The stages of grief are most commonly known through the Kübler-Ross model, which outlines five major emotional stages people often experience when facing profound loss — whether it's the death of a loved one, a terminal diagnosis, or a life-altering event like waking up paralyzed after a stroke. These stages aren't necessarily linear, and people may move through them in different orders or revisit some stages multiple times.
Here’s a breakdown of the stages, reframed for both emotional loss and physical, life-altering loss:
1. Denial
“This can’t be happening.”
At first, the mind may simply refuse to accept the loss. If you've lost a loved one, you might go numb, or keep expecting to hear their voice. If you’ve woken up in a hospital, paralyzed, the shock can be equally disorienting: Is this really my body now? Will this go away? Denial is a protective mechanism — it gives the psyche time to begin absorbing what’s too painful to grasp all at once.
2. Anger
“Why me?” “This is so unfair!”
When the denial begins to crack, pain often emerges as anger. It may be directed at doctors, at God, at fate, at the illness or the person who left you. It can even be turned inward. If your independence or bodily autonomy has been compromised, this rage can be fierce and confusing: I did everything right. I exercised. I ate well. Why did this still happen to me?
3. Bargaining
“If only…” “Maybe if I do this, things will go back to the way they were.”
In this stage, the mind seeks to regain control. You may replay past decisions over and over, wishing for a different outcome. For someone grieving physical loss, this can take the form of unrealistic hopes: If I try harder, maybe I’ll walk again next week. Maybe it’s just temporary. Bargaining reflects our yearning to undo what’s happened — to find some loophole that will reverse the pain.
4. Depression
“It’s all gone.” “What’s the point now?”
This is where the full weight of the loss sets in. The loneliness, helplessness, and sorrow become undeniable. For someone coping with paralysis, this may mean mourning the lost version of yourself — the body that once moved without effort, the life you imagined you'd live. There is no pretending here. It is the dark night of the soul — silent, still, and heavy.
5. Acceptance
“This is my new reality.”
Acceptance does not mean you’re okay with what happened. It means you begin to make peace with it. The tears don’t vanish, but they soften. You adapt to the new rhythm. You begin to say yes to small things again — a new way of moving, a new purpose, a new relationship with your own body, or with the memory of the one you lost. Acceptance opens the door to healing, not by undoing the pain, but by carrying it differently.
A Personal Reflection
Whether grief is caused by death, disability, or any profound transformation, it strips you bare. You grieve not only the person or function that is gone, but your identity, your future, your control. In that stripped place, you discover — sometimes slowly, sometimes through anguish — the need for new anchors: faith, community, creativity, or simply the quiet courage to endure and begin again.
Grief changes you. You will never be the same person again. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re becoming — someone different, wiser, softer perhaps. And very much alive.