When I first wrote about the stages of grief back in the wake of the 2024 election, I was attempting to make sense of a deep emotional response that many of us were experiencing—not just disappointment or frustration, but something more layered. It felt like loss. And it was loss: loss of certainty, of safety, of identity, of imagined futures. Our bodies were reacting. Our teams were dysregulated. Our communities were unsure of how to move forward.

As a trauma psychologist and leadership consultant, I’ve seen this firsthand—not just in individuals, but in entire organizations. People began questioning their sense of belonging. Staff disengaged, overwhelmed by external chaos and internal pressure to “just keep going.” We weren’t just burned out—we were grieving.

At the time, I turned to the Kübler-Ross model to provide a container for what we were collectively feeling. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. I explained how these stages, originally developed to describe the emotional journey of those facing terminal illness, could also describe how we process broader kinds of trauma—including political events, systemic injustice, and moral distress. But so much has changed in such a short period of time.

Today, our grief is not a single moment—it’s a rolling tide. It’s not one event—it’s an accumulation. The lingering effects of the pandemic. Racial injustice. Climate catastrophe. Book bans. Gun violence. Attacks on bodily autonomy. And for many of us, it’s not even about one loss. It’s about the chronic state of being on edge, of having our values consistently tested, and of carrying the weight of witnessing suffering we feel powerless to stop.

In this new landscape, the five stages of grief still offer guidance—but they also need to evolve. Because grief today is collective. It’s tied to identity and purpose. And most importantly, acceptance is no longer a quiet surrender—it’s often a bold recommitment to what matters most.

Grief Is Not Just Personal—It’s Collective. And Moral

Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s work revolutionized how we understand grief, but it was David Kessler—her close collaborator—who later introduced a sixth stage: meaning-making. In his book Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief, Kessler writes, “Meaning is what we make after the loss, not in it.” This concept has become essential in how many of us process not only personal loss but collective and moral grief in an era marked by injustice and uncertainty.

Moreover, research following global crises like the COVID-19 pandemic has emphasized that moral distress—the inability to act according to one’s values in the face of systemic failure—is a form of trauma in itself. It’s especially common among healthcare workers, social service professionals, educators, and caregivers—groups who are often caught between institutional constraints and a deep drive to help.

This grief is structural. It’s spiritual. It’s wired into our nervous systems and our identities. And it’s trying to tell us something. So how do we reinterpret the five stages—and the sixth—for this modern reality?

1. Denial → Disorientation

• Classic: “This isn’t happening.”
• Modern: “This can’t be real.” “It’s too much to process.”
• Signs: Doomscrolling. Detachment. Avoiding the news or hard conversations. Feeling unmoored or numb.

In traditional grief, denial protects us from being overwhelmed. Today, we often experience disorientation—a fog that descends when reality feels both obvious and unbelievable. We may toggle between hypervigilance and numbness, unable to fully land in either. For those of us holding leadership roles, this might look like reacting to policy changes without fully integrating their impact. For frontline staff, it might show up as “going through the motions,” emotionally checked out from work that used to feel purposeful.

Invitation: Offer grounding practices—breathwork, walks in nature, hydration, moments of stillness. Normalize disorientation as part of grief, not an obstacle to it.

2. Anger → Moral Clarity

• Classic: “Why is this happening to me?”
• Modern: “This is unjust.” “I’m furious at the silence.”
• Signs: Rage at systemic failures. Outbursts. Irritability. Frustration that feels righteous.

In today’s context, anger is often a signal of moral clarity. We are angry because our values are being violated. Because people are being harmed. Because we care. Dr. Resmaa Menakem, in his work on racialized trauma, reminds us that anger can be both a biological activation and a compass for what matters. It doesn’t need to be feared—it needs to be metabolized and channeled.

Leaders often feel they must suppress this stage in favor of “professionalism.” But unexpressed anger leaks into team dynamics, into exhaustion, into disengagement. We need spaces where anger can be acknowledged—not as something to eliminate, but as a starting point for aligned action.

Invitation: Help people express anger through story, creativity, protest, or truth-telling. Anger is the body’s demand for change.

3. Bargaining → Overfunctioning or Over-Accommodation

• Classic: “If I do this, maybe things will go back to normal.”
• Modern: “If I say or do the right thing, I can fix this.”
• Signs: Trying to rescue everyone. Toxic productivity. Emotional caretaking at your own expense.

This stage is rampant in activist and helping spaces. We are socialized—especially as women, BIPOC leaders, or caregivers—to believe we must work harder, help more, earn safety. The result is often over functioning—trying to do the work of the entire system by ourselves. It looks like leaders overextending in response to inequity, or staff holding boundaries so loosely that they become invisible. This too is a trauma response. A way of avoiding helplessness by doing more.

Invitation: Encourage discernment. Use tools like the Zones of Control to differentiate between what is yours to carry and what belongs to the collective. Let people rest. Let them opt out without shame.

4. Depression → Despair and Moral Exhaustion

• Classic: “I can’t go on.”
• Modern: “Nothing I do matters.” “Everything is broken.”
• Signs: Numbness. Cynicism. Chronic fatigue. Disconnection from purpose.

This is where grief becomes existential. The fog deepens, and hope dims. Many who experience burnout—especially in trauma-facing work—are actually sitting in this stage, feeling untethered from meaning. In trauma-informed systems, this looks like high turnover, low engagement, or even collective inertia. Everyone’s still technically “doing their jobs,” but the spark is gone. The grief is thick in the air.

Research on collective grief shows that community connection is a key antidote to despair—not because it fixes the pain, but because it makes it bearable. We don’t always need solutions. Sometimes, we just need to know we’re not the only ones hurting.

Invitation: Validate the exhaustion. Create spaces for grieving that don’t require optimism. Sometimes, being witnessed is the medicine.

5. Acceptance → Boundaried Engagement with Purpose

• Classic: “I’m at peace with what happened.”
• Modern: “This is hard—and I still choose to act.”
• Signs: Saying “no” more clearly. Choosing values-aligned work. Protecting your energy.

Acceptance today isn’t passivity. It’s not about being “okay” with injustice or loss. It’s about accepting reality as it is—and asking what’s possible from here. This might mean protecting your peace, reclaiming joy, or advocating in ways that are sustainable. Think of acceptance as clarity with commitment. You’ve named what’s true, and now you’re choosing what’s next—not from fear, but from grounded purpose.

Invitation: Help people define what aligned action looks like for them. No more martyrdom. Just meaningful, right-sized engagement.

Bonus: Meaning-Making

As David Kessler reminds us, meaning doesn’t negate pain—it gives it shape. It’s what allows us to live with grief, not avoid it. Meaning-making in this moment might look like:

• Reclaiming joy as resistance
• Building mutual aid networks and community care models
• Naming and honoring ancestral and intergenerational resilience
• Mentoring the next generation of advocates
• Creating rituals that honor both the loss and the living

It might also mean simply showing up, again and again, even when things feel hopeless—not because you expect a perfect outcome, but because you’ve chosen a path of integrity. In trauma-informed leadership, helping others move toward meaning doesn’t mean prescribing it. It means inviting it. It means asking: What story do you want to tell from this?

Invitation: Ask gentle questions. What gives you a sense of connection right now? What would it mean to let your grief become part of your growth?

A New Grief Literacy for a New Era

Why revisit grief at this moment?

Because so many of us are grieving—and we don’t even recognize it as such. We grieve the loss of safety. The erosion of democracy. The dehumanization we witness daily. We grieve what could have been, what still might be, and the people we’ve lost along the way.

If we only see grief as personal and linear, we miss the full picture. Grief today is political, spiritual, and systemic. It’s tied to identity. It calls us to feel, yes—but also to transform. This is what trauma-informed leadership must now include: grief literacy. The ability to hold space for nonlinear healing. To name moral distress. To normalize rage. To honor fatigue. And to support a return to purpose that isn’t performative, but authentic.

A Gentle Closing

If you’re feeling angry, unmotivated, hopeful, numb, determined, or tired—you’re grieving. And you’re not alone. You don’t need to grieve perfectly. You don’t need to rush through it. You just need to tend to it. One breath. One boundary. One step at a time. Let’s grieve well. Let’s grieve together. And then—when we’re ready—let’s keep showing up.

Not because everything is fine.
But because we still care.