LOH #235- The Quiet Strength in Healing: My Personal Grief Story!

It's been a while, Ladies of Hive!

For the past few months, I felt sad and lonely knowing that July was nearly approaching- the month that broke my heart for a lifetime because it was the month where my greatest love, my mom, passed away. It was July 10, 2023, to be exact.

So, as I saw one of the questions given by @ifarmgirl, I guess this is the right time to share with you my experience on how I recover from emotional pain or grief.

1️⃣ How do you recover from emotional pain or grief?

I know my mother never wanted to leave. She never wanted to let go of our hands, to be away from us, from our family. I know she fought with everything she had, endured pain no one could see, to stay with us a little longer. But she must have been so tired, her heart so weary, until, in the end, she had no choice but to let go.

Life doesn't feel the same since my mom left us.

Since the day she left, something profound inside me has changed forever. The world keeps spinning, and people keep moving forward, but I remain still, aching quietly. Life doesn't feel the same without her voice, hugs, and warm, steady love.

I miss how she made everything feel okay and believed in me even when I doubted myself. I carry her with me every day in how I speak, love, and try to make others happy — just like she always did.

Some losses leave a mark so profound that time can never erase it. We hold onto their memory, not because we are stuck in the past, but because their love is an irreplaceable part of who we are.
We feel their presence in the little things—an old song, a familiar scent, the sun's warmth on a quiet morning—and find pieces of them in our thoughts, homes, and hearts.

So, how do I recover from emotional pain or grief?

Grief isn't about forgetting. It's about carrying their love forward, honoring the life they lived and the memories they gave us. Even in their absence, they shape the person we continue to become.

I realized that the pain hasn't truly gone away; I've just gotten better at carrying it. My heart has built a home around the ache, not to erase it but to make room for life to go on.

Grief doesn't always leave; sometimes, it just changes shape. Learning to live with it—that's strength, even if it doesn't feel like it. I'm doing something complicated, and it's okay to acknowledge that weight.

So, how did I live with it?

I bury my grief in to-do lists,
Hide my hurt beneath emails and deadlines.

I throw myself into work, not just for productivity but to quiet the noise inside — it is something many carry in silence. It's not that the pain is gone; it's just paused, buried under deadlines, meetings, and tasks. Work becomes a shield, a distraction, maybe even a survival tool. But when the noise fades and the silence comes back… the ache reminds you it never really left.

In Loving What She Left Behind
I don't escape the grief —I soften it
By pouring love into the people she loved.

That's such a tender, profound kind of pain — turning my grief into love for those she left behind. I am not running from the sorrow; I'm transforming it, channeling it into care and connection. Loving them becomes your way of holding onto her, of keeping her presence alive in what remains. It's both beautiful and heartbreaking.

For the Dream We Shared
I run toward the dream
with her name stitched into every mile.

I am chasing the dream we once dreamed together—one of the most powerful expressions of love and loss. It's like I'm carrying the torch for both of us now. Every step forward is a tribute, a promise kept in motion. You're not just chasing the dream for myself—I'm living out the part she can no longer walk, and that takes incredible strength, even when it hurts.

For anyone grieving today: Remember, your love for them is endless. Their story lives on through you. Speak their name, cherish their memory, and know you're not alone in this journey.

I hope you believe that you can still make a beautiful life for yourself even if you lost many years of it to grief, darkness, or a wound that wouldn't close.