It’s been almost a year since my husband passed, and lately I’ve been reflecting on what this year has really been: survival, distraction, and learning how to keep going when life no longer looks the way I planned it to.
This past month would have been our 18th wedding anniversary. Surprisingly, I felt more anger than sadness. Not because I don’t miss him, but because I’m grieving the life I thought I had earned by “doing everything right.”
In my 20s, I checked all the boxes: I got married young, had kids “on time,” chose family over career, built a home, built a community, and carried the mental load. I did all of that believing that someday it would be my turn. That when the boys got older, my husband and I would finally get to enjoy the life we worked so hard to build together. But clearly that didn’t happen.
Now I’m standing in the middle of my life and realizing something powerful and terrifying at the same time: I am free in a way I never expected to be. Not the kind of freedom I asked for, but the kind that loss forces on you. The kind that says, “There is no later guaranteed. There is only now.”
Often, it feels unfair because when you grow with someone for so many years, the ability not to have to worry about the nuanced aspects of your personality, body, and wellness becomes a blessing.
There are insecurities I didn’t expect to face, like my body, my gray hairs, and the way stress has changed me. When you grow with someone for so long, you feel safe inside your shared history. Without that, there’s a strange pressure to feel like you have to present a perfect version of yourself again. Even as a dietitian who knows better, I struggle to care for myself with the same compassion I give everyone else.
But I’m learning that I don’t need to be perfect. I don’t need to “fix” everything. I don’t need to wait.
So what’s my advice to myself? I know I can be better, and all I have to do is try. For now, progress equals happiness. I have to show up in small ways while consistently moving forward, pursuing growth, and achieving small goals.
Loss shaped me, but it didn’t end me. This is still my life. And even though I’m in the middle of it, I’m finally learning to live it in the moment.
