Grief can make language feel slippery. You may know you are heartbroken, but the words won’t line up neatly enough to explain it to anyone else, or even to yourself. That can be frustrating in a culture that often treats “processing” like a verbal task. But not every kind of healing starts with sentences. Sometimes the most honest truth arrives as an image, a color, a shape, or a small torn piece of paper you didn’t expect to choose.
That is the quiet promise of right-brain journaling: a way to move through grief without needing perfect words. You are not writing an essay. You are building a place where feeling can exist without being forced into a tidy narrative. A page can hold contradictions. It can hold numbness next to longing. It can hold anger next to tenderness. And it can hold the parts of grief that don’t translate well into language, like the physical sensation of absence.
If you have ever opened a blank notebook and felt pressure to “say something meaningful,” visual journaling can feel like permission to begin differently. The goal is not art. The goal is emotional contact, at a pace that feels survivable.
Why Visual Journaling Can Help When Words Fail
There is a long history of research on expressive writing and mental health, and the simplest takeaway is that putting experience into some form can help people make sense of it. The American Psychological Association has explored why expressive writing can be useful for working through difficult experiences, especially when thoughts feel tangled or repetitive, and when we need a container for emotion that isn’t another conversation we have to manage. You can read more through the American Psychological Association.
Visual journaling sits beside that tradition, but it widens the doorway. It gives you a nonverbal route when words trigger overwhelm or feel inadequate. Research on visual art modalities for bereavement is still developing, and results can be mixed, but a systematic review published in the National Library of Medicine’s PubMed Central noted that visual art approaches may support meaning-making and continuing bonds for some bereaved people, even as the evidence for reducing distress is more modest and variable. That nuance matters. Visual journaling is not a magic trick. It is a practice. Some days it comforts. Some days it exposes tender places. The “success” is not whether you feel better immediately, but whether the page helps you feel a little more real, a little less trapped inside what can’t be said.
And grief is not only emotional. It is logistical, too. In the same season you may be struggling to eat or sleep, you might also be making decisions about memorials, paperwork, and next steps. Visual journaling can become a private workspace where you sort what you want, what you don’t want, and what you are not ready to decide yet.
Setting Up a Low-Pressure Practice That Feels Emotionally Safe
If you are new to this, it helps to start with a gentle framework. Grief can turn even a comforting activity into a trigger if you go too fast or if you feel trapped in an image you can’t “unsee.” Emotional safety, in this context, is about choice. You are allowed to stop. You are allowed to tear out a page. You are allowed to make something ugly, unfinished, or confusing. You are allowed to create a journal that no one will ever read, because it is not a performance.
Before you begin, it can help to pick one small boundary that signals safety to your nervous system. Some people set a timer for ten minutes. Some people choose one color only. Some people decide they will not use photographs at first. Some people keep the journal in a drawer so they can control when it is opened. The boundary is not avoidance; it is pacing.
If you want a simple starter kit, keep it humble. The point is to reduce friction, not to assemble a “proper” art studio.
- A notebook or sketchbook you do not feel precious about
- A glue stick and a pair of scissors
- Two pens (one dark, one lighter) or a pencil and an eraser
- One or two markers or crayons
- A small pile of paper sources (junk mail, magazine pages, paper bags, old cards)
Notice what is missing: expensive supplies, rules, and expectations. The more “correct” you try to be, the less your right brain can play. Grief already demands so much control. This is one place you get to loosen it.
When Intensity Spikes: A Plan for Pausing Without Shame
Sometimes an image hits harder than you expect. A color can bring back a hospital room. A texture can remind you of a blanket. A photo can collapse the distance you were using to get through the day. If that happens, you are not doing it wrong. You are meeting something real.
If you want a quick, practical “pause plan,” watch for a few signs that your nervous system is tipping into overload.
- Your breathing becomes shallow or you feel “floaty” and unreal
- You notice a surge of panic, nausea, or chest tightness
- You feel compelled to keep going even though you want to stop
- You start spiraling into self-criticism or shame
- The page feels like it is pulling you into a memory you cannot leave
When you see those signs, step back and do something grounding: place both feet on the floor, drink water, look around the room and name five objects, or close the journal and put your hands on something with texture. Grief work does not have to be intense to be real. You are allowed to build tolerance slowly.
Collage: Letting the Page Hold What Your Mouth Can’t Say
Collage is especially kind to grief because it does not ask you to “create” from nothing. It invites you to notice what you are drawn to. You find an image, a headline, a scrap of color, and suddenly your body says yes or no. That response is information.
A gentle place to start is a “color-of-the-day” page. Choose one color that matches your emotional weather and fill the page with scraps in that color. You do not need to explain it. Over time, you may notice patterns. Some days grief is gray. Some days it is sharp red. Some days it is a washed-out beige that looks like numbness. That is all allowed.
Another simple approach is a “memory map.” Put your loved one’s name in the center, then surround it with images or words that represent places, foods, songs, sayings, or small daily habits. This can be especially supportive when your mind keeps replaying the final days. A memory map is a way to widen the story again, so the person is not reduced to an ending.
And if you are grieving a pet, collage can honor the bond in a way that feels tangible. A torn brown paper bag might become “the spot by the door.” A blue strip might become “lake days.” You can include paw-print motifs, fur-like textures, or the colors you associate with them. This kind of page often becomes a tender bridge toward memorial choices, like whether you want pet urns that feel simple and home-like, or pet cremation urns that look like a small piece of art you would be glad to see every day.
Sketching and Symbols: A Visual Language for Ongoing Love
Sketching in grief does not need to be representational. You can draw shapes, lines, or repetitive patterns. You can scribble. You can shade. You can draw a single object again and again, like a cup of tea, a chair, a window. In grief, repetition is not failure; it is the mind trying to metabolize something too large to absorb in one pass.
If you feel stuck, choose one symbol and explore it for a week. A heart might mean love, but it might also mean pain. A circle might mean continuity, or it might mean being trapped. A small house might mean safety, or it might mean loneliness. The point is not to decode the symbol perfectly. The point is to give your inner experience a shape it can rest inside.
This is also where “continuing bonds” can become visible. Many people worry that healing means “moving on.” In reality, grief often becomes a relationship you learn to carry differently. A journal can hold that ongoing bond without forcing it into a socially acceptable timeline.
Visual Storytelling: Building a Narrative Without Forcing a Narrative
Grief has chapters, even when we do not want them. Before. During. After. Shock. Administration. Quiet. Anniversary. A visual journal can hold those shifts without demanding that you have a clear moral of the story.
One approach is a two-page spread: on the left, “what happened”; on the right, “what I wish people understood.” The left side can be abstract. The right side can be concrete. You can write a few words, but the emphasis is on images that convey the truth of what it felt like.
Another approach is a timeline that is not chronological but emotional. Instead of “January, February, March,” you name your phases: “numb,” “angry,” “hollow,” “tender,” “functional,” “sobbing in the grocery store aisle.” This kind of timeline is honest in a way calendars are not. It also helps you recognize that grief is not linear, which can reduce the fear that you are “going backward” when a wave hits.
When Grief Meets Practical Decisions: A Gentle Bridge to Memorial Choices
Many families are surprised by how quickly grief turns into decision-making. You may be navigating funeral planning, comparing providers, and trying to understand options while your brain feels foggy. This is not your imagination; it is the reality of modern loss. According to the National Funeral Directors Association, the U.S. cremation rate is projected to be 63.4% in 2025, compared with a projected burial rate of 31.6%. The Cremation Association of North America reports the U.S. cremation rate was 61.8% in 2024. Those rates matter because they explain why so many people find themselves asking practical questions about ashes, urn sizes, and memorial timing—often while still in shock.
Right-brain journaling can become a calm planning tool here. Instead of trying to decide everything at once, you can create a few pages that explore what feels right. One page might be titled what to do with ashes, and it can include images that represent your real options: a shelf at home, a scattering place, a keepsake shared between siblings, a cemetery niche, a family gathering later when travel is possible. If you want a thorough, practical menu of possibilities, Funeral.com’s guide what to do with ashes is designed to help families translate emotion into a plan.
If the idea of a home memorial feels comforting, you might explore a page about keeping ashes at home, including what “respectful” looks like in your actual household. Some people want the urn in a living room. Some want privacy in a bedroom. Some want a dedicated shelf with a candle and a photo. Funeral.com’s article on keeping ashes at home covers the legal and practical considerations in a reassuring way.
And if you are beginning to browse containers, it may help to know you do not have to choose “the forever urn” immediately. Many families start with one stable anchor—often full-size cremation urns for ashes—and then consider whether they also want small cremation urns for sharing or travel, or keepsake urns for a more personal, close-at-hand tribute. A journaling page can hold the question without rushing the answer: “Do we want one home base? Do we want multiple keepsakes? Do we want to wait?”
Pet Loss Pages That Lead Gently to a Tribute
Pet grief is often both profound and strangely lonely, because the world does not always recognize the depth of the bond. A visual journal can validate it. One helpful approach is a “good life” spread: favorite places, routines, silly quirks, nicknames. Over time, that spread can guide you toward what kind of tribute fits. If your instinct is to keep your companion close, explore pet urns for ashes that match your home’s feel. If a sculptural memorial feels right, browse pet figurine cremation urns. If you are sharing ashes among family members, pet urns for ashes in keepsake sizes can support that plan without making it feel clinical.
If you want practical guidance that reduces guesswork, Funeral.com’s Journal article Choosing the Right Urn for Pet Ashes explains sizing and personalization in plain language.
Jewelry, Water, and “Carrying”: When Memorialization Becomes Personal
Sometimes grief is not asking for a shelf or a ceremony. Sometimes it is asking for closeness. That is where cremation jewelry can be meaningful. A visual journal page about jewelry might include symbols of protection, closeness, and daily routine—because the point of jewelry is not volume, it is presence. If you are considering a pendant specifically, cremation necklaces can be a gentle way to carry a tiny portion of ashes as you move through ordinary days that no longer feel ordinary.
If you want an emotionally steady, practical guide, Funeral.com’s article Cremation Jewelry 101 walks through what these pieces are and how families use them.
Other families feel drawn to nature-forward ceremonies, including water burial or burial at sea. If that is part of your story, a journal can help you picture the moment: the shoreline, the boat, the words you want said (or not said), the way you want the day to feel. For practical planning details, Funeral.com’s guide water burial explains what families typically need to know, including the “three nautical miles” rule and how people plan with care.
Where Cost Fits In, Without Letting It Lead
Money is a reality in grief, and it can create a second layer of stress: the fear of choosing “wrong,” the fear of overspending, the fear of conflict among relatives. If you find yourself searching how much does cremation cost, you are not being cold. You are trying to be responsible while your heart is broken.
The National Funeral Directors Association reports a national median cost of $6,280 for a funeral with cremation (including viewing and service) in 2023. Those are medians, not guarantees, but they are a useful benchmark when you are trying to understand why quotes vary and what different packages include. For a more detailed, family-facing walkthrough, Funeral.com’s guide how much does cremation cost breaks down common fees and the difference between direct cremation and services.
If cost conversations trigger shame or tension, consider a journal page that separates “values” from “numbers.” On one side: what matters most (time with family, simplicity, a meaningful object, a peaceful ceremony). On the other side: what you can realistically afford. This helps you plan with integrity, without letting price alone define the memorial.
Using Visual Journaling as a Companion to Funeral Planning
In early grief, planning can feel like a blur of forms and unfamiliar vocabulary. Visual journaling can slow things down just enough to help you stay connected to what you are actually doing: caring for someone, honoring a life, protecting relationships. If you are in the middle of funeral planning, it may help to read Funeral.com’s guide How to Plan a Funeral in 2025, then create one journal spread called “Our Plan.” Keep it simple. A few images for disposition (burial, cremation, scattering). A few images for gathering (service now, memorial later, celebration of life). A few images for the “after” plan (urn at home, keepsakes, jewelry, water).
Over time, that spread can become a record of choices you made while grieving—and a reminder that you did the best you could with the capacity you had. That kind of self-compassion is not sentimental. It is stabilizing.
A Closing Permission Slip
If you take only one idea from this guide, let it be this: your grief does not have to be articulate to be real. A torn piece of paper can say what you cannot. A page of scribbles can be a prayer. A collage can be a conversation with someone you miss. Visual journaling is not about “moving on.” It is about making room for love and loss to coexist, one small page at a time.
And if you find that images bring up intensity you cannot manage alone, that is not a failure of journaling. It is a sign that your grief deserves more support. In that case, consider bringing your journal to a trusted therapist, grief counselor, or support group. You do not have to carry everything by yourself.
