Grievly gives you a quiet place to remember the person you lost, write what you're feeling, and connect with people who actually understand. No advice. No timelines. Just space.
Always free to start. No credit card. No pressure.They tell you about the funeral. The phone calls. The first terrible week when everything is loud and wrong and people keep bringing food you can't eat.
But nobody tells you about the part that comes after. The part where everyone goes back to their lives and you're still standing in the kitchen at 11pm holding a coffee mug they used to drink from. The part where a song comes on in the grocery store and you have to leave your cart in aisle six. The part where someone asks “how are you?” and you say “fine” because the real answer would take three hours and a box of tissues.
That's the part Grievly was built for. Not the loud grief. The quiet kind. The kind you carry every single day and nobody sees.
We're not therapists. We're not a hotline. We're just a place that doesn't expect you to be okay.
Nothing here will rush you. These are quiet ways to remember, reflect, and feel a little less alone.
Build a living memorial for the person you love. Add photos, write down the things you never want to forget, and keep their story somewhere safe.
Write whatever you need to. Angry, sad, confused, grateful. All of it belongs here. Prompts are there when you want them, silence when you don't.
Short, honest reads from grief counselors and people who've been there. No prescriptive steps. Just ways to make sense of what you're feeling.
A small, moderated community of people who know what loss feels like. Share when you're ready. Read when you're not. No one here will tell you to move on.
You can do as much or as little as feels right. Everything moves at your pace.
Just an email and a password. Your space is private by default, and no one sees anything you're not ready to share.
Add their name, a photo, the details that matter to you. This is your place to keep them close.
Journal when it helps. Read when you're curious. Connect when you're ready. There is no right way to do this.
“It's 2am and I can't sleep again. But instead of just lying here thinking about her, I opened Grievly and wrote it down. I don't know if that counts as progress. But the page didn't judge me for it.”
“I added my dad's chili recipe to his memorial page and then just sat there and cried for twenty minutes. Then Grievly suggested I try making it this weekend. I did. My kids loved it. He would have too.”
“Everyone kept saying ‘you're so strong’ and I wanted to scream. I'm not strong. I'm falling apart. The community here was the first place where I could say that and someone just said ‘yeah. me too.’”
These are real experiences from early members. Names are kept private because grief is personal, and so is this place.
Grievly is not therapy. It's not a crisis service. It's not a replacement for talking to someone who can professionally help.
If you're in crisis or having thoughts of self-harm, please reach out to the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Call or text 988, anytime.
Grievly is for the long middle. The Tuesday afternoons. The holidays that will never feel the same. The 3am thoughts that don't rise to a crisis but still need somewhere to go. It's a quiet companion for the kind of grief that doesn't have an emergency number. Just an endless, heavy ache that most people in your life have stopped asking about.
That's what we're here for.
We're building Grievly with the people who need it most. Not with focus groups or market research, but with real people carrying real grief. As a founding member, you'll shape what this becomes. In return, you'll never pay. Not now, not later.
We'll never share your email. You can leave anytime. No questions asked.