Self and Grief

Five days ago my husband almost died. He had a complication from a surgery to extend his quality of life, after being diagnosed with stage 3 liver disease. I have been with him on the journey to a liver transplant, and it’s been quite the epic. Based how quickly the medical team in our city transferred him to the transplant hub 4 hours away, tells me all I need to know about that.

But this essay isn’t about him, really. It’s about how I lost myself through all this. It was only a short time ago that he was diagnosed, and in just a few months, I became an empty husk of my former self. Granted, before he got sick, I was already feeing like I was being hollowed out from the microaggressions I had toward myself. The times that I said yes, when I meant no. Times that I kept silent when I should have used my voice. Slowly shrinking to “keep the peace” in an increasingly inhospitable realm.

Anticipatory Grief

I only recently discovered there was a word for the feeling I have been carrying these last several months- Anticipatory Grief. The stage of grief before the actual grief event happens, where you expect the tragedy and prepare for it. This grief comes in waves of hope and tragedy. Highs and lows that can vacillate so wildly within seconds, if feels like a perpetual food processor. One second you are hopeful for an outcome that doesn’t result in the unspeakable. The next, you are in the depths of despair, preparing for your existence without them. As time has worn on and my patience worn thin, it has been increasingly difficult to wrap my head around the possibility that this wasn’t “the end”.

Winning or Losing

Around the new year, an author that I deeply respect who has a skool community I am a member of, posed a question regarding resolutions for the coming year. While I have never been one to do resolutions, my response was telling. I shared to the thread that I did not want to lose myself, and instead wanted to stay dedicated to the projects I had started long before diagnosis, no matter the outcome.

I had that thought before we came within a paper thin margin of life or death. I didn’t want to lose myself in the process of loving and supporting someone else. I remain steadfast in that goal right now, as I write these words. My own Soul Death is not worth the price.

How often do we shrink ourselves to love others? How often do we shame ourselves for living fully in our authenticity, so that others can be more comfortable? How often are we conditioned to hide the parts of ourselves that make us unique, brilliant, and strong? It is a genuine tragedy to the psyche. We hide, quiet, and even destroy the pieces that are the best parts of us, and for what?

Current State

As of this writing, my husband is on the path to gaining strength and stamina back, to ensure a successful transplant. I have resolved to keep my spine straight through whatever comes in the future for us. By doing that, I can be my whole self- the compassionate, kind, strong caretaker/mother/daughter/friend/wife that is my nature. One who will not shrink to fit the expectations of others, but instead will be the authentic, imperfect version I am and am becoming.

I owe it to myself, my children, and those around me. I owe it to my own inner child too. She worked very hard to keep me safe, to get me here. I owe it to her to be brave and make her proud of who we became.

March 19, 2026 0

When Grief Becomes a Mirror

Finding Yourself in the Aftermath of a Difficult Year

There are years that feel like a slow unraveling – threads pulled loose one by one until you’re no longer sure where the original pattern even began. Maybe this past year was one of those years for you. A year that asked too much. A year that took too much. A year that left you standing in the quiet aftermath, wondering how to stitch yourself together again.

Grief has a way of stripping everything down to the bone. It silences the noise, dissolves the masks, and leaves us alone with ourselves, our truth, our questions, our unmet needs, our unspoken longings. It’s uncomfortable, raw, sometimes brutally honest. But within that discomfort lives something sacred: an invitation back to authenticity.

Where Grief Meets Introspection

When life shakes us, the first instinct is often to reach for something familiar: routine, responsibility, distraction. But eventually, there comes a stillness we can’t outrun. In that stillness, we meet ourselves again.

Introspection during grief doesn’t look like tidy journaling prompts or beautifully structured epiphanies. It’s more like:

Sitting quietly with the ache in your chest
Realizing the things you used to tolerate no longer feel tolerable
Noticing which relationships held you, and which ones disappeared
Feeling exhausted by pretend versions of yourself
Wanting less noise, fewer expectations, and more truth

Grief changes our inner landscape. It shifts priorities, clears illusions, and sharpens our understanding of what matters. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way, but in tiny, everyday moments – choosing rest over obligation, honesty over performance, slowness over survival mode.

Authenticity Often Begins in the Ruins

It’s strange, but grief can make us more real than anything else ever could.

When the old ways of being fall apart, it becomes harder to hide behind “I’m fine.” Something in us whispers:

Be who you actually are.

Say what you actually feel.

Stop carrying what is not yours.

Authenticity isn’t about perfection. It’s about alignment. And grief, for all its heaviness, is a powerful realignment. It clears away the unnecessary and asks us to show up barefaced, imperfect, and entirely human.

You might find yourself:

Speaking with more honesty
Setting boundaries you once avoided
Prioritizing joy in small, quiet ways
Letting go of roles that drained you
Reclaiming parts of yourself you forgot

That internal shift is not weakness. It’s transformation.

Moving Forward With Tender Courage

If you’re reading this and nodding quietly, please know: nothing is wrong with you. You aren’t “behind.” You aren’t failing. You’re simply in a brave season of becoming.

Healing isn’t linear. Some days you’ll make tea, breathe deeply, and feel grounded. Other days you’ll stare at the laundry and wonder why everything suddenly feels heavy. Both are part of the journey. Both count.

Be gentle with the version of you that is trying to rise while still carrying the weight of what you’ve lost.

There Is Magic in Returning to Yourself

As painful as this year may have been, it’s also offering you something: a path back to your inner wisdom. A chance to hear your own voice again. A doorway into a life that feels more aligned, more intentional, and more you.

This is the quiet magic that grief leaves in its wake—not joy exactly, but truth. Not certainty, but clarity. Not perfection, but presence.

If you’re moving through this intersection of grief, introspection, and authenticity… take it slowly. Let yourself feel. Let yourself soften. Let yourself rebuild in your own time and in your own way.

And if you want a place to explore these moments more deeply, with others who are walking their own healing path, you’re warmly invited to join us inside Mystic Harmony Circle—a gentle community for connection, grounding, and rediscovering your inner voice.

You don’t have to navigate this season alone.

You deserve support, spaciousness, and a soft place to land.