Welcome, Seekers and Sojourners

Grief is not the end.
It’s a beginning, it’s raw, honest, and alive.

This is a space for those who’ve lost something, or everything. For those who refuse to numb out or move on.
For those who want to turn their pain into purpose, art, or quiet revolution.

Here, we don’t fix grief.
We compost it.
We write it.
We ritualize it.
We honor it.

You’ll find stories, tools, dispatches, and offerings for navigating loss- personal, political, ecological, and ancestral.

This is where grief meets imagination.
Where you’re invited to change shape.

Welcome to Grief and Liberation.
A portal for the ones who are still becoming.

Enter the ecosystem

Receive Monday Mournings, my weekly grief letter, a soft practice and ritual to begin your week grounded and alive.

Subscribe to The Underground Dispatch, speculative transmissions from the mycelial world.

Michelle Carrera next to Bea, cow living freely at VINE Sanctuary.

Meet the Spiritfarer

I’m Michelle Carrera, writer, griefworker, and spiritfarer.
I walk the borderlands of death, memory, and transformation.
My work is rooted in the ancestral soil of Borikén, shaped by a lineage of rupture and resilience. I carry reverence for life in all its forms, human and more-than-human, seen and unseen, remembered and forgotten.
Through essays, obituaries, zines, and speculative grief fiction, I tell stories that hold space for mourning as a force of both reckoning and renewal.
I write altars.
I write thresholds.
I write to compost the unspeakable into language that liberates.
As a queer, neurodivergent person rooted once again in Borikén, I live in the spaces between definitions. I witness what others turn away from. I hold what refuses to be simplified.
Whether I’m writing obituaries for extinct species, tending the dying, or transmitting grief from a speculative future, my commitment is the same: to make beauty in the dark. To remember what still pulses. To write liberation into being.
My primary portal is writing, free and accessible to all.
For those seeking deeper connection, I hold a limited number of 1:1 grief companioning spaces each season.

Learn more:

ABOUT ME

Ways We Can Work Together

Grief is not my side project. It’s my doorway and threshold towards action and liberation.

Here are ways I walk with others at that threshold through story, ritual, and resistance.

For individuals, families, or communities navigating death and profound loss. Grounded presence. Sacred attention. No fixes. Just deep witness. Read more.
Commissioned obituaries for people, animals, ecosystems, or movements written as acts of love, remembrance, and liberation. Read more.
I partner with collectives, organizations, and creatives to craft grief-informed projects: zines, ceremonies, campaigns, and creative rituals. Read more.
Immersive sessions that weave writing, grief, and liberation.
Offered seasonally or by request for communities ready to gather and transform. Read more.
Zines, field guides, grief tea, and trEssays, articles, dispatches, and creative work that centers grief, justice, spirit, or liberation.
Published in Planted Journal, Howl & Hold, Translunar Travelers Lounge, and more.
Zines, rituals, art objects, grief cards, and quiet transmissions for your journey. Etsy Shop and digital downloads.

REACH OUT

Take the Next Step

You’ve entered a space where grief is not fixed. Grief here is witnessed, honored, and composted. Let the obituaries, reflections, zines, and offerings meet you where you are. There’s no right way to grieve here. No urgency to transform. Only space to breathe, ache, remember.

If you feel the pull to stay, subscribe to Monday Mournings, my weekly grief letter, a quiet companion and a gentle ritual to begin each week. You can also follow The Underground Dispatch, a speculative fiction series unfolding in grief transmissions from the mycelial world.

And if something here stirs something deeper, if you’re grieving, dying, remembering, or reshaping your world through loss, I’m here as a witness, a fellow traveler, and a guide at the threshold.

May this be a place where your grief is not pathologized, but met.
May the stories offer you shape.
May you remember: you are both compost and bloom.