6 min read
When sorrow isn’t just sadness, it’s an ocean that never dries.
Aubrey Plaza delivered her most candid remarks yet about the devastating loss of her husband, Jeff Baena, who died by suicide in January 2025. In her appearance on Amy Poehler’s Good Hang podcast, she described grief as an unrelenting presence: “a giant ocean of awfulness.”
Yet even within that sorrow, Plaza chooses to share glimmers of her resilience. She confessed, “Overall, I’m here and I’m functioning .… I feel grateful to be moving through the world. I think I’m OK.” It’s that oscillation between raw pain and fragile functionality that gives her narrative emotional gravity.
Her bravery in speaking openly reminds her audience, not stoic celebrities, but human beings, that grief is neither linear nor neat. It persists, but we persist too.
Grief may be an ocean, but we’re still swimming.
Grief is that gorge filled with monsters you can’t ignore.
Plaza didn’t shy away from her comparison to The Gorge, where two characters stand on opposing cliffs with “monster people” lurking in the chasm between. To her, that gorge mirrors the emotional landscape of grief, vivid, menacing, ever-present.
Sometimes she wants to plunge into the darkness. Other times, she looks at it. Other times, she runs. But the monsters, the weight of sorrow, are always there. It’s a raw and honest metaphor that underscores how grief isn’t something you heal from once and for all. It’s a new permanent resident in your emotional home.
Plaza’s storytelling helps readers who might not watch The Gorge understand the relentless nature of grief. By describing her emotional terrain so viscerally, she creates empathy, making grief feel less isolating, more communal.
Grief’s monsters may surround us, but we can learn to stand on the cliff.

Some days, the world feels heavy; still, she moves forward.
Describing her experience as “a daily struggle,” Plaza didn’t conceal her pain. She acknowledged that maintaining everyday life isn’t simple; it requires effort, even if only to get through the morning.
That said, she also shared moments of genuine gratitude: “I’m here and I’m functioning.… I feel grateful to be moving through the world.” These words, simple but poignant, reflect a fierce resolve: to stay present, to keep going, even when it hurts to breathe.
Plaza’s honesty shines especially because she’s not a stranger to polished public personas. Here, she deliberately lets flaws show, not for sympathy, but solidarity. It’s a reminder that grief doesn’t excuse absence; it demands presence, however tenuous.
Every day’s a battle, but she’s choosing to keep showing up.
Their story wasn’t just Hollywood; it was home.
Aubrey Plaza and Jeff Baena had a lengthy, deeply collaborative relationship. They met in 2011 and quietly married in 2021 after a decade together. The ceremony was small, impromptu, held in tie-dye pajamas in their backyard during the pandemic, an intimate testament to the joy they found in simple, spontaneous moments.
Professionally, their partnership was no less intimate. Plaza starred in several of Baena’s films, Life After Beth, The Little Hours, and Spin Me Round, creating her most memorable work under his direction. They found each other both creatively and personally.
Their separation in September 2024, months before his death, adds another layer of complexity. The couple had struggled, and yet remained bound by history, art, and unspoken understanding. In grief, Plaza isn’t just mourning a spouse; she’s mourning a partner in creation.
Their love formed stories; now those stories console her.
An honest conversation becomes a healing dialogue.
Plaza chose Amy Poehler’s Good Hang as her first vulnerable space, carefully and thoughtfully. A friendship born on Parks and Recreation gave her a safe context for sharing a grief that had been intensely private.
She begins the conversation with presence and gratitude: “Right in this very, very present moment, I feel happy to be with you.” Poehler gently sets the stage, referencing Plaza’s therapy dog Frankie as a quiet source of solace.
That moment is a testament to how grief opens when love and trust remain. It’s a subtle act of courage being seen when you’re most seen, and it speaks to how meaningful support can transform a private ache into public empathy.
Telling your truth doesn’t make pain performative; it makes it human.

Art doesn’t erase grief; it coexists with it.
Despite the devastating loss of her husband earlier this year, Aubrey Plaza has stepped back into the spotlight, channeling her energy into promoting Ethan Coen’s dark comedy Honey Don’t!, which premieres in theaters on August 22, 2025. Her decision to return to work so soon after such a personal tragedy is not about escaping her grief but about finding a way to live alongside it.
Plaza has always used her craft as a vehicle for expression, and in this moment, art serves as both sanctuary and survival. Attending screenings, speaking at festivals, and engaging in interviews has allowed her to maintain a connection with the creative world that she and Jeff Baena once shared.
Each appearance becomes an act of resilience, a reminder that grief does not mean withdrawing completely from life. Instead, Plaza demonstrates that it’s possible to carry pain while still creating, performing, and sharing stories with audiences.
For her, continuing to act is not a dismissal of loss but a testament to endurance. Through her work, Plaza shows that grief and creativity are not opposites; they walk side by side, shaping one another in the process.
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This article was made with AI assistance and human editing.
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