Don’t Call Me a Widow – Part 40 –

Feeling Something

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve sensed something shifting. Physically, I haven’t felt 100%, yet I’ve remained functional — just not at the pace I’m used to or prefer. Some might say this is expected: I lost my husband six months ago, and I turned seventy‑six four months ago. What else should I anticipate?

Logically, I understand that grief continues even when I’m smiling, laughing, and evolving into this next stage of life. But what I assumed grief would feel like is nothing like the descriptions written by others. I know we all grieve differently. I’ve watched my sister‑in‑law mourn the loss of her husband, my brother, with an intensity that is uniquely hers. Observing her has influenced me to choose a different path. I did not die when my brother and husband died. I was given life through their energy, and I have tried to honor that.

Yet even with their energy I have faltered and this morning I am looking at how my journey is affecting me.

When Joel died in September, I went straight into shock mode — then into auto‑pilot. My instinct was to help everyone else who was grieving. I stepped into the role I’ve always assumed was mine: the helper, the comforter, the stabilizer. Only now do I see that while it may have soothed others, it has quietly affected my health.

I repeated the same pattern when Rich died. I worried more about Alex and Steve than myself. And as I supported them, I also carried concern for my brother Gary’s health. I took on the internal responsibilities of all of it.

Internal responsibilities are the quiet, invisible commitments I carry inside myself — the ones that shape how I move through my days, how I respond to others, and how I care for my own well‑being. They are the “inner job description” I never applied for yet feel responsible to fulfill.

Thirteen years ago, when I lost my job and career, I clung to that inner job description so tightly that it pulled me into depression — something I’ve been treating ever since. I have an inner need to make life “good,” even though I know I only have control over certain things.

Control, I’ve learned, is a set of mental and emotional mechanisms we use to create stability. But we are not always in balance, and imbalance creates chaos — internally and externally. Much of my chaos comes from negative self‑talk. Being mindful of this helps me reduce the problems I actually can control.

I need to work on my relational control — accepting that it is not my responsibility to create resolution for others. I must practice empathy instead of over‑functioning. As I develop healthier tools, I can reduce the chaos I’ve been unintentionally creating, and in turn, protect my health.

This morning, I had an epiphany. No angels descended, and Richard did not appear with words of wisdom. The epiphany was simple. I woke with a migraine. I considered taking my prescribed medication, but it hasn’t been working well. Instead, I reached for a quick‑release Tylenol — just half a dose, because that has helped before. Within thirty minutes, my pain dropped from a ten to a two. It’s still achy, but I’m not suffering. My thinking is clearer, and I’m present.

The epiphany was this: make a change. Reach for another tool, another answer, another step forward. We often repeat the same actions because they’re familiar, even when they no longer lead us down the right path. Sometimes it’s time to detour.

At seventy‑six, I can still learn how to live in a more comfortable, healthier way. Breaking habitual routines isn’t easy, but when I do, I find relief — and relief makes it easier to move forward.

We need to support each other through our life journey. It’s not about fixing anyone. It’s about tending to our own health and gently guiding others when we can. As a guide, I can offer my resilience as an example, not a prescription. And I must remember evolving is my choice. Only I can take the step in the right direction.

Please join me in on my journey.

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