Choosing Joy Didn’t Mean I Healed Overnight. So many times it looked exactly like this picture below with the covers pulled up over my head.
and some days some moments it still looks like this.
So, let me say this again… Choosing Joy Didn’t Mean I Healed Overnight
It Meant I Refused to Become Someone I Didn’t Recognize
If you saw a photo of me laughing today, you might assume something about my healing.
That I’m “better now.”
That the grief has faded.
That joy replaced sorrow.
But joy doesn’t mean the pain disappeared.
It means I made a decision about who I would become inside the pain.
I didn’t choose to lose my husband.
That moment shattered my world without asking permission.
But I do get a choice in how I heal.
And that choice matters more than we talk about.
There will always be a scar.
There will always be a space where my best friend should be.
Grief doesn’t vanish just because time moves forward or because faith exists.
What we don’t talk about enough is this
An unhealed wound doesn’t stay contained.
It leaks into conversations.
It hardens into bitterness.
It quietly shapes how we parent, love, trust, and see ourselves.
And at some point, I had to face a hard truth
If I didn’t intentionally heal, my grief would start deciding things for me.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But subtly.
It would decide my tone.
My patience.
My hope.
My identity.
Grief Will Change You — But You Decide How
One of the biggest lies I wrestled with early on was this
“If I’m still hurting, I must be doing something wrong.”
But grief isn’t a sign of weakness.
It’s a sign of love.
The danger isn’t feeling deeply.
The danger is letting those feelings become the loudest voice in the room.
In a coffee chat I recorded recently, I said something that surprised even me when it came out
“The devil wants you to pay attention to your feelings, and Jesus wants you to pay attention to His truth.”
That doesn’t mean feelings are bad.
It means feelings are not facts.
Grief will tell you
You are broken beyond repair
You will never feel whole again
This pain defines you now
Truth says something different.
Truth says pain can refine instead of ruin.
Truth says loss doesn’t cancel purpose.
Truth says suffering does not get to name you.
Grief absolutely changed me.
I am not the same woman I was before loss.
But I had to decide
Would it make me harder… or humbler?
Closed off… or more compassionate?
Rooted in fear… or rooted in God?
Where You Root Yourself Determines What Grows
An unhealed wound doesn’t just hurt quietly.
It festers.
It infects.
It spreads into places it was never meant to touch.
I knew I didn’t want my kids growing up around unresolved pain disguised as “just how mom is now.”
I knew I didn’t want grief to shape my tone more than grace.
Or my reactions more than truth.
So I began doing the hard work
Not rushing healing
Not pretending faith erased pain
But intentionally rooting myself somewhere solid.
Because identity rooted in pain will always produce fear.
But identity rooted in Christ produces endurance, clarity, and eventually… joy.
Not the loud, performative kind.
The steady kind that holds sorrow without being swallowed by it.
Why I Created the Rooted In Him Prayer Journal
This is exactly why I created the Rooted In Him prayer journal you can grab it HERE.
Not just for widows.
Not just for physical loss.
But for anyone grieving something they didn’t choose.
Dreams.
Marriages.
Health.
Versions of themselves they no longer recognize.
Prayer journaling became a place where I could be honest without spiraling.
Where I could write the feelings down instead of letting them run the show.
Where I could place truth next to pain and watch God gently reframe it.
Here’s a small excerpt from the journal:
“Today I acknowledge what hurts without letting it define me.
I give God my questions without demanding immediate answers.
I choose to root my identity not in what I lost, but in Who still holds me.
Even here, even now, I am not abandoned.
I am being shaped, not shattered.”
Healing doesn’t require pretending.
It requires surrender.
Not surrendering your emotions
But surrendering the authority they hold over your identity.
Joy and Sorrow Can Coexist
This is the part that still feels controversial to say out loud
Joy and sorrow are not opposites.
They can sit in the same room.
I still cry.
I still get angry.
I still ask why.
But I bring those questions with me, not away from Him.
God is not intimidated by our grief.
He is not offended by our honesty.
He is not surprised by our anger.
And He is deeply invested in who we become on the other side of pain.
I don’t believe joy means ignoring sorrow.
I believe joy means refusing to let sorrow steal everything else too.
An Invitation for You
If you’re here, reading this, chances are you’re carrying something heavy.
And maybe today’s not the day you feel joyful.
That’s okay.
But maybe today can be the day you decide
“I won’t let this pain decide who I become.”
I would love for this blog to be more than words on a screen.
So if you’re willing, share below
What was the moment you decided to choose joy, even in the middle of pain
Or maybe the moment you realized you want to choose it, even if you’re not there yet
Your story might be the permission someone else didn’t know they needed.
And if you want to hear more of this conversation, I’ve linked a coffee chat video below where I talk honestly about how grief changed me and how I’m choosing to let it refine me instead of define me.
You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are becoming.
Even here.
Especially here.
🤍
If you feel comfortable, I’d love for you to share in the comments how you’re taking those next steps in healing. Whether it’s a small shift, a quiet prayer, or simply choosing to show up today—your words matter more than you know.
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3yrs 4.5months since I unexpectedly & suddenly lost my wonderful husband Scott after 27 loving yrs of marriage when I was 49 & he was 52. I still struggle with guilt as I seek joy in my life. I want joy, I want to smile with my eyes k in my heart again, be genuinely happy. I choose that and remind myself he wants that for me. I pray to God to lead me on the remainder of my journey. The grief has changed. I receive many signs from Scott & God letting me know there is life left to live. I am surrounded with a loving supportive set of friends. The grief evolves & joy will return. It is my choice and it takes continual affirmation to make that choice. I choose life, live & happiness. No one said it would be easy. I can do hard things. I admire you on your journey Lori – you too have chosen life & joy.
Christina, your words still mean so much to me 🤍
I just want to say… the way you shared this is so powerful. The honesty in still feeling guilt while also choosing joy… that is something so many people feel but don’t always have the words for. Thank you for putting words to it.
27 years of love… that doesn’t just disappear. Of course your heart is still learning how to hold both… the grief and the joy. And what you said about choosing it, even when it takes continual reminding… that is real, and that is brave.
“I choose life, love, and happiness.”
That line… I know that will stay with so many people who read this.
And I truly believe what you said… that they would want that for us. That choosing joy is not leaving them behind, it’s carrying their love forward in a new way.
Thank you for sharing your story, for speaking hope into something so heavy, and for encouraging me in my own journey too. It means more than you know.
If anyone else reading this is in that place… where joy feels complicated or even a little guilty… I’d love for you to share too. You’re not alone in that tension 🤍
I think I just push my grief down. I haven’t wanted to think about how to get through it. I didn’t have the courage to read your blog because it brings the grief to the surface again. I read your blog and the tears are flowing. It has been easier to just push through and keep busy. You have given me something to think about and work toward. I will read your blog again, soon. Thank you.
Thank you for being honest about that. What you described — pushing the grief down and staying busy so you don’t have to feel it — is something so many people do. It’s not weakness. Sometimes it’s simply the only way our hearts know how to survive when the pain feels too heavy to carry.
Grief has a way of waiting quietly under the surface until we feel just safe enough to let a little of it out. The fact that you came back, read the blog, and allowed yourself to cry tells me there is courage in you — even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
Please know there’s no “right” pace for grief. You don’t have to face it all at once. Sometimes healing happens in small moments — reading a few words, letting a few tears fall, then stepping away until you’re ready again. That’s okay.
I’m honored you were willing to read it, even knowing it might bring the emotions up. And whenever you come back to it — whether that’s tomorrow or months from now — just know you’re not walking this road alone.
Thank you for trusting me with such a vulnerable piece of your heart. 🤍
Thank you for putting into words how I’ve been feeling. My husband died almost 10 months ago, and I knew 2 months into my journey that I needed to pursue Jesus’ perspective and presence. I did not want the grief to define me. It has been a tough road, but I have a closer relationship with Jesus than ever!
Thanks again!
I lost my husband 6 weeks ago. He was 51 and had an 18-month battle with ALS. We have a 4-year-old little girl. We were together for 10 years and married for 8. My life got ripped away from me when he got his diagnosis, and the life that we wanted to build together. There was no preparing me for his passing. I thought I would feel relief once it was over, because it was so painful to see (and difficult to be his primary caretaker) but all I felt was guilt and grief and I have been overwhelmed with sadness because I missed him more than I knew was possible. I miss so badly the life that we had together prior to his diagnosis. I have an amazing little girl so I know that some of my best days are still ahead of me and I want to be the best version of me that I can be for her. I want to grow closer to God so I’m in therapy and going to church. I’m praying for strength daily and asking for God to guide my steps because his plans are far better than mine. I do believe it’s a choice we have to make and I loved your quote that it’s refining us but we have to choose to not let it define us.
First, I am so deeply sorry for the loss of your husband. Six weeks is such a tender, raw place to be in grief, and the weight of everything you’ve walked through over the past 18 months is something only someone who has lived it can truly understand. Loving someone through ALS, being their primary caretaker, and then losing them… that is an unimaginable road. The exhaustion, the heartbreak, the watching someone you love suffer — it leaves a mark on your soul.
Please hear this clearly: the guilt you’re feeling is something so many caregivers carry after a long illness, but it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Wanting the suffering to end is not the same as wanting the person you love to be gone. It simply means your heart couldn’t bear to see them in pain anymore. That is love.
And the grief you’re describing — missing the life you had before the diagnosis — that is so real. ALS doesn’t just take a life, it slowly steals the future you were building together. You grieve the man you lost and the years you were supposed to have.
But the way you’re showing up already — going to therapy, leaning into your faith, praying for guidance, wanting to be the best version of yourself for your little girl — that is courage. Real courage. Not the loud, heroic kind the world talks about, but the quiet kind that wakes up each morning and keeps moving forward when your heart feels shattered.
Your daughter is so blessed to have a mom who is choosing healing, even in the middle of heartbreak. And you’re right — some of your best days are still ahead of you. They will look different than the ones you dreamed of, but joy has a way of slowly finding its way back into broken places.
I truly believe what you said: grief can refine us, but we have to decide it won’t define us. That doesn’t mean we stop loving or missing the ones we lost. It means we carry their love forward in the way we continue to live.
Thank you for sharing your story here. You’re not alone in this, even though I know it can feel incredibly lonely some days. I’m praying God continues to guide your steps and wrap you and your sweet little girl in His comfort as you walk through these early days of grief. 🤍
Thank you so much for sharing this. Ten months is still such a tender place in the journey, and I admire the intentional choice you made early on to lean into Jesus instead of letting grief completely define your story.
That doesn’t make the road easy — as you said, it’s still incredibly hard — but there is something powerful about choosing His perspective and presence in the middle of heartbreak. Grief has a way of stripping everything down to what matters most, and so many people find that their faith becomes deeper and more personal in that space.
I love hearing that your relationship with Jesus has grown even closer through this. That doesn’t take away the loss or the missing, but it does mean you’re not walking this road alone.
Thank you for being willing to share that here. Your words will encourage someone else who may be in those early months wondering how to take the next step forward.
Praying God continues to strengthen and guide you as you keep walking this road. 🤍
It’s been one year and eight months since my husband of 34 years passed. I’ve experienced grief from the losses of my parents, a brother, a nephew, and more, but none of those compares to this. We were such good partners who complemented each others strengths and weaknesses. Learning to do all of the things on my own has been so hard, but I’ve made it through a cycle and am working on the next of all the difficult things: birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, taxes, oil change, home maintenance, getting to work each day. I miss him so profoundly. Every day I choose gratitude for the love and relationship I’ve been blessed to experience, which is healing.
Thank you for sharing this. After 34 years of building a life side by side, the loss of a spouse truly is a different kind of grief. When you’ve spent decades being partners in everything — balancing each other’s strengths, carrying the hard things together — suddenly having to navigate life alone can feel overwhelming in ways few people understand.
What you said about making it through the “cycle” of all the hard things really resonates. Those first rounds of birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and even the ordinary things like taxes, oil changes, and home maintenance can feel like quiet mountains we have to climb by ourselves. The world often sees the big milestones, but it’s those everyday reminders of partnership that can hit the hardest.
But I love what you shared about choosing gratitude each day for the love you experienced together. That kind of perspective doesn’t erase the grief, but it does honor the life you built and the bond you shared. A love like that doesn’t disappear — it becomes part of who you are and how you continue moving forward.
The fact that you’re still showing up, still working through each new cycle of “firsts,” and still choosing gratitude is a powerful testament to that love and to your strength.
Thank you for sharing your heart here. Your words will likely comfort someone else who is walking this same road and wondering if it ever becomes possible to keep going.
I’m so sorry for the loss of your husband, but what a beautiful legacy of partnership and love you were blessed to share. 🤍
My husband died in Feb 2025. It’s been a tough year.
I am so sorry <3
It’s not often that the words of someone resonate as clear as yours have this morning. My mom passed 6/22/24 and I didn’t grieve as expected. I am grieving as I go you could say, as I continue to be caregiver to my dad. My dad, husband and both children have chronic health issues so my life didn’t stop, just my sense of who I am and how to be me without my mom being a part of that. I’m realizing I can’t go on forever letting my bottled up emotions dictate my circumstances and who I want to be, whatever that is. Your blog is the good kick in the butt I need to get on up this morning, even though it’s raining, and stop waiting for the joy to return to me. I’ve gotta meet it at least half way. My daughter wanted to go to a tulip farm and pick tulips. I ran it down as something kind of silly with all the responsibilities of the day I have to do. She’s been at me to go for days. She was even blunt in telling me she wanted mom time and I still resisted. But you know what. We are going! I am calling her back. That’s what umbrellas are made for! If not for the rain we wouldn’t even have the tulips. So thank you. My adult daughter wanted to spend time with me, just me, and I almost didn’t recognize the opportunity right in front of me to create my own joy and real purpose. Thanks for showing up for me today so I can show up not just my daughter, but for myself!
Thank you so much for sharing this with me. Truly. Your words carry so much honesty and weight, and I’m really honored that something I wrote met you right where you are this morning.
Grief has a strange way of unfolding. Sometimes it doesn’t come all at once… sometimes it shows up in pieces while life keeps demanding everything from us. Caring for your dad while also supporting your husband and children through their health struggles is a tremendous amount for one heart to carry. It makes so much sense that somewhere along the way your own sense of self got pushed to the side.
But the fact that you’re recognizing that now — that you don’t want your bottled-up emotions to keep dictating your life — that’s powerful. That’s the beginning of healing.
And I absolutely love that you’re calling your daughter back and going to pick tulips in the rain. What a beautiful reminder that joy doesn’t always arrive when life is perfectly calm… sometimes we have to meet it in muddy fields with umbrellas in hand. Those small moments with the people who love us are often where healing quietly begins.
Your daughter asking for “mom time” is such a gift, and the fact that you’re choosing to show up for that — and for yourself — is something to be really proud of.
I hope today brings you laughter, wet shoes, and an armful of tulips. And maybe a small reminder that your mom’s love is still part of who you are as you keep moving forward.
Thank you for letting me be a small part of your morning. 💛
I’m trying to learn from you Lori. I too am grief, only difference is, she’s still alive. You are my late husband and I adopted babies as we couldn’t have our own. Our first was a baby girl, 2 yrs later a baby boy. Time marched on, the perfect family. We lost my husband, then my mom, then my sister. My daughter married a great guy finally some happiness. My son turned to drugs. By this time I had remarried and his stepdad and I got him away from drugs. My daughter had 2 kids, now 18 and coming up for 16. Out of the blue she’s walked away from all of us. Has filed for divorce, sold her house has met someone and reconnected with bio family. Her husband has taken over the kids. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since last yr. She’s cut me off. My heart is broken along with what she’s done to my grandchildren. So everything you write I try to grab from it and learn. I know I’ll never see her again and she’s only 10 mins away. I’ve tried reaching out. She ignored me then blocked me
😢