Breadcrumbs: Six things I've learned in six years as a widow.

Six years ago this month, I moved to one of the worst 'hoods on the planet; where you don't get to pick your house, no one can explain how you got there, and you have no choice but to live there no matter how rich or how poor you are: the widow-hood.

Every year, I find it cathartic to share my widow experiences, always in the hopes of spreading some breadcrumbs for those who arrived after me. While I'm positive there has to be easier ways to learn some things, navigating this loss has been a constant teacher. So, without further ado, six things I've learned in six years of becoming a widow:

1). The words "I can't" have lost their meaning.

When my husband was first diagnosed with a brain tumor, I sobbed, and told him I couldn't live without him. This family didn't WORK without him. This life. I was both right, and wrong. I couldn't be Kenny's wife without a Kenny, and Kenny's wife was a large piece of my identity. I was wrong in assuming that meant I couldn't live, at all. I couldn't keep track of how many times, over the years of his illness, and subsequent passing, I said to myself, "I can't do this."

In the decade since he was first diagnosed, I've lost count in the ways I've felt trauma. Losing a spouse in that way wasn't just demoralizing, it stripped me down to the most bare-bones, barely surviving shell of my own self. "I can't do this" was a sort of mantra; "I can't be both mom and dad." "I can't figure out the house things." "I can't do the finance stuff." Gosh, when I think of that first year, alone. All in a day, I'd need to figure out the million logistics, the where/when/how of momming, the bills that needed to be paid, the contractors that needed to be hired, insurances that needed to be found, food to be cooked. And then, have to arrange things like turning my husband's car back to the dealership, cancel his credit cards, his magazine subscriptions, or have his cell phone turned off (I mean...how many times in a day would I have to say "He died. He's dead. He can't give his consent, because he's dead. DEAD. I SAID HE'S DEAD." Every day was a list, miles long, and emotionally suffocating. I'd just say, "I can't do this....I can't do this..." But every day...I did it. Eventually, I knew better, no matter the thoughts whirring in my head. I no longer say the words "I can't," because I've already survived what I thought I couldn't.

2). Every widow's journey is theirs alone.

Over the years I've come to the conclusion that each of us, no matter how similar our circumstances, must face this journey in our own way. While we can find camaraderie or commiseration in one another, each of our loss is unique to us, as are our paths forward. This is great news, if you ask me, because it frees us from the notion that we "have" to grieve and proceed as society tells us we "should."

I’m sure you understand. How many opinions have you had to shake off since your person died? Society weighs in with so many “ideas” on how you move forward as a widow, specifically, it can be really grating.

There are the people who tell you that you should "be okay" after a year (I have no clue where this math comes from). There are people who want you to move on, but only so far, and only in ways that keep them comfortable. There is even a subset of widows who shame other widows for finding new partners, as if they're winning the competition on who can love their dead spouse the most, by holding themselves in despair the longest (psssst: there is no competition. No one wins in this thing, just in case you were wondering). I also need to add, there are about a million ways to move forward with your life without finding romantic partners if you have no interest. Finding a new fulfilling career, creating bonds with peers, traveling the world, going back to school...all wonderful ways to reclaim YOURSELF. The fact is: you can! Without anyone's blessing or permission. This is YOUR journey, and YOUR life.

3). Comparison is a thief of joy.

I'm not going to lie, I really don't love to spout overused phrases, but this one is just.so.true. Time and again, I've seen widows make bold exclamations about how no other person could ever compare with their lost person, and life could never be as good, again.

I'm going to tell you something that might feel both great and terrible...you're absolutely right about your person. No one will ever "compare," because there was only ever one of them, and there will only ever BE one of them. Here is the good part...once you can wholly accept this, comparison becomes moot. There is no need to compare them to anyone else. You can meet someone entirely different and be able to appreciate what wonderful people they may be, because you understand that whoever they are, they are in no way, shape, or form to be a "replacement." It's not possible.

As far as believing life can never be as good again? That is what we, in the coaching world, call a "limiting belief." Life will never be the same again, but that's not the same as life never being enjoyable again. Allowing yourself to see the difference will change everything for you.

4). Change is hard, but so is staying still.

In the first two years or so, I was obsessed with honoring my late husband. I don't just mean by keeping his memory alive (that's still very much "a thing"). I mean, I had extreme anxiety about making decisions I wasn't sure he'd be okay with, and always a bit consumed with "making him proud." In a way, despite all I "thought" I was doing to keep moving forward, in the back of my mind, I was still married. Except not to a person, but my imagining of a person, that was no longer here to offer input or support. A lot of my days turned into episodes of "WWKD?" (What would Kenny do?).

It occurred to me, eventually, that I wasn't maintaining a relationship, so much as shackling myself to my own thoughts about what he *might* have wanted. It was time for me to allow myself to plan a future for myself, by myself, and for the voice in my head to be mine, alone.

I won't lie. It was soul sucking. Every time I allowed myself to separate myself further from him, or the life we'd shared, it felt like I was killing him all over again, but stifling myself was killing me, too. Over time, my own sense of self-preservation kicked in, reminding me that I, too, only had one life to live. My personal evolution was necessary to thrive.

5). Being stuck is a choice. So is moving forward.

This will probably fall under the "unpopular opinion" category; but I felt it necessary to say. There are some who are determined to stay stuck. They will make every excuse not to put the work in to alleviate their raw grief, or to be able to return to life. I am not here to judge, nor am I here to change anyone's mind. If someone finds solace in staying stuck, that is their journey. However, it IS a choice. Yes, you can say the following, honestly:

I didn't choose this.

I didn't want this.

I have no power over what happened.

Those are all true statements. BUT, you DO have the power to choose to live. You DO get the option of changing your life. It's all in what you decide.

6). You don't have to fight the "old" to build (and love) the "new."

I've said (many times) before, that I love the life I had, and I love the life I have. What I haven't ever before admitted, is that there are things about my old life I would probably not go back to, now that I've lived differently.

Years after the proverbial moving trucks had unloaded my last box into my new "home," and I knew I had to let “the old me” go, I learned to hold space for myself. This is not something I'd really ever done before. I grew up in a way that had me feeling responsible for the feelings and actions of others, to the degree of not ever learning how to recognize, let alone verbalize, what I really wanted, or needed. Of course, after having suffered such a devastation, I figured out quickly how little time we all have, and how valuable it is, to boot. Authenticity became my goal for myself, and it's something I continue to strive for.

It turns out, I'm less traditional than I'd realized. I believe in meditation, and intuition, I'm pursuing a life of writing and coaching (on top of working full time and shuffling five kids around the greater tri-state area). I'm more independent, and more resolute in making sure my voice is heard. These are some pretty big “changes” to my former housewife self. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure my late husband would be all that "into" the person I've become since he passed; but I'm okay with that. I know, wherever he is, he's happier to have me thriving as I am, than to be stuck where I was.

Today, my life is...well, a mish-mash, if you will. I still own my home in the widow-hood (there are some who would argue whether or not I should, since I'm happily remarried, but considering my second husband doesn't erase my first one, I'll be the one who decides if or when I ever sell it). In rebuilding my world, I've become intentional with my time, and my efforts. Day by day, brick by brick. I've put additions on. I've changed the siding. I've added bedrooms for my family, that has since expanded by three. I accept my place, here.

If you're new here: Welcome! I'm sorry you're here! Just know that you're not as alone as you feel, and some day, you'll be able to start leaving some breadcrumbs of your own.

XOXO.