A Summer of Reflection and Healing
This summer has been quite the emotional rollercoaster for me, with an unexpected downward plunge that left me reeling. I was caught off guard, and in the process, I was harder on myself than I should have been, not allowing the grace I truly needed. As I slowly begin to climb out of this low, I’m intentionally taking my time, recognising that this experience was sent to me for a reason. It’s an opportunity for learning and healing, another step in building a strong foundation for a life without Andy—one where I can grow, understand myself more deeply, and continue to thrive.
So, what happened? You might think I’d be riding high after the launch of my book, A Journey Through Grief. However, the reality was quite the opposite. The book had been my unwavering focus for the past six months, my anchor amidst the storm.
But once the writing was complete, the paintbrushes put away, and the initial excitement of holding the finished book in my hands began to fade, I was left feeling vulnerable and not enough. The daunting task of getting my book seen seemed insurmountable, and I suddenly felt very small and invisible. My confidence began to waver, and before long, I was in the throes of a full-blown crisis. Fear started to creep into every corner of my life, casting a shadow over everything.
When Andy was here, he was my sounding board, my compass when I felt lost. He would help me reframe my thoughts and gently guide me back to a place of confidence. His words, his support, his comforting presence—they are what I missed most. I tried to press on, to be enough for myself, but I began to slip, and soon I was in freefall. Compounding this were several other stressful events in my life, pushing me over the edge. Grief has a way of magnifying everything; it makes overwhelm feel closer, resources scarcer, and isolation just a heartbeat away. No matter how much work I’ve done on building resilience and self-belief, there are moments when it’s simply not enough to prevent the fall.
As I spiraled downward, I felt despondent and low, and a deep fear settled in—the fear that I might be stuck in this dark place forever, unable to find my way back to feeling okay. I felt like a failure for being almost as lost as I was in the early days of my grief. The joy seeped out of my life, and I was hard on myself, feeling like a fraud for having written a book meant to be a beacon of hope for others. How could I inspire others to believe in life after loss when I was struggling so much myself? This self-criticism only deepened my despair, and I couldn’t see a way out.
But then, slowly, a new perspective began to take shape. Perhaps this downturn was sent to me for a reason—there was more healing and learning to be done. In many ways, this struggle surfaced because I had created a good life for myself, and that stability made room for unresolved issues to rise to the surface.
I decided to seek professional help to navigate these choppy waters. In my first counseling session, I was surprised to discover that my self-talk wasn’t as kind as I had believed. While I was practicing self-compassion on one level, I was also harshly judging myself for struggling. I had expected grief to be easier than it was in reality and was punishing myself for not navigating it with ease.
This revelation was profound. It allowed me to acknowledge that grief is hard—not because of any failing on my part, but simply because it is hard. I gave myself permission to find it difficult at times, and that’s okay. This took a great deal of self-imposed pressure off my shoulders. I realized I could write a book on thriving in grief and still have hard days. I didn’t need to be “winning” at life all the time; that’s an impossible and unrealistic expectation. I’m only human, after all.
This journey isn’t going to be a quick fix—it never is. But as I gain a deeper understanding of myself, things are slowly beginning to turn around. My friends and family have helped hold me up and been by my side. I am so grateful for them and their support. They have helped me see I am not as truely alone as I had thought I was. Yes, it is different from having a caring partner by your side, but it is still a beautiful thing.
Adjusting to being single has been a daunting challenge. Those of you who have lost a partner will understand just how overwhelming and scary this can be. Right now, I have to work hard every day to quell the fear and remind myself that I can do this—and that I can do it well. I remind myself of all the good decisions I’ve made to take care of myself and even wrote them down in my journal so I can read them often as a way of reprogramming my mind. When I notice the anxiety churning in my stomach, I thank it for trying to keep me safe, but gently tell it that it can go now—I am okay, and there is no danger. I am safe. I have got this. I am going to be ok. Anna x