Life has been a journey of highs and lows, a winding path shaped by both hope and grief. Some days I feel strong and grounded, ready to move forward with clarity and purpose. Other days, the weight of loss and expectations—both my own and society’s—press down on me, making each step feel harder than it should. But it's okay because I’m learning to let go of those expectations, one thought at a time!
What I’ve learned through my journey is that the world has its own ideas about how I should grieve, how I should live, and how I should ‘move on.’ People expect milestones, timelines, visible progress. But grief isn’t linear. It's a part of me, a constant companion. It doesn’t mean I’m broken or stuck or that I can't laugh and feel joy. It just means I carry the love and loss of Dylan with me wherever I go. I don't need to meet anyone else's standards for healing. This is my path, and I have to honor it.
Yet, honestly, the hardest part has been releasing the expectations I place on myself. I’ve internalized so many of those outside pressures over the years, thinking I had to prove that I was ‘okay’—that I had to be strong, productive, and resilient all the time. But the truth is, I am okay, just as I am. Strength isn’t about meeting others' expectations; it’s about me showing up for myself. Giving myself space to feel, heal, and grow in my own unique way.
I've always known I’m loved. I know there are people who want the best for me. And I know the best way to show them that I’m finding my way is by being honest—by writing, reflecting, and sharing the truth of my journey. Writing has always been my anchor, my way of understanding, processing, and releasing what I carry. This helps me let go of what I no longer need to hold on to. It helps me learn to step back and see others perspectives.
So, recently, I’ve made a commitment to myself: I’m moving again, starting to take action. Slowly, yes—but movement is happening! I’ve been taking my vitamins, going on short walks, and reintroducing healthy habits little by little. It’s hard, I won’t deny that. I stopped moving for so long that starting again feels like climbing a mountain. But I’m here. I’m doing it. Each day is a step, whether it’s physical movement or an internal reflection like today. Both types of movement matter for the end goal.
Today might be a writing day, a slower day, but I trust that this, too, is part of the process. I’m releasing the need to push myself toward some imagined finish line. Healing isn’t a race. Letting go of what weighs me down—both physically and emotionally—is its own form of progress.
So, I’ll continue to walk this path, picking up the shattered remains of a life after death. I’ll keep honoring my journey, my story, and the truth of who I am. I am evolving, and that evolution doesn’t need to look a certain way for anyone else. I am enough just as I am.
Here’s to more steps forward—at my own pace.
With love and hope,
Liz
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