Is It Normal to Feel Relief After Someone Dies?

A while ago, I was leading a workshop for therapist trainees when a colleague pointed something out that stayed with me.

We often tell people to say, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

But sometimes, that’s not what someone feels.

Sometimes, it’s a relief.

Therapists are people too (so the joke goes), and we live in a world where talking honestly about loss isn’t normalized. No one has the rule book. I can’t tell you how many times a new therapist—or a friend—will say to a griever, “I didn’t want to bring it up because I was afraid to upset them.”

My clients and I talk about this all the time. It’s not like they forgot their person died. And usually, they don’t just want to talk about the grief and pain. They want to talk about the person they’ve lost. Withholding interest in how a griever is doing doesn’t prevent them from feeling anything—it just prevents connection.

Back to that moment in the training. When I mentioned saying “I’m so sorry for your loss,” the director gently challenged it:

“We both know it’s not always that simple. Sometimes it’s a relief the person died—they might not want to hear your condolences.”

Relief can come when someone has been suffering for a long time. We are bereft at the loss, and at the same time, there can be a deep sense of relief that the person is no longer in pain. Relief that the long period of anticipating the loss is over. That kind of experience is exhausting—emotionally, physically, relationally. People are often tired. Spent. Drained.

It’s not always easy to say out loud, but it is deeply shared. In therapy or in grief support spaces, you’ll hear this again and again.

There is also another kind of relief—one that is far more complicated.

Relief when the person who died had a difficult, painful, or even harmful presence in your life.

Some people I’ve worked with have had a very cruel or abusive parent who hurt them mentally and physically for many years. When that parent dies, their reaction can be complex. There may be grief, yes—but also a clear feeling of “good riddance.” Some people even notice they don’t shed a tear over the loss.

That’s not the only thing they feel—but that alone can feel isolating in a world that expects grief to look a certain way.

It can feel like yet another blow—having to mask your real experience so the world doesn’t have to contend with a grief that doesn’t fit.

The world doesn’t expect a griever to feel relieved.

Grief is complicated.

If we had a complex relationship with the person who has died, then our relationship to them after they die is equally complex. And yet, there can also be relief in no longer having to interact with them. Relief that something painful has ended.

But that relief can feel like a minefield.

People approach with condolences: “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

And we say, “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

Inside, we might be thinking: I’m not sorry. That was my abuser. That was my antagonist. I feel free.

And still—there can be pain. There can be grief for what never was. The parent they couldn’t be. The childhood that didn’t happen. That pain is nuanced, specific, and often deeply isolating.

If you relate to this, you are not alone.

It is okay to have complex emotions when someone dies. You’re allowed to feel exactly what you feel. You may not share all of it with everyone—but your internal experience is real.

And it matters.

Because when we try to push it away or pretend we feel something different, it doesn’t disappear. It comes out sideways—affecting our relationships, our mood, and how we move through the world.

This is a place where context matters. It can feel important to have spaces where you can speak honestly—therapy, a support group, or with someone you trust who can hold the complexity without trying to simplify it.

But no matter what, you are allowed to grieve in your own way. However it shows up. However it unfolds.

Whether your relief comes from the end of suffering, or from the end of something painful or harmful, your experience deserves space. It’s valid.

Accept yourself. Accept your grief journey. From there, so much becomes possible.

If any of this resonates, or you're not sure where to start, feel free to reach out. I'm happy to talk.