Grief is a tax on Love
As I write this blog, I sense it may become more of a public diary than a traditional post. Sharing about my personal life has always been a challenge—even if just a few people are listening. Nearly two years have passed since I started SiS, and this year, my goal is to intentionally share the message I believe God has given me. Through these monthly blogs, I hope you’ll get to know my heart for SiS and, just as importantly, gain insight into the daily struggles and reflections that shape me. Perhaps, in reading about my journey, you’ll find encouragement for your own.
SiS was born from witnessing the mental struggles faced by men close to me—friends and family members whose lives were deeply affected. I’ve seen men from all backgrounds, regardless of status, race, or age, grapple with mental health challenges. When I first created SiS, I thought I was doing it for them. But soon I realized that the introspection I encouraged in others was something I avoided for myself. Between 2024 and 2025, I spent considerable time wrestling with my own mental health. By 2025, SiS began to feel less like a calling and more like a chore, even as I told myself I was serving others. It wasn’t until my world was upended in May 2025 that I discovered SiS’s true meaning and purpose.
Some of you know that in May 2025, I lost my best friend and roommate, Michael, in a sudden and unexpected way. That day began like any other: dropping my sister off at school, walking my dog, getting ready for work, attending meetings, and grabbing coffee. Then my other roommate texted, concerned because Michael’s phone location showed he was at a police station. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail, which made me uneasy. After staring at my computer and growing anxious, I decided to check things out myself.
I went to the police station, half-joking with myself about having to bail him out if he was in trouble. But they had no one in custody. Next, I drove to his workplace, only to learn from his colleagues that Michael hadn’t shown up for his shift. My worry deepened. My roommate, meanwhile, had found news online about an accident near our street earlier that morning. I rushed to the scene, where police officers and a cleaning crew were clearing debris. I stopped my car, ran out, and was quickly told by officers to leave the area. Seeing the aftermath, I convinced myself—wrongly—that it must have been a different accident.
I called my roommate, assured him things seemed fine, and planned to check if Michael had simply skipped work. On my way home, I reached out to Michael’s mother, only to learn she’d been trying to contact me as well. And then I heard the words I never imagined: “Michael had passed away this morning.” In shock and disbelief, I rushed home to an empty apartment. It took hours for the reality to begin to sink in, and even now, nine months later, I’m still processing this loss.
I’ve experienced loss before, but losing someone so young and so unexpectedly—especially when the last words I said to him were, “see you tomorrow, bro”—is something that stays with me every day. If you’ve experienced grief, you might understand the season I’m in. Grief can feel like a virus, spreading through your mind and exposing your deepest fears, sometimes causing your whole sense of stability to crumble. Although I’ve returned to my routines and hobbies, the shadow of loss still lingers. Yet, through this process, I’ve been forced into deep self-reflection, and I want to share a few things that have helped me navigate grief.
God is real, and He meets us in our darkest moments. Sounds cliché, I know. But it is true: in the midst of the darkest nights these last few months, I have never felt more peace and calm than when I decided to seek the Lord. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” If you are reading this and do not believe in God or blame God for abandoning you in your darkest moments, I promise you that without God, I would not have gotten through this. I encourage you to read the Psalms, which wrestle with a lot of pain and darkness and with how God shows up. I can write a whole thing about my faith (maybe I will), but if you are on the fence about trusting in something you cannot see, take a moment to reflect and open your heart to the Father's love.
Grief is not linear. The title of this post is a quote someone shared with me during the darkest moments of grief. Your relationship to someone is very different from someone else's. This has allowed me to give grace to myself and others around me on how we process things. Often, I was upset that people did not grieve as I did. But how could they? They did not share the special bond that Michael and I had. Some had working, romantic, and family relationships with him that I could not replicate. It is okay to take it day by day. Giving yourself space to process and question things is important and necessary, but it should not cloud your love for or judgment of others. Once you can break free of the expectation that you or others should react in a certain way, you can really start to find peace and understanding.
Life is a gift. When it came to my mental health journey, I often treated my life as disposable and not important. It was not until I lost someone so close to me that I saw the impact that he had on my life and many around him. This mindset shifted from "stop caring about life and giving up" to treating our time on earth as a gift and making the most of what we were given. This can mean taking risks that your anxiety would prevent you from doing, viewing yourself as someone worthy to be loved, and even seeking help to deal with past events that are preventing you from living a full life.
I can go on and on, but if there was one thing Michael taught me during our years of brotherhood, it is that your calling in life is far bigger than your fears. He pushed me to start SiS, designed my website, and handled the logistics because he saw I was passionate about it but couldn't overcome my own anxieties to do so. Going forward, SiS will be a legacy that not only honors him but also helps other men break through and live the life God has blessed us to live.
Please feel free to reach out to me with any thoughts or questions, explore our resources as we expand them, and consider supporting the movement. I do not make a single cent from this; I break even on production costs and donate the rest to organizations that shine a light on men who suffer in silence.
love,
Josh Woodall
