Elephant in the Room

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There's something in the room.

A watercolour elephant filling the whole frame, too large for the room around it.

You already know what it is.

Everyone does.

Nobody talks about it.

The elephant sitting heavily, head lowered, taking up nearly all the available space.

The first couple weeks, you don't notice the room.

Because there is no room.

There's only the elephant.

The elephant seen through a fractured, uncertain light.

By the first month, the room returns in fragments.

A corner. A doorway. Fifteen quiet minutes.

Then the elephant sits on your chest again.

The elephant and the walls pressed against each other, all friction and no give.

You try everything.

You push. You pull. You reason. You scream.

Nothing works.

Because the elephant doesn't negotiate.

Stay here a second.

The room is about to change.

The elephant unchanged, but the light around it beginning to turn.

And then one day, something changes.

Not the elephant.

The room.

You stop trying to move the elephant.

You start building a bigger room.

The same elephant, with room around it for the first time.

A conversation that makes you laugh for the first time.

A Tuesday that passes without the weight.

A song you can listen to again.

The room grows.

The elephant settled in a room that finally has light and furniture and air.

The elephant doesn't leave.

It never leaves.

But it grows quiet.

It shrinks because the room got bigger.

Because you got bigger.

The elephant as memory — present, familiar, no longer crowding everything out.

Some days, the room feels smaller again.

That's okay.

The walls know how to stretch now.

And you know the elephant by name.

You were never supposed to make it disappear.

You were supposed to build a room big enough for both of you.

The elephant softening into light, still there, no longer heavy.

The room has no ceiling.

Light one, if you want to.

For what you carried. For what carried you.

Whenever you're ready.

People who listen.

You're not the only one in the room.

  • 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

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    Call 988

  • Crisis Text Line

    Text HOME to 741741

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  • What's Your Grief

    Practical grief resources, writing, and workshops

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  • GriefShare

    Find a grief support group near you

    Visit GriefShare

  • The Dinner Party

    Peer grief communities for 20–40 somethings

    Find a table

Books that help

  • It's OK That You're Not OK — Megan Devine
  • When Things Fall Apart — Pema Chödrön
  • A Grief Observed — C.S. Lewis

This was made by someone still building a bigger room—after losing people I love, and a road that brought grief closer than I expected. I made this to find hope. I hope it finds you, too.

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