“No one warned me that surviving my accident would mean grieving a life that never actually ended, rather an ambiguous loss, lingering quietly beneath the surface.”
My traumaversary
Today marks my fifth traumaversary – five years since the accident that changed my life in a split second.
Five years ago, I was hit by a car being driven by a colleague. In those early days, even as the doctors warned me that recovery would take time, I was full of hope and positivity. They told me I was extremely lucky – and I was. Lucky the injuries weren’t worse. That I wasn’t paralysed. Lucky to be alive. And I truly was grateful.
I thought gratitude would erase the pain, but I’ve learned they can live side by side – feeling lucky and feeling broken can coexist. The gratitude, the trauma, the sadness – they’re all threads of the same story.
I kept my smile on – after all, I’m “Smiley” – and believed that positivity and my faith would be enough to carry me back to normal life. I kept telling myself, it could be worse and hoped that would carry me through.
But after two years of trying to be strong, I found myself slipping into depression. I was tired – of the pain, the exhaustion, and the pressure to be okay. I longed for normality: a day without pain, without fatigue, without the fog of depression, or PTSD. A day when I could be that active girl again – rushing to work in the morning, hitting the gym in the evening, going to church on Sundays, and booking spontaneous weekend trips.
What I didn’t understand back then was that what I was feeling was grief. I was grieving all the versions of me I had lost – the life I once knew. But how could I have known? Nobody died in that accident… or so I thought.
Then, two years ago, as my husband walked through anticipatory grief after his mum’s terminal cancer diagnosis, something inside me shifted. Watching him move through shock, denial, sadness, and heartbreak felt like watching my own story play out. In his grief, I recognised my own. That night, I felt something stirring deep within me, though I couldn’t name it yet.
Now I know. It was grief – the grief of ambiguous loss.
Read also, ‘Traumaversary: Ways to Deal With a Trauma Anniversary‘
What is ambiguous loss?
Have you ever felt like you’re grieving someone or something that hasn’t actually gone? Maybe a loved one is still physically here, but somehow… not quite.
Or maybe you’re still here, but you don’t feel like the person you once were.
If that sounds familiar, you might be living with something called ambiguous loss – a loss that doesn’t have closure, and one the world often doesn’t know how to name. This type of grief doesn’t announce itself loudly, but it quietly reshapes everything.
These losses don’t come with funerals, condolences, or sympathy cards. Yet they can leave you standing in the middle of your life, feeling like something or someone has gone, but not really gone. There’s no certainty, no ending, no final goodbye.
The person or part of your life is both here and yet has also gone, and your heart doesn’t know which story to tell. And because of that, it can be one of the most stressful kinds of loss to live with.
The Two Types of Ambiguous Loss
The term ambiguous loss was first introduced by therapist Dr Pauline Boss, who spent decades studying families separated by war, migration, dementia, or disappearance.
She described two main kinds:
• When someone is physically present but psychologically absent — like a loved one living with dementia, brain injury, addiction, or mental illness.
• When someone is physically absent but emotionally present — like a missing person, an estranged family member, or a relationship that ended suddenly, without closure.
Can you think of a time when you’ve felt caught between holding on and letting go? That’s the space where ambiguous loss lives. It’s the grief that doesn’t come with rituals. It’s the ache that lingers because there’s no clear ending, and no clear way to move forward.
Read also, ‘The Weight You Carry – What if This Is Grief?‘
When the loss is you
Ambiguous loss isn’t just about other people though. Sometimes, it’s about ourselves.
Have you ever looked back at your old life – before an illness, accident, or major change – and longed for the person you used to be? Maybe you long for the energy you once had, the freedom you’ve lost, or the version of yourself that felt more whole.
After my own accident, I remember thinking: I’m still me… but I’m not the same. I lived suspended between two truths. I was still here – alive, breathing, laughing and loving – but the woman I once was felt far away. My body and my life were on different paths.
This is described as intrapersonal ambiguous loss – when the person you miss is you.
You grieve your health, strength, independence – your before.
You long for your old life.
And it’s okay to admit that.
Have you allowed yourself to grieve the parts of you that have changed? Or do you sometimes feel guilty for missing them?
It took me a long time to realise – that’s grief, too. I had to grieve not just the physical pain, but the loss of the woman I once was.
Read also, ‘Navigating Grief: What It Is and How It Shapes Our Emotions‘
Why ambiguous loss feels so confusing
Our brains are wired for clarity. We crave answers – beginnings and endings, certainty and resolution.
But ambiguous loss offers none of that. It leaves us hanging in limbo.
Neuroscience shows that the same parts of the brain activated by physical pain light up when we feel social or emotional separation – especially the anterior cingulate cortex and amygdala, which register attachment distress.
Your mind keeps asking: Are they gone? Am I supposed to let go? Or hold on?
You might feel like you’re constantly searching for closure that never comes.
When someone or something is gone but not actually gone, our attachment system gets stuck in a loop:
“They’re still here – stay connected.”
“They’re gone – let go.”
It’s like pressing the accelerator and the brakes at the same time.
You feel exhausted, anxious, and emotionally confused – because your brain doesn’t know how to resolve the loss.
That’s not weakness – it’s biology. When we love deeply — whether it’s a person or a former version of ourselves – our attachment system stays activated, searching for what’s missing. It’s wired to seek connection.
In ambiguous loss, the attachment system keeps searching – because the “lost” attachment figure or the version of self you were, is not clearly gone.
This means:
- The brain doesn’t turn off the seeking circuits (which happens after clear loss).
- The body remains in a state of hypervigilance, scanning for cues of connection or resolution.
- The grief never consolidates – it keeps looping, because the story has no ending.
Do you ever feel like you’re waiting for something – a moment of clarity, a final word, an explanation that might never come? That’s what ambiguous loss does. It leaves us living in the waiting.
Essentially, ambiguous loss keeps the attachment system in state of limbo – a chronic activation between closeness and separation. According to Dr. Prewitt, this could be described as complicated (prolonged) grief.
Ambiguous loss and attachment
Attachment is our internal compass for love and safety. It’s how we know who and what feels like “home.”
When ambiguous loss happens, that compass spins.
Your loved one is still here, but different.
Your old self is still part of you, but unreachable.
And your heart doesn’t know which direction to turn.
Ambiguous loss disrupts our sense of attachment – that deep, instinctive need for safety, connection, and predictability. You can read more about safety and stability as phases of recovery in my free guide here.
Maybe you still care deeply for someone who no longer recognises you. If you’ve lost someone to dementia, you still remember what it’s like to love and care for them. But the person you love isn’t quite the same anymore. Your attachment system keeps reaching for connection, even though it can’t find the old version of them.
Maybe you feel attached to a life you can’t get back. The loss is internal – such as losing your health or identity – so the attachment disruption happens inside you. You’re attached to your old self but can’t return to them.
You’re not “stuck” – you’re attached.
And attachment doesn’t switch off just because life has changed.
That’s why this kind of grief can feel confusing and endless. It’s not that you’re “stuck” – it’s that your heart is still trying to find where it belongs.
When attachment is disrupted by ambiguity, people may experience:
• Chronic yearning or searching behaviour (checking, hoping, imagining).
• Guilt for moving on, as if it means abandoning the person or identity still “present.”
• Confusion about roles and identity – “Who am I now while they are partially gone?”
• Mixed emotions – love and anger, hope and despair, gratitude and resentment.
• Relational disorientation – not knowing how to relate to someone who’s still here but profoundly changed.
• Decision paralysis – difficulty making decisions about the future. When the situation remains unresolved, it can be hard to move forward or envision a clear path ahead.
Researching this, everything started to make sense. I had been longing, hoping, imagining my return to work – because deep down, I believed that going back meant getting my old life back. For two and a half years, I tried to go back to work, pushing through setbacks that often sent me back to the doctor’s office, back to another sick note, back to waiting. My attachment to that former version of myself – and my search for a clear diagnosis or some kind of closure – kept me tethered to the past. Moving forward felt almost like betrayal. Now I understand why survivors of accidents or those suffering chronic illness find it so hard to move on.
You remain emotionally connected to the person you once were – but you can’t “return” to them. That invisible bond to your old identity carries its own kind of ache, a quiet separation distress that words can barely hold.
The many faces of ambiguous loss
This kind of grief wears many faces.
Ambiguous loss can show up in countless ways – often where we least expect it:
- A partner or parent who’s here in body but changed by illness or injury – A loved one living with dementia, brain injury, or addiction.
- A child who’s drifted away, emotionally or physically – A child who becomes estranged or emotionally distant.
- A loved one who’s missing, or a relationship that ended without explanation.
- The loss of health, mobility, or independence.
- Leaving behind a homeland, a community, culture, or a dream.
- A miscarriage, infertility, or adoption journey.
- Retirement, redundancy, or loss of career identity.
- Even the grief of a world that’s changed – after illness, disaster, or pandemic.
It’s not just sadness — it’s disorientation. You may feel like you’ve lost the map of your life, and no one else can see that you’re wandering around without one.
Maybe you can see yourself in one of these. Which loss in your life has never had a name? Sometimes just naming it — ambiguous loss — helps. Because once you name your pain, it starts to make sense.
When loss has no witness
Ambiguous loss often overlaps with other forms of grief:
- Anticipatory grief – when we grieve in advance, sensing a loss that hasn’t yet fully arrived.
- Disenfranchised grief – when our pain isn’t recognised or validated by others.
All three share something in common: they lack social recognition and ritual.
If you’ve ever shared your pain and felt someone brush it off with,
“But they’re still here,”
“At least it’s not worse,”
you know how lonely that feels.
And it hurts, doesn’t it? Because what you’re feeling is real.
Even if no one else sees it, your heart does.
And that’s why I created the Grief Stories series – a safe space where grievers can name their pain and have their loss truly witnessed. Over time, the series has illuminated many different faces of ambiguous loss, offering connection, validation, and understanding. You can read the stories here.
Read also, ‘What if Mourning Begins in Advance? Anticipatory Grief in Invisible Losses‘
Finding meaning in the in-between
So how do we live with a loss that doesn’t have an ending?
Dr Boss reminds us: the goal isn’t closure. Closure doesn’t exist for ambiguous loss – and chasing it only deepens the pain. I know, I’ve been there. What if healing isn’t about letting go, but about holding on differently?
Can you give yourself permission to hold both truths at once? “I miss what was, and I’m grateful for what remains.”
Healing doesn’t mean forgetting or pretending you’re fine — it means learning to live with both/and thinking.
Both love and anger.
Gratitude and grief.
Hope and heartbreak.
For me, healing meant realising that I could still stay connected to my old self – the person I was before my accident – while also making space for who I am now. It meant learning to love the woman who walks more slowly, who carries pain, but also deep compassion.
When I finally allowed myself to hold both – not choosing one over the other – something softened inside me. It didn’t take the pain away, but it made it bearable.
Ambiguous loss doesn’t disappear – but it can transform, it can change shape. It can teach us how to live with tenderness in the midst of uncertainty – to love bravely in the fog.
If you’re living with ambiguous loss
If you’re grieving what’s not fully gone – a person, a dream, a version of yourself – please hear this:
Know that you are not broken beyond repair.
You are not alone.
You are simply human.
You’re loving through uncertainty, and that’s incredibly brave.
Ambiguous loss is real, valid, and worthy of compassion.
Give yourself permission to grieve what’s changed, even if the world doesn’t call it grief.
Let naming it be the first act of healing.
Maybe start by asking yourself:
- What or who have I been missing that others might not see?
- What part of me still aches to be recognised?
Naming your grief is not self-pity – it’s healing. It’s how you begin to make peace with a story that hasn’t finished yet. Once we name our pain, it starts to make sense – and what once felt unbearable begins to feel like something we can carry.
Take a breath. You don’t have to have all the answers.
Just start with acknowledging: This is loss. And it’s okay to grieve it.
As always, I’d love to hear your reflections. Have you experienced this kind of grief? What helped you through it?
Till the next blog post,
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This is a really clear explanation of a very complex subject. Ambiguous loss must be all the harder to deal with because other people would find it harder to understand and empathise with than more ‘traditional’ grief linked to the death of a loved one, for example.
Heavy on ambiguous loss. I remember feeling a kind of way after moving states and leaving everything behind. I went from teaching fitness classes and personal training, to married, living in another state, and working in print advertising. I miss the old me everyday.
This is actually my first time learning about ambiguous loss and you explained it so clearly. That idea of grieving someone who is still here or even grieving your old self really hits deep. It is one of those quiet and difficult kinds of loss that people do not always recognize or talk about.