In 2024, I entered a new season where I craved privacy more than ever. This shift felt unfamiliar as an extrovert, but I knew deep in my heart that God was calling me into a quieter space. I wanted to retreat, to focus inward, to hold close to what mattered most. Little did I know that this season would not last long.
On November 9, 2024, my life changed in ways that I never could have prepared for. The father of my three sons, the man I had known for 20 years, was shot and killed by two police officers in Hamilton, Ontario. It was a public loss. A private heartbreak. A wound so deep yet so exposed for the world to see.
As a therapist, I am used to holding space for others in their grief and offering guidance through their storms. But grief did not ask my permission to enter; it came uninvited, disrupting everything I knew. This time, I was the one navigating the storm, balancing my own mourning while continuing to support my children, my clients, and myself.
The Moment Everything Changed
I still remember the hospital room. The sterile air. The weight of unspoken words. The way time seemed to both stand still and move too fast.
"There is no life in his brain. He is not going to make it."
The doctor’s words landed like thunder, but I already knew. I looked at his body, and deep inside, I understood: this was the last time. The last moment to ask, to say, to hold. Every second counted, yet no second was enough.
My body disconnected from my soul. I could still hear the doctor speaking, but inside, I was rejecting it. Not another trauma, God. Not another loss. I pleaded. This cannot be my reality. I had already endured so much. Witnessing my parents’ murder at age six during the genocide against the Tutsi, losing my sister in 2018 to the weight of untreated trauma, and now this?
"God, you made a mistake. I am not equipped for this. I cannot do this alone. I don’t know how to help my boys through this. You will have to take this one."
And in that stillness, I heard Him:
"Healing is my job. Let me take this from you."
Grieving in the Public Eye
Loss is universal, but grief takes on a different weight when it becomes public.
I have walked this path before, but the experience is different every time. People observe your every move, searching for signs of how much pain you are in- measuring your grief, questioning your mourning.
"She’s not crying. Does she even care?"
"She’s crying too much. Is this for attention?"
"She’s still working. Why hasn’t she taken time off?"
"She’s talking about it. Maybe she just wants sympathy."
"She’s quiet. Maybe she’s avoiding the truth."
Public grief is microscopic. Every word, every choice, every moment of silence or expression becomes analyzed, debated, and judged. You feel the pressure to grieve “correctly,” but the reality is that there is no right way to grieve.
And yet, amid this scrutiny, I found solace in something my professor once told me during my Master's program:
"Until you sit in the front row of a funeral, you cannot truly understand grief."
The front row. A place I never wanted to be, yet found myself in again.
Lessons in Mourning from a Therapist Who Is Still Healing
During the most challenging days, I pulled out my books on grief and loss. I sobbed, reading Dr. Keith Taylor’s handwritten note to me inside his book, Well-Intentioned People Say Dumb Things.
"God has given you a heart for the brokenhearted. Thank you for your willingness to follow His calling."
I wrestled with these words. Was this calling worth so much pain?
The truth is, grief does not just bring sadness. It brings anger, confusion, exhaustion, and isolation. In moments of raw pain, even the most well-intentioned words can feel like daggers.
"Let me know if you need anything."
At first, those words triggered me. What do I ask for? How do I even begin to articulate what I need? But now, I hear them differently. Now, I respond:
"You are already doing it by asking."
I also revisited another book introduced to me during my master's program by Dr. Taylor; I thank him for the gift of wisdom in grieving. —Disenfranchised Grief by Kenneth J. Doka (editor). It speaks to the grief that isn’t always acknowledged, the mourning that is often pushed aside or misunderstood.
It reminded me that public grief does not mean collective grief. Even when a loss is shared, the relationship is unique. Each person mourns differently. No one else had the relationship I had with Erixon for the last 20 years. No one else had the relationship my sons had with their father. I cannot understand how each person is mourning a unique relationship they shared with Erixon Kabera.
Healing: A Communal Act
Grief often isolates us, making us believe we must carry it alone. But as bell hooks so beautifully said:
"Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation. Healing is an act of communion."
I have spent years advocating for community healing, and yet, this season has reminded me that I, too, must seek safe spaces for my own grief. Whether through faith, close friends, or professional support, healing cannot happen in silence.
For anyone reading this who is navigating loss, mourning, or unspoken grief, know this:
You do not have to grieve the way others expect you to.
Your grief is valid, whether loud or quiet, visible or unseen.
You do not have to do this alone.
If you are in a season of loss and are looking for support, Rooted in Resilience Psychotherapy & Wellness is here for you. Our therapists are committed to holding space for your grief, honoring your pain, and walking alongside you in healing.
Because even during the storm, your story does not end here.
Your dreams still matter.
Your healing is possible.
You are not alone.
About the Author:
Appoline ‘Lydia’ Nimbeshaho is a bilingual Registered Psychotherapist (Qualifying) and a therapist at Rooted in Resilience Psychotherapy & Wellness, where she provides individual, couples, and family therapy in English and French, virtually across Ontario and in person in Hamilton. With a trauma-informed, integrative approach, she specializes in trauma, grief, anxiety, life transitions, emotional regulation, and relationship dynamics.
Driven by her own lived experiences and extensive clinical training, Lydia is passionate about helping individuals reconnect with themselves, heal from the impact of trauma, and develop brain-based strategies to regulate their emotions and navigate life with clarity to support deep healing.
Beyond her clinical work, Lydia is a mental health educator, speaker, and facilitator with over 6 years of experience leading conversations on genocide and war survivors' healing, trauma recovery, brain health, grief resilience, and emotional well-being. She has worked with community organizations, faith-based groups, and professional institutions, equipping individuals and teams with the tools to foster psychological safety and emotional intelligence. Lydia founded Tranquil Minds Psychotherapy and Counselling Services, a psychotherapy clinic in Hamilton. She is also the founder of Beyond The Veil Mission, a nonprofit that advocates for mental health resources for Rwandans and Afro-Black communities in Canada.
Lydia holds a Master of Divinity in Clinical Counselling from Tyndale University and a Bilingual Honours BA in Sociology and Sexuality Studies from York University. She is dedicated to creating safe, transformative spaces where individuals can explore their stories, rewire survival patterns, and cultivate resilience.
Areas of Expertise: Trauma Recovery | Brain Health & Emotional Regulation | Grief & Loss | Relationship Therapy | Faith & Mental Health Integration (upon request) | Community Mental Health Advocacy
To invite Lydia to speak, facilitate, or train, connect with her at lydia.n@rootedinresilience.ca or https://www.rootedinresilience.ca/
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