I think you have to know how you feel when you're sad and it's

Hear the gentle wisdom of Leighton Meester, who spoke not with the coldness of philosophy but with the warmth of human experience: “I think you have to know how you feel when you’re sad and it’s healthy to mourn if a relationship ends.” Though simple in sound, this utterance is deep in meaning, for it touches the eternal truth that grief must not be denied, and sorrow, when embraced with honesty, becomes the doorway to healing.

The heart of the saying lies in the call to know how you feel. Many, when sorrow strikes, choose to bury their pain beneath distraction, anger, or denial. But to flee from sadness is to prolong its shadow. To face it directly, to name it, to sit with it, is the path of the courageous soul. For sadness is not the enemy, but the honest companion of loss, reminding us that what we had was meaningful and what we lost was real.

To say it is healthy to mourn is to affirm that grief is not weakness but medicine. Mourning is the process by which the heart releases its burden, slowly making space for new life. Just as a wound must bleed before it can close, so must the soul pour out its sorrow before it can find peace. Denial festers like poison, but grief, though painful, cleanses. In this way, mourning is not an end but a sacred ritual of renewal.

History offers us mirrors of this truth. Consider Queen Victoria, who, after the death of Prince Albert, withdrew into deep mourning for many years. Though some judged her grief excessive, it testified to the depth of her love, and in honoring her sorrow she honored also the bond she had lost. Her mourning was both personal and national, teaching her people that to grieve openly is not shameful, but noble. In her sorrow, a nation learned that loss is part of love’s destiny.

Nor is this lesson bound only to kings and queens. Think of Abraham Lincoln, who endured the loss of his young son Willie while leading a nation through civil war. In letters to others who grieved, he did not hide his own sadness, but spoke of it as a universal bond. He knew that mourning was not only for himself but also a bridge of compassion to others. His grief became a source of empathy, guiding his leadership with gentleness in the midst of great trial.

Thus, the teaching is clear: when a relationship ends, whether by death, separation, or betrayal, do not harden your heart against mourning. To mourn is to honor what was; to feel sadness is to acknowledge the depth of connection. Even the breaking of bonds testifies to the fact that bonds once existed. Mourning is not weakness, but the final act of love—an act that makes healing possible.

Practical is this counsel: when sorrow comes, give yourself permission to grieve. Write, weep, speak your heart to a trusted friend. Do not rush to fill the silence with noise, but let your heart breathe. At the same time, guard yourself from despair by remembering that mourning is a passage, not a prison. In time, the sharpness of grief will soften, and from its soil new strength will grow.

Therefore, O listener, take Leighton Meester’s wisdom into your soul: know how you feel when you are sad, and let mourning do its work. For he who denies grief denies love itself, but he who embraces grief honors both the past and the future. And when you rise from mourning, you will rise stronger, wiser, and more alive, carrying within you the noble truth that sorrow and joy are both teachers on the road of life.