06/10/2026
I share a lot of my healing journey publicly because I know there are others out there silently carrying grief while trying to raise children, survive heartbreak, and somehow keep moving forward.
After losing my husband — my best friend, my person — I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be for a while. My boys were only 18 months and 3 years old when our world completely shattered. I was physically there, but grief consumed me in ways I can barely explain. I knew even then that one day I would regret the moments I missed, but survival was all I could manage at the time.
People often tell me I inspire them, but the truth is… healing didn’t happen overnight. It looked messy. It looked like guilt, depression, exhaustion, isolation, and trying to rebuild a life I never wanted to rebuild.
I’ve looked at my boys a number of times on this trip and got lost in the moment of how time flew by. Even more quickly as I’ve healed along my grief journey. Thinking back to the time I’ve lost and the time I won’t ever get back.
I know they won’t remember me not being present, but I will. And my heart aches.
And now here we are at Disneyland, making memories I once thought I’d never emotionally be able to make again.
These pictures mean more to me than people probably realize. Because they represent presence. Healing. They represent choosing to keep living after wanting to shut down from pain for so long.
And maybe that’s why I continue sharing my story so openly.
Not because I have it all figured out or because the grief is gone. But because I hope there’s another parent somewhere reading this while silently drowning in survival mode, feeling guilty for the parts of themselves grief stole.
But healing is possible. You’re not alone, as lonely as you might feel.