The Black Paint of Grief: What Theo Boyd Taught Me About Hope, Loss, and the Light That Breaks Through

There are conversations that sit with you long after they’re over. Conversations that don’t drift away when you hit “stop recording,” but settle into your spirit and stay there.My interview with Theo Boyd is one of those conversations.I talk with many people who have experienced unimaginable loss. But every so often, someone comes along whose story carries a texture, a weight, a depth that changes me as I hear it.That’s what happened with Theo.Her honesty.Her clarity.Her courage in naming the darkness.And her willingness to embrace hope again after life kept knocking her down…It all struck me in a way I didn’t expect.This article is about the lessons Theo offered—not just to listeners, but to me personally. Lessons about grief, about signs, about faith, and about what it means to rise again.It’s also about the moment she said a sentence I’ve never forgotten:“Grief is just like that black paint… it coats you and covers you. It takes a while for that to dry and chip away so the rays of light can come through.”That metaphor so encapsulated the way I think about early grief palpably.I think it may change something in you, too.⭐ The Moment the Black Paint Metaphor Hit MeWhen Theo said her grief felt like black paint, it landed hard.I’ve been walking my own grief path ever since Shayna passed. I know what it feels like to wake up in a world that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. I know what it means when colors dull, sounds flatten, and hope feels like a foreign language.But the way Theo described it brought me right back to that first year.Black paint.Wet. Heavy. Suffocating.A darkness that doesn’t ask permission.A darkness that sits on your skin and in your bones.Early grief feels like that.Messy. All-consuming. Impossible to see through.And like Theo said… it doesn’t fade on command.It doesn’t wash off because we “try harder.”It chips away slowly—tiny flecks at a time—usually when we’re not even aware of it.That metaphor alone is worth sharing with every grieving person I know.⭐ Listening to Loss After Loss After LossAs Theo spoke, I tried to imagine carrying everything she carried:* Her mother’s sudden death in a tragic farm accident* Her father’s decline and eventual suicide* Her counselor of 18 years passing unexpectedly* Her marriage falling apart* COVID isolation* The weight of community expectations* Her own faith shaking beneath her feetMost of these events would break a person on their own.Stacked together, they form a tower of emotional weight that few could stand under.And yet, there she sat with me—steady, clear, hopeful.Not pretending.Not minimizing.Not dismissing the pain.But embodying what it means to carry pain with purpose.Listening to her, I felt the familiar ache in my chest—the ache I’ve known since losing Shayna. That ache that reminds me grief never really goes away.But it also reminded me of something else:We can grow larger around our grief.Theo is living proof.⭐ The Signs That Stopped Me in My TracksI talk a lot about signs on Grief to Growth. I’ve seen them. I’ve felt them. I’ve lived with them since the morning I realized Shayna was still here—just different.But even for me, some of Theo’s stories made me stop and take a breath.The Alexa IncidentShe told me how she asked Alexa to play classical piano… but instead a song started playing—one she’d never heard before, written decades ago:“May the love that you’ve shown be shown to you.”When she told Alexa to stop, the song got louder.And louder.And louder.Only when the song ended did the device turn off on its own.As she spoke, I felt the hairs on my arms lift.I’ve heard many sign stories in my time.But this one?This one had weight.It was unmistakable.Undeniable.And deeply comforting.The ButterflyA butterfly visiting her at the same time, in the same place, day after day.The Deaf FarmerHer parents—one a deaf mother, the other a farmer—gone.And now she finds herself falling in love again…with a deaf farmer.You tell me that’s coincidence.I can’t.Signs matter.They draw us forward.They pull us back from despair.They remind us the relationship continues—even after physical death.Just as Shayna continues to show up for me, Theo’s parents show up for her.⭐ Faith That Breaks… and Faith That RebuildsThere was a moment in the interview where Theo said something I’ll never forget:“I gave up on my faith, but my faith never gave up on me.”That hit me squarely in the heart.Because grief tests faith in ways few people understand.When her father—her spiritual mentor—lost his faith after the accident, she followed him into that darkness.A lot of people do.But signs…Moments of connection…People placed in our lives at the right time…These things slowly rebuild belief. Not the old belief, but a new one—deeper, wiser, more expansive.I’ve experienced this myself since losing Shayna.Faith becomes less about certainty and more about presence.Theo’s journey reminded me that losing faith isn’t failure.Sometimes it’s part of the path.⭐ Writing as SurvivalWhen Theo told me she wrote her first book, My Grief Is Not Like Yours, the way some people breathe, I understood.Writing saved her.* Journaling.* Napkin notes.* Voice memos.* Lists of a hundred things she loved about her mother.These practices chipped the black paint—one crack at a time.I’ve always said grief needs outlets.Writing is one of the most powerful.Theo proved that.And in teaching her students to free-write their problems before class… she had unknowingly built the very tool she would one day need.There’s something beautiful about that.⭐ What the National Grief Study RevealedTheo invested more than her first house was worth to complete a nationwide grief study. The results floored me.* 68% of grieving Americans isolate themselves* 79% want the media to talk more about grief* 42% have grappled with suicidal thoughts after a major loss* Gen Z is struggling the mostAs someone who works with grieving families, these numbers chilled me.Isolation is dangerous.Silence is dangerous.Unwitnessed grief is dangerous.This is why conversations like the one I had with Theo matter.This is why you being here, reading this, matters.Grief needs community.Grief needs normalization.Grief needs to be witnessed.⭐ The Lesson That Stayed With MeTheo told me she’s building a new farmhouse on her family land—one that incorporates pieces of the old house she grew up in.This touched me deeply.Because healing is not about leaving the past.It’s about integrating it.It’s about carrying the ones we love forward.Not erasing them.Not “moving on.”We don’t leave our loved ones in the past tense.We weave them into our present.I do that with Shayna every day.You probably do that with your loved one too.Theo is doing it with her parents through architecture, memory, and intention.It’s beautiful.⭐ Hope Isn’t Loud—It Creeps InIf I had to summarize Theo’s message in one sentence, it would be this:Hope returns quietly.Not as fireworks.Not as epiphanies.But as tiny cracks in the black paint.A butterfly.A sign.A song.A friend’s voice.A moment of clarity.A new love.These moments remind us that we are still here.Still breathing.Still capable of feeling the sun again.Hope doesn’t erase grief.It coexists with it.Loss doesn’t stop life.It transforms it.⭐ What I Want You to RememberIf you take away anything from Theo’s story—and from mine—let it be this:You are not broken.You are becoming.Grief is not a disorder.Grief is not a competition.Grief is not a failure of strength.Grief is love—with nowhere physical to go.And hope is what happens when we finally let a little of that love back in.When the black paint chips—just enough to let the light through.⭐ Your Turn: Let’s TalkI want to hear from you.What has your “black paint” season looked like?What specks of light have appeared for you?Have you received signs from your loved ones?Share your story in the comments.Join the conversation.Invite someone else into it.This is how healing spreads—from one voice to another.👉 If this helped you, please comment, share, and subscribe atAnd thank you—for being part of this community, for showing up, and for choosing to heal in your own time, in your own way.Hope is already on its way.You’ll see it when the paint begins to crack. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit grief2growth.substack.com/subscribe