The Decade That Changed Me: Rediscovering Purpose After Loss

When Grief Becomes Your Shadow

What happens when a loss rewrites your internal story?

Grief doesn’t knock once and leave. It moves in. Becomes part of your furniture. Some days, it’s quiet and tucked in the background. On other days, it sits on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

For me, it was like walking through life with a shadow I couldn’t name. The world around me kept spinning: emails, deadlines, birthdays, groceries, but inside, I was stalled. Not broken, not dramatic. Just... paused. Emotionally stagnant. Still showing up, but hollow in places that used to feel full. Some days, the goal is to get through the day, and that wasn’t always easy.

The weight of emotional stagnation

You don’t always notice it at first. The fog creeps in slowly. You tell yourself you’re just tired. That you’ll get back to yourself soon. You set a mental finish line, but it keeps getting pushed back until it becomes this annoyance that you can’t separate yourself from. I had the noblest of intentions, but some days it felt like someone went into my brain and pulled out all the wires.

That’s what grief does to you.

But weeks turn to months. And the things that used to bring joy? They feel like chores. The dreams that once lit you up? Quiet now. Replaced by a numb kind of survival.

I’ll shower tomorrow, or not. This shirt isn’t too dirty. Making dinner some nights was so taxing. If I got really industrious, I’d cook up a family pack of chicken and eat it over the week. Vegetables, optional.

These were the weeks I was without the boys. I forced it when they were around.. That helped to save me.

Signs you’re stuck in survival mode

You’re scrolling more. Avoiding calls. Saying “I’m fine” when you’re not. You move through your day like someone who used to feel things more deeply. That was my world for the first five years or more after Maddie’s death.

Sound familiar?

You’re not lazy. You’re not lost. You’re carrying something heavy. And your system is doing what it can to protect you. Although, most days it doesn’t feel much like protection. It feels like self-destruction.

The Cost of Holding It All Together

Grief isn’t just emotional. It’s physical. Financial. It sneaks into your sleep. Your posture. Your inbox. Your bank account.

It really is f**king awful!

If you’re single, it’s more challenging. It gets dark and heavy many days, and especially nights. If you were unfortunate to have dated me. I was a disaster. I wish I could issue a blanket apology. “I don’t know how to emotionally support you”, they would say. How would they possibly know, when I had no clue myself?

What “bandaids, duct tape, and string” really look like in daily life

Maybe it’s taking on extra shifts to avoid being alone with your thoughts. Perhaps it’s skipping medical appointments or neglecting your own needs because everything feels overwhelming.

Holding it all together doesn’t look like strength; it seems like autopilot.

And eventually, the cost shows up. In strained relationships. Missed opportunities. A slow erosion of self-worth. This isn’t my little pity party. This is all about figuring out my grieving journey and the person I’m not supposed to get back to, but instead, the person I’m supposed to become.

The Role of Validation in Healing

There’s something that happens when even one person looks at you and says: “I see what you’re carrying. And it makes sense. And you’re still worthy.”

That moment can be the crack that lets light in. It’s not for long, but it represents a glimmer of hope. Hope is something bereaved parents hold onto. Once they lose sight of hope, they start to loosen their grip on life.

Why we need someone to believe in us when we stop believing in ourselves

For me, that came through unexpected collaboration. A friend who asked the right questions at the right time. A quiet nudge toward something new. Not a grand reinvention, just small shifts. They pulled me out of the abyss and put me back on less tenuous ground. Like it could give way at any time. But at least there was something beneath my feet. That is hope.

A personal story of finding validation through collaboration

MentorWell didn’t begin as a strategy. It began as a need. A need to make meaning out of pain. To offer something I wish we’d had earlier. And to reconnect to a sense of relevance that had been gone for too long.

I’ve seen too many families who are feeling lost and hopeless. They needed something. A life preserver (thanks, David Bartley). One, the teens feel comfortable with. If you were a teen, would you prefer talking to your parent, a therapist or a mentor? All parties are essential to the equation, but teens don’t always embrace them equally or in earnest.

But if they were to only open up to one?

Small Shifts, Big Relevance

Sometimes healing isn’t about a huge transformation. Sometimes it’s just one step. One conversation. One hand reaching back to someone else on the path. I seemed to get mine when I was running out of time and hope. Something or someone would appear when I felt I had run out of options. Just a glimpse of something promising. When you can see beauty, then you can see hope.

The difference one person can make

Alana joined MentorWell not just as a partner, but as a reminder of what’s possible when someone sees your story and still sees you. She believed in the vision before I could articulate it clearly. And that belief helped shape something that’s now helping others find their way, too.

My single biggest emotional shift forward came when The MentorWell became a reality. That was when I most felt Maddie alongside me. To guide me.

That transformational shift for me changed my mindset and filled up my hope jar.

That was when I stopped trying to get back to the person I used to be and instead embraced the person I was becoming.

Reframing the idea of moving forward, not "getting over it"

We don’t “get over” grief. We move with it. Around it. Through it.

But we can move forward. With more depth. More clarity. More hope. And yes, more purpose.

If you’ve felt invisible in your own life, you’re not alone.

At MentorWell, we believe relevance is a feeling you can reclaim.
Start by exploring who you might become, not despite your story, but because of it.

That new version of you was always there inside you. You needed something so profoundly painful that it rewrites the way you see the world. It’s a very scary journey before you come to the realization that paddling upstream is too difficult, and sometimes we just need to let the current take us where we need to be taken.

When you allow this to happen, you get a sense of calm. A calm that hasn’t been there since before Maddie’s death.. I will gratefully accept this gift of closeness to Maddie. For that reason alone, The MentorWell is already successful.