Little reminder: You Can Survive This Storm
In 2012, my mom sent me this email during a rough time when I was making some life-changing decisions (unfortunately, I made the wrong one but wouldn’t see it for years). This week, while searching for something else, I stumbled upon it again—her voice reaching across time, as if she knew I needed to hear from her.
“I’m sure you’re busy figuring out the answers to your situation and making really important decisions. Wish I could make them easier for you.”
Oh, how I wish she could, too.
Losing her was the rotten cherry on top of an already unbearable year, beginning last March when I filed for a divorce—one that has spiraled into contentiousness and unnecessary expense. I held two of my beloved dogs as they took their last breaths. I was diagnosed with skin cancer and underwent minor—yet uncomfortable—surgery. I fought a lawsuit against my neighbors over trees—and won. And, for the first time, I found myself truly alone in my home. My youngest left for Los Angeles to finish school and plans to stay. My oldest graduated in August and moved to Australia.
But this not my first rodeo.
It’s not my first divorce.
It’s not my first lawsuit.
It’s not the first time I’ve had to put a dog down.
It’s not my first heartbreak.
But it is my first time losing a parent. And it is my first time experiencing so many of the top ten life stressors—divorce, death, illness, financial strain, legal battles, and a complete shift in my family dynamic—all in one compact year. This storm has been relentless.
If this past year has been a storm, then grief has been its relentless tide, dragging me under just as I catch my breath. At my mom’s funeral, the pastor said grief is just like that… the waves come at different times and in different sizes, not always expected. I agree - some waves are small, just circling your ankles, pulling you gently into the sand. And then there are the ones that knock you flat on your ass.
Can anyone lend me hand to get up? Because here’s something I’ve learned: when grief comes, you don’t have to face it alone.
For most of my life, my instinct was to retreat when things got hard. I would isolate, shut down, and disappear into my own pain. And some days, I still do. But this time, I made a different choice.
I turned toward people.
I made new friends. I started saying yes to new experiences—traveling, yoga, rucking, races, meeting new people through groups and activities, trying things I never would have before. I chose connection over isolation, even when it felt unnatural, even when my trust was shattered, even when my heart wanted to close itself off. Even when I felt I couldn’t get up and face one more day.
That’s one of the hardest parts of grief—it tempts you to go inward, to protect yourself from more pain. But healing doesn’t happen in the dark. It happens in the light of other people, new places, deep conversations, and small joys rediscovered.
I still talk to my mom. Not in the way I used to, of course. But I look for her signs, her wisdom, the things she would have said if she were here. I listen to old voicemails and watch videos of her. We all do this—we look for answers where we need to, and that’s okay. Healing isn’t about following rules; it’s about finding what gets you through.
For me, grief has been about allowing myself to reach for comfort wherever I find it—whether that’s in a conversation with an old friend, a new adventure, writing, art, a quiet morning alone, or allowing my mother’s words to resurface when I need them most.
That, I’ve realized, is what resilience really is. It’s not just surviving pain—it’s allowing yourself to feel it and believe that you’ll live, and that life can be beautiful again. To be introspective and listen to what you need to heal. And to be brave enough to do new things, establish healthier patterns, and not just fill the void with another person, drink, vacation, or other distraction. Distraction does not heal, it simply prolongs the pain.
If you’re in the thick of your own storm, here’s what I can tell you:
Let yourself grieve, but don’t let grief make you disappear. It’s okay to take time alone, but don’t shut yourself off entirely. Even if it’s just one person, one text, one conversation—stay connected.
Find comfort where you need to. Whether it’s an old letter, a song, a place, or a ritual that makes you feel grounded—there is no “wrong” way to heal.
You don’t have to prove anything. You are already enough, just as you are, without needing to perform, fix, or be perfect for anyone else.
Try something new. When everything in life feels unrecognizable, give yourself the chance to create something fresh—a new experience, a new friendship, a new way of being.
But don’t repeat unhealthy patterns and toxic coping mechanisms.
Trust that you will survive this. The waves will keep coming, but you will keep standing.
If you’re here, let’s turn this pain into power—together.
What’s the biggest question you have about grief or resilience? Let’s talk. Leave a comment or send me a DM. I’d love to help if i can.
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