They said time would heal me.
That one day I’d wake up and the pain would magically dull.
That if I kept busy, kept moving, kept pushing forward—
eventually the weight would lift on its own.
But time passed… and the ache remained.
Because here’s the truth:
Time doesn’t heal anything by itself.
It’s what you do inside that time that makes the difference.
And honestly? Most of the healing that happened for me didn’t come from calendars or clocks.
It came from hard choices, small habits, deep pain, and deeper grace.
Here’s What Actually Helped Me Heal
1. Letting the Grief Speak
At first, I tried to stay “strong.” For the kids. For the people watching. But holding it in made me numb and hollow. I was literally walking, but not feeling the ground beneath me. Sometimes I’d drive home and not remember how I got there….the entire drive was a blur.
It wasn’t until I let myself cry, journal without filters, and say his name out loud even when it made others and myself uncomfortable, that I finally started releasing instead of suppressing.
Healing started the moment I stopped apologizing for my grief. Although, I still find myself apologizing for it at times…
2. Naming What I Needed
For a long time, I didn’t even know what I needed, because I was too busy surviving.
But once I slowed down, I started asking:
• What kind of support am I missing?
• What boundaries am I not enforcing?
• What parts of me are craving attention?
I’m learning to stop waiting for people to guess how to show up for me. I’m starting to voice it, softly, clearly, and without shame.
3. Finding Safe Spaces to Be Real
I found healing in rooms where I didn’t have to perform.
In conversations where I could say, “I’m not okay” and not be rushed past it.
Therapy helped.
Journaling helped.
Creating The Brave Space helped.
So did the tiny corners of the internet where grief was allowed to be loud and messy.
Safe spaces saved me. That’s why I’m committed to building them now.
4. Letting Myself Laugh Again
There was a time when joy felt like betrayal.
How could I laugh while still aching for him?
But I learned that laughter didn’t mean forgetting.
It meant I was still alive.
Now, when the kids crack jokes, when I hear an old song we loved, when I sit on a beach and breathe easy for a moment. I let it happen. I let joy back in.
Because grief and joy don’t cancel each other out, they teach each other how to exist.
5. Being Honest About What I Couldn’t Fix
There were things I couldn’t repair:
• Friendships that disappeared after loss.
• Systems that failed us in our hardest season.
• The fact that he’s gone and won’t walk through that door.
But I stopped spinning in the “what ifs.” I grieved what I couldn’t fix, and I gave myself permission to live forward anyway.
Healing Isn’t Linear. It’s a Loop.
Some days I still cry like it just happened.
Other days I smile at the life I’m rebuilding.
I’ve learned to stop measuring progress by how long it’s been.
I measure it by how honest I’m willing to be with myself.
By how gently I treat myself in the waves.
By how often I choose to begin again.
If You’re in That Space Now…
If time hasn’t brought you peace yet, you’re not behind. You’re not doing it wrong.
You’re just human. And healing doesn’t run on a schedule.
Take the next step, no matter how small.
Cry. Text a friend. Download that journal. Speak their name. Say you’re not okay.
Do one thing today that moves you toward your own softness.
With grace and grit,
La 💙
