The Lie of the Five Stages: Why Grief is a Messy Dance, Not a Staircase

By Gladys Wachuka

They say grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They present it like a staircase you climb, conquer, and leave behind.

What they never tell you is that it isn’t a climb—it’s a loop. It’s a messy, unpredictable dance that spins you forward and backward without warning.

You can wake up in acceptance one morning, breathing a little easier, finally making peace with the irreversible reality. Yet, days later, you can find yourself plunged right back into the sharp sting of anger or the dull ache of denial. One song, one scent, one stray memory, and suddenly, you’re undone. The progress you thought you made feels like it's vanished, but it hasn’t. It’s just hiding beneath the ache.

The Return to the Storm

I’ve learned this truth the hard way. I truly thought I’d reached acceptance. I could talk about the past without breaking, even laugh at memories that used to gut me.

Then slowly, without noticing, I slipped. The emptiness of depression returned. The exhaustion crept in, and everything felt meaningless again. And now, somehow, I’ve found myself squarely back in anger.

I'm angry—at everything and everyone connected to my pain.

Angry at my father for all the trauma that shaped me into someone still trying to piece herself together.

Angry at my mother for dying and leaving me with so many unanswered questions and an emptiness I can’t fill.

Angry at myself for not being who I thought I’d be by now—for every perceived failure, every misstep, every time I’ve let life beat me down.

Angry at the world for having the audacity to move on while I still feel utterly stuck.

Healing Doesn't Move in Straight Lines

This is how I know I’ve backslid again—from acceptance to depression, and now to anger. But I realize now it’s not because I’ve failed at healing. It’s because grief never truly ends; it just changes shape.

Healing doesn't move in straight lines. It circles. It doubles back. Sometimes you find yourself smiling, thinking you’ve finally made it through the storm, and then a rogue wave hits out of nowhere, reminding you that grief doesn’t keep time. It visits when it wants.

Acceptance isn’t the finish line—it’s simply the space you learn to live in alongside the grief. Some days, that space feels calm and wide; other days, it’s so small you can barely breathe.

But even when you slip a few steps back, you are still moving. You’re still learning to live alongside the absence, one heartbeat at a time. The ground may shift beneath you, but you keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Maybe that’s all healing really is: learning to keep walking, even when the ground keeps shifting beneath you . And that is never a failure.