Category: healing

Posted in grief, healing, rediscovery, widow

My 2026 Manifesto:

Posted on by Widow with wings

The Beginning of a New Chapter

This post is the start of something new for me.

Not a polished “after” story. Not a how-to on healing. But a real-time series about rebuilding a life after loss…learning how to live again, rediscover who I am now, and choosing myself without guilt. If you’re a widow, someone starting over, or anyone who feels behind in life, this space is for you. So here it goes…

My 2026 Manifesto

I’ve spent a decade feeling like my life didn’t unfold the way it was supposed to, and I have been bitter about that.

Like I was behind. Like I missed something everyone else seemed to get easily. Like I had to work twice as hard just to feel okay, while other people moved forward without losing what I lost. I have carried sadness, lonliness, bitterness and resentment around for too long.

As I step into 2026, I don’t want to carry that story anymore. This is no longer my truth.

This year, I’m choosing a different way of living. I am choosing to step into the life I deserve to have and the person I am meant to be.

I’m no longer measuring my life by what didn’t work out, what I had to grieve, or how far ahead everyone else appears to be. I’m done shrinking myself to fit timelines that were never built for someone who had to start over. I am done feeling sorry for myself and my circumstances.

In 2026, I stop asking what’s wrong with me and start honoring what I’ve survived and all that I have overcome.

I’m releasing the shame I’ve been carrying for how I am, how I feel, and how long healing has taken. Nothing is embarrassing about rebuilding a life after it breaks. There is nothing weak about wanting more than survival. It is time. Enough is enough.

This is the year I stop chasing people and things who don’t choose me and weren’t meant for me.
I stop explaining myself to people who aren’t listening.
I stop proving my worth in hopes of being loved, understood, or included.

Instead, I am choosing peace over performance.
Consistency over chaos.
Self-respect over comfort.

I’m learning that bitterness isn’t something you force yourself to drop but instead it softens when your life begins to feel fuller. I won’t shame myself for noticing how unfair things have been. But I won’t let resentment steal my future anymore either. It is time to step out of the shadows I have been living in and step into what is next.

So, 2026 is about rediscovering who I am now.

Not who I was before everything changed.

Not who I had to be to raise my boys alone.
Not who people expect me to be.
But the woman standing here: wiser, softer, stronger, still becoming.

This year, I commit to caring for my body instead of criticizing it. I move because it helps me feel alive. I rest without guilt. I create because it keeps me connected to myself. I say yes to connection and no to emotional crumbs. I allow joy without apologizing for it. I allow myself to make mistakes, take chances and grow into the person I am meant to be,

I let myself be seen…slowly, safely, honestly.

I’m building a life that feels like mine, even if it looks quieter or different than I once imagined. I understand now that happiness isn’t a destination you arrive at one day, no matter how badly I want it to, but rather it’s a series of small, honest choices made again and again. And I am choosing me.

I don’t need to be fully healed to begin.
I don’t need permission to want more.
I don’t need to go back to become whole.

In 2026, I choose myself. Not dramatically, not perfectly, but consistently.

This is my year of becoming.
And this series is where I begin.

So, What’s Coming Next?

In this series, I’ll be sharing:

  • what healing actually looks like after loss
  • how I’m rediscovering who I am now
  • the glow-up that happens quietly, from the inside out
  • navigating loneliness, comparison, and new friendships
  • choosing joy without guilt

If you’re rebuilding, becoming, or beginning again… I’m glad you’re here.

Posted in grief, healing, widow, widowhood

imploding

Posted on by Widow with wings

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about stars.
How they shine, how they burn, how they eventually collapse under the weight of their own gravity.

And strangely… how much I can relate to them.

Because when Pat died, I didn’t just lose someone.
Something inside me imploded – quietly at first, then all at once.
The life I knew folded in on itself, the way a star does when it can no longer hold the pressure that once made it shine.
I don’t recognize myself. I don’t recognize the world. I don’t recognize the version of “me” that used to move through life without thinking.

People don’t talk about the moment after the collapse – not the grief itself, but the aftershocks of it all.
How the light dims.
How the heat changes.
How everything becomes silent and unbearably loud at the same time.

That’s the part no one prepares you for.

But here’s the thing about stars:
When they implode… they also become something else.
Not the version they were before, not the version they tried to hold together, but something new, raw, powerful, and strangely beautiful.

And that’s where I am now.

I’m not the widow standing in the immediate explosion anymore.
I’m not the woman holding her boys and trying to pretend she’s strong while her entire universe collapses around her.
And I’m not the version of myself who lived before the implosion because she doesn’t exist anymore, no matter how hard I try to find her.

Right now, I’m somewhere in that strange, sacred middle. In the inbetween.

The part where the dust is still settling.
The part where the heat still lingers.
The part where pieces of the old me are drifting, rearranging, forming into something I’ve never been before.

It’s uncomfortable.
It’s unfamiliar.
And somehow, even here, there’s a tiny spark of hope.

Because a star doesn’t implode and disappear.
It implodes and becomes something new.
A beginning wrapped inside an ending.
A place where new stars form.

And maybe that’s what this season of widowhood is for me.

Not a rebirth I asked for.
Not a transformation I planned.
But a slow gathering of everything that survived the collapse, my strength, my softness, my hurt, my hope, and letting those pieces create something new.

I still miss the life I had.
I still talk to the person I lost.
I still feel the gravity of what imploded.

But I’m also noticing tiny sparks rising out of the rubble:
A moment of clarity about who I’m becoming.
A sense of direction I haven’t felt in years.
A strength that isn’t forced. It’s just there, quietly, steadily.
A voice inside me that whispers, “Keep going, you’re forming again.”

I’m not “healed,” whatever that means.
But I’m not broken in the same way I was.
I’m something new now. Still glowing, still shifting, still becoming.

A widow, yes.
But also a woman rebuilding her life.

If you’re here too, standing in the remnants, wondering what comes next, just know this:

Implosions aren’t the end.
They’re the beginning of the next version of your light.

And you’re allowed to shine again, even if it looks different than before.
Even if you’re still gathering your pieces.
Even if you don’t feel ready.

New stars take time to form.
And so do we.

Posted in grief, healing, widow

The new perspective I never asked for

Posted on by Widow with wings

When you lose your spouse and are suddenly left to navigate life on your own, something changes inside you in a way that’s hard to explain. You gain a new perspective on life…you see what truly matters, you stop worrying about the small things, and you try to keep your priorities straight.

But along with that clarity comes a deep sense of loneliness. You realize that this new way of seeing the world can make you feel completely out of place or that no one understands where you are coming from. It’s not that you want people to understand what you’re going through – because for them to truly understand, they would have to lose someone they love, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Still, it can be hard to live in a world that feels different. I often find myself struggling to figure out where I fit and what the purpose of it all truly is. It can feel like standing in the middle of a tornado – the chaos of life and our society is spinning around me, but I’m just left alone trying to stay on my feet and make sense of it all.

For the past ten and a half years, I’ve been learning what it means to rebuild, to find my footing again, and to keep moving forward even when life doesn’t look like I thought it would. From the outside, I think I look like I have been doing pretty well with all of that. But the reality is, nothing makes sense to me anymore. I find myself shaking my head a lot, feeling confused, and not understanding the “why” of anything.

Before Pat’s death, life just moved. I went through my days like most people do — juggling work, family, the boys, daily routines, not really thinking about how fragile it all was. I planned for the future, assumed time was on our side, and took for granted that life would keep following the same rhythm. It felt safe, steady, and predictable. It just was. I was simply living without a lot of thought about it.

But after he died, everything shifted. The world didn’t look the same anymore, and neither did I. The things that once came naturally, getting up, going through the motions, planning for the future, suddenly felt impossible. Even the simple, everyday moments that used to mean nothing now carry a strange weight. Making dinner, running errands, sitting in silence – it all feels different now. But its more than that even. The way the world works and how people are is difficult to understand now.

People often talk about “getting back to normal,” but normal disappeared the day he did. There’s no going back to what life was before, because that life doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve tried to recreate it, to pretend that if I just stay busy enough, it might all start to make sense again. But no matter what I do, that old rhythm of life never returns. And the problem is that no rhythm of life has returned. There hasn’t been a reset or reboot on life. I mean life is going, things are moving forward, but I am left feeling, well I guess, alone. I’m not alone in reality. I have people around me, I have people supporting me, people loving me. It’s just this unexplainable feeling.

I guess what I’ve come to realize recently is that I can’t find “normal” anywhere, not in the places we used to go, not in routines that once felt so steady, not even in myself. I can’t just live life the way I used to because none of it feels right anymore. It’s like standing in the middle of a familiar room that suddenly feels foreign. Everything’s in the same place, but nothing feels the same. And maybe it is the same and it is me that has changed and that is what is leaving me feeling this way. Maybe I just don’t know how the “new” me fits in the world, or maybe the whole world has lost its mind.

There are days I feel like I’m losing my mind trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand why this happened, what it means, how to keep moving forward, how to find peace and happiness again and how to find my place in this world. And in those moments, the loneliness hits hard. It’s not just the absence of him—it’s the absence of the person I was when he was here. The absence of the life I had before. The absence of when the world made sense to me.

I don’t know if this even makes sense to anyone who hasn’t lived through it or if it really makes sense at all. What I do know is that being a widow is hard. It’s still hard, even after a decade.

Yes, I’m in a better place than I was ten years ago. I’ve grown, I’ve healed, I’ve learned how to live again in some ways. But somehow, life feels more complicated than ever. The world itself feels chaotic, and I’m just trying to stay afloat while carrying this different perspective that loss leaves behind.

Maybe there isn’t an answer. Perhaps it’s just about learning to live inside the questions, to sit with the confusion, the loneliness, and the change. I don’t have it all figured out, and maybe I never will. But I’m learning that healing isn’t about finding clarity; it’s about showing up for the life that’s still here. Some days that means just breathing through the ache, and other days it means taking a small step forward. I am just going to keep trying to make sense of this world that no longer makes sense and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Posted in accepting, grief, healing, solo parenting, widow

An Empty Nest

Posted on by Widow with wings

This school year has been the start of so much new in my world.  I left my school I had been working at for almost 10 years to start a new career, but at the last minute received an offer I couldn’t refuse from another school to continue my path as a high school counselor.  Not a new career, but a new school and new environment.  Seamus, my oldest son, has graduated college and is starting his path in life trying to kick start his career in the film industry, moving to Atlanta and making his own way.  Aidan, the youngest, has graduated high school and headed off to college.  Leaving me all alone with the menargery of animals I own, left to figure out what is next.  I didn’t think it would be all that difficult to be living alone, until it happened.  And then I realized I never really lived all alone.  Right after college I basically moved in with Pat and then we were married and then quickly all three boys came along.  Even after Pat died, I still had the boys at home with me, so living on my own is new for me.  And let me tell you it isn’t the logistics of being alone or not having the boys here in my daily routine, it’s the silence that came with it.  And in that silence came everything and every emotion I never took the time or had the time to process or experience when Pat died.  It all came up and I had to deal with it all.  There were alot of emotions…missing the boys, worrying about the boys, trying to find my way in my new job, feeling lonely in the house while i was figuring out yet again another new normal.  But the worst of it all is the grieving that I never did.  The grieivng that I couldn’t do because I had to step up and take care of the boys and our lives and survive for the past ten + years.  It was grieving the loss of me and the life I had and the life I felt I was supposed to have.  I had shoved all that down and just did what I had to do and left all of those emotions behind to be dealt with later.  And so here we are….LATER.  I was not ready for this.  I found myself lost – not the lost of what do i do now that the kids are gone, but lost as in who the hell am I.  Where did this person come from?  What am I doing?  How did my life end up like this?  Why am I where I am?  What am I supposed to do now?…Simple questions to ponder in the stillness and quietness of your home, right?  I spent a lot of time in bed, a lot of time crying, pages and pages of journaling, searching for books on empty nesters as a widow – which don’t exist…yet (stay tuned! :))  I felt like I was right back to the time after Pat died where I snapped out of my daze and started searching for help.  I was falling quickly into despair, not wanting to talk to anyone, do anything, get out of bed or make anymore decisions.  I just wanted to disappear and forget it all.  I know for a mom, when your kids leave the house there is a time period where you have to figure out what you are supposed to do now because all your time and attention had been on the kids.  And I had some of that too, but it was compounded by the work that hadn’t been done or the grace that I hadn’t given myself in the past that rose quickly to the surface.  I didn’t know any other way to get through it than to simply go through it.  

I allowed myself to feel it all. I felt the pain, the sadness, the anger, and the bitterness. I let myself feel sorry for myself until I was almost ready to just throw in the towel and give up. And then that was enough. I started to do some inner work and tried to look at my “Former” life without the rose-tinted glasses on. You see, when we look back and remember what was, we recall all the good; it is romanticized and idealistic, often overshadowing the struggles we faced. But when you step back and look at how life was, and list it out for real, and then make a list of how it is now, and add in what you want it to look like, it was amazing to see that I really am doing great despite everything. I have truly grown and changed, and I have a life—though not fully created just yet, there is a path forward filled with potential and opportunity. Things are growing and moving along, and though I loved my life before, I was a different person then. I needed the opportunity to say goodbye to the girl I was before, to reflect deeply and acknowledge who I had been. I actually wrote her a letter—to the woman I was before he died. That was an extremely therapeutic exercise, a cathartic release that allowed me to articulate feelings I had bottled up for so long. I even found that there were still pieces of that girl inside of me that I had kept pushed down, almost as if to protect her from further hurt. I think it is finally time to remove the armor and let her out again, to embrace the fragments of my past that still resonate with who I am becoming. This act of saying goodbye to what once was has released a great deal of pain and shame I had been carrying around for years, even if it was hidden beneath the surface. It has given me the freedom to start focusing on what I want and who I am now. I now have the chance to see who this new Denise truly is and where she fits in my new normal, which I am creating as I go, piecing together my reality one piece at a time. As scary as it all is, it’s a little bit exciting too. I have been thinking a lot about how I used to do things, back when I was a goal setter… I had dreams and goal markers I wanted to hit, a timeline mapped out with expectations of achievements. But now, I just want to find my peace. I want to discover joy in the little moments, simply finding my way one day at a time. A lot easier said than done, but I am happy to say that this empty nest timeframe, though painful and difficult, has been profoundly transformative for me. I am still at the beginning of this new chapter, brimming with uncertainty but also hope. I know that in the near future, there will be even more life changes—moving, retirement, chapter 2, weddings, and grandbabies. I want to be able to be fully present for all of those moments, to bask in the joy that each new milestone brings. So for me, this season of having an empty nest has been about cleaning out my house, literally and figuratively, which was previously full of pain and sadness, to make room for what is to come, hopefully a fresh start filled with light, laughter, and love.

Posted in grief, healing, widow

I can’t fix it.

Posted on by Widow with wings

I think the best place to start with this post is to begin with an apology. I apologize ahead of time for the disorganization of the writing I am about to share. I also want to apologize for the hiatus. COVID-19 entered our worlds and boy did it shut me down. I haven’t written a single word since it all began though I feel like I have had a lot to say. So I am writing again. I am going to give it another go to get back to what makes me feel good and what I feel I can do to truly help others.

That is where I will begin this writing….helping others. I have always felt like my purpose in life is to help others. I have a desire to make a difference in others lives and though the way in which I have thought about doing these things have changed, I still believe that is what I am here on earth to do. I used to think I had to be apart of something “bigger” than me in order to make a difference in this world. I wanted to be apart of some big movement, or make a global impact and that is how I was going to make a difference. Then after I lost Pat, I felt like I was going to make a difference with other widows. But I unfortunately had to make a living and support my boys and get a job to pay the bills. I have been a high school counselor for the past four years and this has taken me away from my trying to help widows, though it has also filled the need to make a difference in peoples lives.

You see, these kids that I work with struggle with so much. I want to make it better for them. I want to take away their fears, their pain, their sadness, but I can’t. I can’t fix it for them. I can’t tell you how many times I go into my administrator and ask for a magic wand. A magic wand to make a difference in these kids lives, a real difference. There has to be something I can do to change the environment, or culture, or toxicity that our children are growing up with in this age of social media. I want to fix things for my own children as well. I want everything to be smooth for them and for them to genuinely be happy, good people. I don’t care about academic accolades or monetary success in life. I want them to simply be happy. Whenever any of these people, my children at school or my children at home, are in pain, I am in pain. This is who I am and how I am; for good or bad. My point of this is that I always want to help others.

The problem is that I struggle with helping myself. My life has changed so much since Pat died. It has been 6 1/2 years and yet there are still so many wounds and so much collataral damage that came from the whole experience. But I don’t want to admit that. I continue moving forward and being strong and handling things as it comes. When inside I am boiling over with emotion, confusion and anger. None of this I want to show to the world, and sometimes not even to myself.

Before Pat died, I was always an emotional person. I would cry at Kleenex commercials and Family Feud when the families won, but I had control of my emotions then. Since he died, and really probably from the time he was diagnosed, my emotions have grown stronger. I feel so much more now than I ever did before. It is something that is difficult to explain to people. I feel people’s pain and their happiness and there is no controlling it. I feel their happiness, I feel their sadness. I feel connected to others in a way I can’t explain. Every emotion is just larger than life. I have been ashamed or embarrassed by this because I thought it meant that I was weak….something I NEVER want to be considered. It’s not a weakness though. It is simply part of the new me and it is who I am. This affirmation or acknowledgement of who I am doesn’t make things easier though.

This has become a problem simply because in feeling everything so deeply I am often left feeling as though I am not helping anyone. This goes against everything I want and everything that I am. I feel like I am wasting all that I have to offer others and a little bit insignificant. Nothing I do is helping and the pain keeps coming and I keep getting overwhelmed with emotion that I can’t release because I am afraid to show what I am feeling. A vicious circle that needs to stop.

As I stopped for a moment to reflect on why I was feeling so empty, useless, and beat down, I went for a walk. As it has happened in the past, I ended up walking and crying throughout my neighborhood as I realized what I was feeling, wanting, and needing. And here it is… losing Pat has left me feeling that I HAVE to do certain things. I no longer have the priviledge to go out and do something I want to do without having consequences. I have three children to support, I have a home to maintain, I have a future to save for. I do not have anyone else to fall back on or push things onto. I am doing this alone. I am not complaining about this, just making it clear, that I am a solo parent who has to provide for the family. This limits me in my choices. And sometimes, well often times, I feel trapped. Not having choices or options can leave you feeling pretty isolated and alone. Nothing that I used to do that made me feel good matters anymore. I don’t write, I don’t read, I definitely don’t go out with friends, I’ve stopped exercising, or even watching t.v. I start and end my day wanting to go to bed.

First thing in the morning, I am counting down until I can go home and put on sweatpants and crawl back into bed. When I get home, I want dinner to be over so I can clean up the kitchen and head off to bed. Not a real exciting way to live. I have lost any enjoyment in my job, for it has simply become that, a job. I am counting down to retirement ( many years away ) and wishing for a vacation all alone by the beach ( not happening). None of this is what I wanted for myself, for my children, and definitely nothing I promised myself after Pat died.

I promised to live my life that I was blessed to have. Live the life he would have wanted to live, or wanted for me to live. I didn’t want to take a single moment for granted, or waste a breath on this earth to anything that did not fill my soul. Life is too short for that and “somedays” don’t always arrive. I wasn’t going to sit around and just pass the time so that someday I would have what I wanted, or to go after what I wanted in this life. And yet, 6 1/2 years later, here I am.

I have tried so many things throughout this wonderful grief process in this world of widowhood to make things better….to fix it, but I have arrived right back in this spot anyways. I think I have been trying to live the life that “I” think is right for me instead of doing what God has planned for me. I keep thinking I can do this all on my own. I should know by now that that does not work. So as this year is coming to end and a new year full of hope and possibility is on the horizon, I am going to take a new approach to things in my life. I going to try to live the life and walk the path that God wants for me. I am going to listen to my heart and to my gut to make my decisions rather than my hard headed stubbornness that I usually rely on. I need to change something or else nothing is ever going to change.

So its my approach that I think I need to change. I am going to stop worrying about “somedays” down the road… Easier said than done…and I am going to start taking care of me now. Right now, where I am in the moment and listen to what God is telling me. He will lead me to happiness and joy even if the path doesn’t make sense to me in the moment. I have to believe that. I am not one for resolutions, but rather I like to look for a FOCUS for the year; something to works towards. This is what it needs to be…I want to take this year for me; to follow my heart, my instincts and find the happiness I know I deserve. I can’t continue down this same path I have been going because I have found nothing but sadness going that way. This is where I am starting in 2022 and I can hardly wait to see what comes my way.