Grief Two Years In (And Why No One Talks About It)

There is something that doesn’t get talked about enough, and that is grief two years in after losing a loved one.

By then, the casseroles are long gone. The check-in texts have stopped. People who once asked, “How are you holding up?” have quietly shifted to “Are you doing better now?”  or stopped asking altogether. The world has decided you should be okay by now, even though your nervous system never got that memo.

The Firsts Everyone Understands

When someone you love dies, it’s normal to go through the firsts. You see, early grief is public. It’s expected. People understand the first holidays, the first birthday, the first everything. There’s permission to be raw.

People expect you to cry in public. Cancel plans. To not be yourself. People show up because they know what they’re witnessing. Loss still feels sharp; it’s visible and obvious.

But year two grief? That’s quiet. Private, and it becomes awkward for other people.

The Loneliness of Year Two

By then, the loss has carved itself into daily life, not just the big dates on the calendar. It shows up in ordinary moments, A thought you want to share. An urge to text them. A laugh that turns into an empty ache. Or even a song, smell, or a dumb joke they would’ve loved. There’s no calendar reminder for those moments, so they often go unseen, even though they can hurt just as much, sometimes more.

Society loves closure. To move on, but grief doesn’t work that way.

Why “Moving On” Is a Myth

You don’t “move on” from someone you loved. You move with the loss. It changes shape and becomes quieter, but it doesn’t disappear. And sometimes the second year hurts more because the shock is gone, and what’s left is the permanence. The realization that this is forever.

Now, add CPTSD into the mix.

When CPTSD and Grief Collide

If you live with CPTSD, grief doesn’t just sit in the present. It travels. Loss can crack open old wounds, old abandonments, and moments where your body learned that people disappear and safety isn’t guaranteed. Your nervous system doesn’t experience grief as a single event; it experiences it as confirmation.

Confirmation that endings happen. That attachment hurts, and that love is risky.

So while others might say, “It’s been two years,” your body may still be attempting to fall back into familiar old patterns, where you brace for another loss, or reacting as if this just happened yesterday. Not because you’re broken, but because trauma wires memory and emotion differently.

Carrying More Than One Loss at Once

Grief with CPTSD can feel like living in overlapping timelines. The present loss wakes up past ones. The sadness isn’t just sadness; it’s layered, compounded, and heavier. And that can make long-term grief feel isolating, especially when the world expects resilience on a schedule.

But what is real and, in fact, the truth for those of us with trauma and CPTSD? It’s that still hurting 2 years later doesn’t mean what you feel is wrong. Or you’re stuck. It means you loved deeply and your body remembers, and that the relationship you had with that person matters.

We have been conditioned to not believe any of that, but it’s important to remember that it does.

There Is Nothing Wrong With You

Grief isn’t a failure of healing. It’s a reflection of connection.

So, if you’re in year two, like me, (or three, or ten) and wondering why it still hurts, especially if you’re living with CPTSD, you’re not doing grief wrong. You’re actually doing it honestly.

And that deserves a moment of time, however long you need to take up space. Because silence doesn’t heal grief. Being allowed to name it does.

Photo by Artem Kniaz on Unsplash