Never before have we received so many questions about new business models, diversifying funding streams and fundraising. Demand for change management had also never been so high.
In many organizations we entered, the same question was on the table: “How do we build from here?” Beneath that question, there was something else too. Something that was not often voiced, but was certainly palpable: what do we do with the loss that remains?
Grief as an invisible reality in organizations
We readily look for new strategies, business models, new funding streams. We move around organizational charts and roles, we redesign teams and processes, we do everything we can to move forward. And that is necessary.
But meanwhile, there is also this:
- An uncertainty around “can we still fulfill the mission?”
- The impact on the target group
- An empty chair
- A silence in the hallway
- A rhythm that no longer fits
Loss in organizations is never just “practical”. It touches the heart of working in the non-profit and social-profit sector: meaning, commitment, and the quiet belief that our work matters. Many people give more than their hours; they give a piece of themselves. When that fabric tears, it is normal for it to hurt. But because grief cannot easily be captured in meetings or action points, it often goes underground. And what goes underground continues to speak, sometimes even louder than words.
We grieve.
And precisely here at S&L, we notice how much calm and clarity arise when teams are supported in putting that into words. Sometimes one carefully facilitated conversation is enough to bring back breathing space. That is something you, as an organization, do not always have to carry alone.
“Teams don’t stumble over what is said, but over what remains in silence.”
What is not spoken remains stuck in the system
Teams and organizations do not stumble over what is spoken, but over what remains lying there in silence. We see it again and again: people work hard, people show resilience, they reorganize, regroup, redistribute tasks… And yet there is something in the air that you cannot quite grasp. A flatness, a tiredness. A certain survival mode.
That is grief that has not yet been given a place.
Grief that we do not name does not disappear. It only changes form: into tension, into withdrawal, into cynicism, into the feeling that “it is no longer the same,” without anyone finding exactly the right words for what is really going on.
In general, organizations are quite good at “reorganizing.” The thing is: grief cannot be captured in meetings, action points, or timelines. This creates an artificial harmony in which no one says exactly what they feel, because no one wants to utter that first uncomfortable word.
The rhythm of grief: moving between loss and recovery
Grief does not follow a linear step-by-step plan. People move back and forth individually, sometimes in circles, sometimes in spirals: between feeling the loss and still trying to move on. Sometimes it looks like progress, only to fall back into the sense of loss the next day.
Teams do exactly the same:
- In the loss movement we acknowledge what is gone, we are angry, we name the cracks, we share sadness, we search for meaning together…
- In the recovery movement we look for new footholds and for what gives us hope and a future. We seek structure, stability, a rhythm that fits the new reality. We explore what is still possible.
Both rhythms are valid. Standing still for too long paralyzes. Moving forward too quickly breaks down something that is not yet ready and undermines it. A swinging movement between the two is healthy.
In guidance processes, this is often what we do: make room for both movements, so that the team does not split into “those who want to move on” and “those who cannot yet,” but can move back and forth together without guilt or blame.
“You reform an organization with plans, but you only overcome a loss when you acknowledge the ritual.”
Leadership that dares to slow down
In organizations in our sector, we often see leaders feel the reflex to structure, to steer, to ensure that the system keeps running. And that is understandable. The reflex and the instinct are to help. The pressure, the scarcity, the responsibility. Especially when teams are weakened or under pressure, … It all pushes toward pace.
But grief follows no pace and cannot be resolved on command. Grief asks for presence.
Leadership in times of loss is less about knowing first and more about listening first. Less about direction and more about space. It is daring to say: “I don’t know right now”. It is allowing silence to also be a form of movement. That kind of leadership takes courage. The courage to slow the system down, while everything around it accelerates.
For many leaders, it is a relief when they realize they do not have to carry that alone. In programs, we often stand beside them as a sounding board and co-bearer, so that they too have a place to lay down their own doubt, fatigue and concern.
Loss changes the order (and therefore the identity of a team)
When colleagues fall away, more than work shifts. Informal roles, bonds of trust, rhythms, routines: the whole system searches for a new balance.
- What used to be self-evident becomes a question again.
- Who takes which place?
- What is needed to move together again?
- Which competencies and energies have we lost?
- And which possibilities have paradoxically also arisen as a result?
When that order is not explicitly named, it creates friction. If we dare to make it visible, breathing space emerges. And direction.
In our guidance processes, we often literally bring those shifts into view: who stands where, who carries what, where is there emptiness, where is there overload? That provides language and overview, and makes it much easier for teams to find new agreements and a new order together.
Rituals are not a luxury
In organizations, rituals are sometimes an uncomfortable subject. “Act normal. It’s too much hassle and too soft.” And yet. Rituals do what no action plan can: they mark a transition.
They say: “This is the end of something.” And because of that, they also open the space for: “And this becomes the beginning of something else.”
A ritual does not have to be grand. A walk, a word of thanks, a symbolic act, a shared conversation in which someone is finally allowed to say out loud what everyone already felt. You reshape an organization with plans, but you only transcend a loss when you give it a ritual place.
“New direction does not emerge by going faster, but by pausing together to reflect on what is left behind.”
Connectedness as the foundation for recovery
Recovery in organizations does not happen through structure, reviewing processes or goals, but in the relational space between people. Through small check-ins. By being visible to one another and with one another. By listening, even if the story is not new. By acknowledging that despair is sometimes too heavy to carry alone. In such moments, hope becomes something collective.
When my hope breaks for a moment, you can carry what I cannot. When you get stuck, I can breathe for two. And together we find a new rhythm.
That is resilience. Not the heroic version, but the real, gentle kind: continuing to truly see one another.
Grief as a source of new joy and meaning
Grief is heavy and absolutely not the opposite of joy. It is, however, the condition for new joy. Sorrow that is allowed to exist makes room for a lightness that can truly frolic.
Grief that is allowed to be seen opens something up: it makes room for a more honest form of joy and connection. Teams that can and are allowed to move through those layers discover a different form of “being and working together for the purpose” that transcends everything that came before. A deeper kind of “we”.
A space where people do not have to pretend. A space where they can build something new together, not despite the loss, but with a clear awareness of it. And that is possible because truth, honesty and authenticity create connection.
Moving forward together, step by step
Many organizations I encounter moved through their losses at a relentless pace. The pressure was high, the calendar was full, decisions had to be made. As a result, there was little room for what had fallen away: a real pause, a collective sigh, a ritual, a moment to feel together how deep the shift had gone.
A new year, a new phase or a new order can be a fitting moment to pause and reflect on that. With a small ritual. A collective exhalation. A moment in which the team says together: “This is gone. This remains. And this is what we will move forward with.”
Do you recognize in your organization the desire for calm, for redrawing the lines, for meaning, for a gentle and clear transition between old and new? Then at S&L we would be happy to explore what you need together. In the form of a one-off guided ritual, a team day around grief and redrawing the lines, or a short process in which we guide both leaders and the team: we tailor the form to your pace, context and capacity.
This creates a moment in which loss is given a name, connection grows and the team takes the next step with more light, direction and support.
Contact S&L for advice and support
Would you like to explore what this could mean for your organization? Feel free to contact Christel Smedts, Aurélie De Cock or Charlotte Delbeke from S&L. They will listen, think ahead with your organization, and work with you to find a suitable next step.
