I have been MIA the last few weeks after breaking my femur for the second time in 6 months. I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, and now in a rehabilitation facility. During these weeks I’ve not connected to, or worked on my grief at all. It’s almost like I couldn’t handle the physical pain, and the pain inside of my soul at the same time. Yesterday was my first time going back to a group, and today’s really the first time I’ve been able to think about this and reflect. Have any of you ever had an experience like this? Where you just had to shut it off for a bit because you felt like you’d never make it if you had so many wounds opened at once? I’ve worked too hard with my grief to stop now, I just feel like I won’t be able to be fully present with it while I’m learning how to use my leg again.

I don’t remember much about the last 12 months other than the pain I felt and continue to feel. It may be more manageable but still painful. I feel most days like I’m just on autopilot if that makes sense. Because we were separated and starting divorce proceedings, it’s hard to find people who understand the dynamics. We have 3 boys together and the oldest is 28 and profoundly autistic. He’s non verbal and lost of self injurious behavior. It’s worse since his dad committed suicide. I feel like life is hell and no one cares. I lost a lot of people who I thought were friends with both my husband and myself but they just blame me for his death. Not people I want in my life anymore anyway but damn it’s lonely. I’m still here.. surviving.

“When was the last time you tried something new for the first time?” Hang in there everyone!

Think of yourself like a lighthouse. A lighthouse doesn’t run out into the ocean trying to save every ship. It doesn’t chase. It doesn’t prove. It doesn’t beg to be seen. It simply stands steady, grounded and shines. And the ships that need it… find their way. There’s something powerful that happens when you stop forcing relationships, stop chasing validation, stop trying to earn your place in rooms that were never meant to hold you… and instead root yourself in who you are. The right people don’t have to be convinced. They’re drawn to your light. And maybe the most beautiful thing in the world… is watching that same light come back on in someone else. That moment when their eyes soften, when the weight lifts just enough, when hope flickers again after being buried in the dark for so long. If you’ve ever been part of that if you’ve ever helped someone find even a sliver of their way back that matters more than you probably realize. Because growth? It’s not gentle. It asks you to see things you once couldn’t. To feel things you tried to outrun. To sit in the in-between of who you were and who you’re becoming. Some days you feel strong. Some days you feel shattered. Most days… you’re somewhere in the middle picking up pieces, moving forward, doing the best you can with what you have. And still… you show up. That counts. Even on the days where it feels like you’re just surviving where peace feels out of reach, where your chest feels tight with everything you’re carrying, where you wonder what it would feel like to just be instead of constantly bracing for what’s next… You’re still here. And that matters more than perfection ever could. And when it comes to the people you’ve loved the ones you miss, the ones who shaped you Keep saying their name. Keep telling their stories. Keep living the lessons they left in you. Because love doesn’t disappear. It changes form. It echoes in the way you show up. It lives in the way you love others. It lingers in the stories you refuse to let fade.

“Grief is like a raindrop holding the whole sky inside it— heavy, trembling, and full of light all at once. Even when it bends your world, it still carries the warmth of what you loved.”