Being a Widow – Part 7

My name is Karen, and I am a widow.

This morning I was listening to Mel Robbins. She wasn’t talking about widowhood, but she was talking about the importance of hitting the reset button. As I continue walking this path, I’m realizing just how essential that reset truly is.

I’m learning to give myself permission to smile, to laugh, to enjoy life again — and also to cry, to feel the heaviness, and to let myself rage when the grief demands space. All of it is part of being my authentic self. I’m also learning to honor what I need, both physically and emotionally. If I’m going to keep moving forward on this new path, caring for my health has to remain a priority.

Grounding techniques have helped me do that. They anchor my nervous system and give me a way to stay present instead of spiraling into overwhelm.

I’ve always been comfortable in my bare feet, but only recently did I understand why it feels so calming. It’s a simple grounding practice — feeling my toes press into the carpet or settle onto the wood floor. That sensation brings me back into my body. It reminds me where I am, not just the room I’m standing in, but the emotional space I’m inhabiting in that moment.

Another grounding technique I use is asking myself, “How is that working for you?” I used to beat myself up over mistakes — even the ones that weren’t mine to carry — because I felt responsible for everything. Over time, I’ve learned that some things in life simply have to be accepted as they are.

Now, when I ask myself that question, I answer it honestly and with the intention of finding something constructive. Sometimes that means recognizing that an issue doesn’t deserve my energy. And in those moments, I let it drop out of sight and dissolve, because not everything is worth holding onto in the bigger picture.

Being a widow means I no longer have my best friend beside me to share life’s moments — even the quiet ones. I don’t get daily hugs or kisses, and I don’t hear him telling me, over and over, that I’m beautiful and that he loves me. I miss the touch, the words, the intimacy, and yes, even the disagreements. Life was never perfect, and we didn’t always see eye to eye, but that was part of the rhythm of being together.

Now, as a widow, I find myself searching for community — and slowly, I’m beginning to find it. It brings comfort, but it is a complete 180-degree turn from who I was and who I am becoming. As I hold on to my husband’s energy, I feel a deep need for him to walk this path with me in whatever way he can. Forty‑two years together cannot simply disappear; they are woven into who I am and who I am still becoming.

Like so many others, if I could turn the clock back to the first of the year, Richard wouldn’t have gotten sick and died. But he did. I can’t change that reality. What I can change is how I learn to adapt to the path in front of me.

As I walk and slowly find my way, I’m acknowledging that I’m evolving into who I am today. I’m learning to be more independent — partly by necessity, partly by choice. I’m learning to listen to what I need, something I put on hold for most of my marriage. I made the conscious choice to put Richard and our sons first, and now I finally have the opportunity to turn that care inward.

Making it my choice now feels both exciting and grounding. It gives me purpose as I move through life more slowly, appreciating what I’ve had and opening myself to what I can still have.

This is my journey.

If you are walking this path too, I invite you to join me.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen

Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com