Don’t Call Me a Widow – Part 30

Monday, a new day

Things really do look different the next day — sometimes better, sometimes simply shifted. You all know how much I struggle with “Good‑bye Sundays” when my boys head back to their own lives, but I’m beginning to believe that the sharpness of that pain softens as time moves forward.

Yesterday I waited for the familiar intensity, the ache that usually pushes me out of the house, onto the phone, into distraction. And while I did a little of that, it was minimal. I just lived. I breathed. I moved through the day doing what I needed and what I wanted. I didn’t run from myself, and this morning I realized something important: that steadiness brought me comfort. I’m OK.

We all ask, When will life feel normal again? But I’m beginning to question whether I even know what I expect “normal” to be. My life has never matched any traditional definition of normal, and maybe that’s because normal itself is an illusion — a standard built on the idea of perfection, and perfection doesn’t exist.

Even in the Garden of Eden, described as flawless, there was an ugly serpent capable of disrupting everything. We create our own serpents too — the negative thoughts, the fears, the doubts — and they stir chaos in our minds. Each of us must choose what voice to listen to and which ones to release so we can live fully.

Normal is one of those words that pretends to be solid but melts the moment you try to hold it. Through my writing, coaching, and grief work, I’ve come to understand that normal isn’t universal. It’s a rhythm we create, and it changes every time our life does.

Normal can be a pattern that brings comfort, but when life shifts — especially after loss — those old patterns may no longer soothe us. That’s when we’re invited to step out of the familiar and create a new form of well‑being.

When life changes, our nervous system reacts, often before our mind can make sense of anything. Shock steps in as protection. It shields us from the full weight of emotion until we are physically and spiritually able to cope. Shock is one of humanity’s oldest survival tools. It isn’t denial. It isn’t avoidance. It’s a temporary shelter that buys us time to repair.

But shock doesn’t last forever. It softens. It loosens. It allows emotion to come through in manageable pieces. Grief doesn’t disappear — it becomes part of our DNA — but it doesn’t have to control our breath or our life.

We get to choose when to emerge. And we must remember that we are not the only ones grieving. Too often we forget that others carry their own unseen burdens. When we choose kindness toward ourselves, we naturally extend it to others, helping all of us live fuller, richer lives.

Stop expecting others to understand your loss. Your relationship, your history, your routines, your dreams — these are yours alone. Your children, your family, your friends have their own memories, and they may not align with yours. Some will empathize. Some will turn away because they don’t know how to hold the weight you’re carrying.

We cannot expect others to give us what we want or need. We must follow our own journey and create healing from within.

Join me as we walk this path together.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen

Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com

DONT CALL ME A WIDOW