Don’t Call Me a Widow – Part 49

Tired in Ohio

Yesterday I slept in until 9:45 a.m., and this morning I was up at 6:30 — much closer to my usual rhythm. Even before Rich passed away, sleep often slipped through my fingers, leaving me to move through my days in a kind of functional fog. I get things done, but I often feel like a walking zombie. I know that sounds strange, but it’s the truth. Yesterday when I should have felt more rested I kept thinking about taking a nap, unless you count the mini eye closure I did while sitting at my computer a nap, I stayed awake all day.

Yesterday should have been a more rested day, yet I kept thinking about taking a nap. Aside from the few seconds my eyes drifted shut at the computer, I stayed awake.

My followers have asked me to share what my days look like now. There’s nothing extraordinary about them, but I try to stay mindful of who I am, what I need, and what I want to do.

My mornings are fairly routine. I wake up, eat breakfast, and sit by the dining room window to take in the natural beauty outside. Earlier in the season the birds were lively — singing, swooping, and filling my neighbor’s two birdhouses. Now those houses sit quiet. The chipmunks and squirrels that chased each other across my yard seem to have found new territory. Living on the edge of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park means I’m surrounded by greenery, but I miss the little creatures that used to keep me company.

One of the first changes I made after Rich died was moving the dining room furniture. It gave me a comfortable front-row seat to the outdoors, a place where I could feel held by nature while still inside my home. I also transformed my office into a true working space — my own little palace. Sitting at my desk, I feel like a queen or at least someone with authority over her own life. Work has always been essential for me, not the 9-to-5 kind, but the work of caring for myself and creating a life that feels steady.

For years I tied my well-being to income. And while money matters, I’m learning that my survivorship — my ability to live fully — depends more on my attitude than my bank account. I’m trying to reduce costs (no easy task these days) and to enjoy more. I’m discovering new things I like, and I’m learning to understand the things I don’t. As a child, if I said I didn’t like something but couldn’t explain why, my mother would say she’d give me something not to like. It always made me see things her way.

As a life-long people pleaser, I apologized too much, struggled to say no, and avoided conflict. Compared with my brothers, I was the easiest to raise — but also the unhappiest. My parents couldn’t understand my unhappiness and often told me to “snap out of it,” not realizing I was withdrawing into discomfort I didn’t yet know how to name it. They meant well, but life isn’t about snapping out of anything. It’s about understanding how you got there and finding your way out.

I believe we experience what we do — even the painful parts — to become the best version of ourselves. I also believe we influence our emotions, consciously and unconsciously, sometimes even seeking attention through them, including negative attention. Our emotions run constantly through our bodies and minds. Our brains sort through the data, shifting from “Oops, I messed up” to “Ah, that’s the answer.” We name these thoughts, often subconsciously, and they settle into emotional buckets: happiness, sadness, confusion. Each one demands to be addressed.

Mindful living helps quiet the spirals. When we pause, listen, and pivot, we interrupt the chaos. Our bodies and brains stay connected even when we feel disconnected. In fright, we freeze. In flight, we escape. Without breathing, pausing, and pivoting, we get stuck in a Catch-22. Our nervous system needs space to help us restore healthy habits. When the amygdala shouts “Danger!” the path forward is simple: stop, breathe, assess — and repeat. That’s how we create new choices.

This morning I woke up tired. I tried to push through the fatigue but soon found myself at the computer feeling agitated and overwhelmed. My thoughts froze. I took a few deep breaths and tried to shift my thinking, but my brain felt too tired to cooperate. So, I went back to bed. I needed sleep. As my head hit the pillow, the pulsating spasm in my forehead slowed, my breath softened, and I drifted off. Two hours later I woke up confused, still tired, but clearer. I took my time. I listened to my body for the physical cues to rise and let my brain guide me into motion.

Maybe this is grief telling me to slow down. Maybe it’s decades of doing everything for everyone telling me to stop. What I know is that the steps I took brought me to this moment, and I feel fine, although still feeling tired.

When we choose to live more mindfully we can reduce the interrupting thought spirals by learning to pause and listen and pivot.

I am the captain of my own ship. I’m the one who creates smooth sailing. Rough seas will come, but I trust myself to navigate them and to make choices that enhance my life.

Please join me on my journey.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen
Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com