Don’t Call Me a Widow – Part 45 –

Stop Saying It’s So Hard

Whether it’s day one of our loss or day one‑thousand‑and‑one, we have to stop repeating, “It’s hard.” Of course it is. Life is filled with hard things. Every one of us carries something heavy, something unfair, something that shakes us. And the more we repeat how hard it is, the heavier it becomes.

Here’s what I know.

Yes, I miss my husband—my partner, my friend. Missing him is natural. Wishing he would walk back into the room is natural. But none of that is in my control. What is in my control are the tools I choose to use to keep living. If I keep announcing how hard this is, people will hesitate to step into my circle. I can’t blame them; grief can feel like quicksand from the outside.

But I need a circle. Family, old friends, new friends—these are the people who help us rebuild. Family is important, whether by blood or by bond. After a loss, our hearts turn toward the people who know us, who have lived life beside us, who love us. They become the anchors that steady us through uncertainty, grief, and the life changes we never asked for.

Family and friends must be part of our journey. They need to understand that we still need to be needed, not left alone to drown in dysfunctional sadness. Too often people pull away because they don’t have the experience, the understanding, or the empathy to cope with someone else’s grief. But grief is universal—no one escapes it. We can help each other if we stay connected.

Friends shouldn’t distance themselves because we are no longer an “even number.” We are still worthy of inclusion, still part of the circle, still whole even if we now stand as one instead of two.

When we say, “it’s hard,” what we’re really saying is that we’re being stretched beyond our comfort zone. Hard began the moment life changed—without our permission. But life was changing long before our loved one got sick or died. Life is always changing. If we can observe that truth, maybe we can release the idea that life is “hard” and instead accept that life is simply unfolding.

Recently, I’ve been listening to my youngest son as he struggles with his grief. He feels himself changing—his priorities, his outlook, his sense of direction. He’s at an age and in a career where change is already pressing in, and losing his uncle and his dad within six months has taken a toll. What he needs is support: family, friends, and a new circle that will embrace him. It will take time. He will need to learn how to navigate these changes without being swallowed by the mantra, “It’s hard.”

What if, instead of repeating that phrase, we simply said, “This is where I am.” And then took the next step. And the next.

Learning resilience as we go, allowing ourselves to falter, and trusting that each step teaches us something about who we are becoming.

If you are reading this and have never experienced a significant loss, you may not fully understand. But someday you will—and when that day comes, you will wish you had understood sooner, for the sake of the person who was grieving right in front of you.

Please join me in on my journey.

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