and couldn’t stop. That was my person, my friend, my mum. And “passed” just felt paltry, not heavy enough to convey the boulder that fell from nowhere onto my spirit, crushing my heart while it did. You would not know it, but I died that day too.

My mother was brilliant. Kind. Hardworking. She put her dreams aside when I arrived, a surprise baby. I can only imagine the businesses she would have built, the life she could have led. But I also know that she loved me immensely and often told me how much it meant to her to be my mother. She lives on in my heart and, quite literally, in the face of my little one. He was robbed of the best grandmother, and I was robbed of my mother’s presence, counsel, and support through huge life milestones.

Grief is not fair.

The world did not stop for me in 2003. Teachers were kind, they gave me extensions. But someone close to me told me to stop crying, so I threw myself into schoolwork, cheerleading, and friends. As I grew, the 15-year-old in me was still screaming for someone to help. No one could have known I was not okay. I did even better in school. I smiled even harder while cheerleading. I wish I could tell younger me that I am sorry and that we are okay.

For years, I could not look at my college diploma without pain. Her life savings got me through school, but at what cost? In many ways, I felt like I paid with her life. And in moments when it feels like too much, I try to laugh. Because wow, my grief is now old enough to enjoy a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Grief is an enigma wrapped in licorice (I don’t like licorice).

It does not get easier. It just changes form. Sometimes, when something amazing happens, I still reach for the phone to call her before I remember she is not here. These days, I drive to the beach, talk to the waves, and write messages for her in the sand. In the vastness of the ocean and the beauty of the sky, that is where I feel closest to her. She loved seashells. I live for the sunsets and sunrises.

Grief is universal.

I started writing this for LinkedIn, then stopped myself. Why mention this experience here? It is not business-related. But being a professional does not mean we stop being human. It is unfair that we are expected to go to work and pretend nothing is happening. Sure, being an adult means we have to compartmentalize sometimes. But it feels like we forgot the human part. We are adult humans. That means we are supposed to feel and take a moment.

So if you agree with me, be kind. Be kind to yourself today. Be kind to the people who may seem out of it. Be kind to the guy who merges into your lane without signaling. Be kind to the coworker who seems distracted. Even be kind to the person who seems okay. They could be hurting too. Their mind might be heavy with something. We never know. If we validated people more often, maybe we could reduce the time lost to tough moments and build more trust across teams.

If you are grieving too, silently or loudly, I see you. If you are remembering someone who shaped you, I honor them with you. And if today feels impossible, just know it is okay to be not okay. You are not alone.

Grief opens new doors.

It certainly comes in waves, and this is the worst sisterhood I have been in. Still, it makes me smile to see people who are close to their parents. Those who have made surrogate families. Those who have been adopted by mama figures.

Grief is strange.

But love... love is stronger. It remains constant and full. Even in loss, it crescendos. That is why it hurts.

And no, one or two days of bereavement leave when someone loses a loved one is not enough. Some people may need more time, some may not feel the pain right away… Can’t we revisit that? Loss is the most consistent and inevitable human experience, yet we treat it as if it were nothing at all.