I feel guilty grieving old family traditions

People congratulate me when I tell them I reverted, and they mean it kindly. But nobody warned me how much I would grieve the small, ordinary things I grew up loving. I miss the Sunday kitchen, my aunt rolling chapati while taarab played softly, the smell of coconut rice that made everyone come running. Last week I sat on the bus home and burst out crying at the memory of my cousin’s laugh at our old banter. I find myself keeping recipes in a notebook but declining invitations so I do not confuse people about my new path. I am torn between honouring family memory and wanting a clear, faithful boundary. Has anyone else carried this kind of quiet loss, and how did you live with it?