The Gifts Grief Gave Me

What happens when we stop mourning the person we used to be—and start honouring who we’re becoming.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been writing from the deep end. The raw, exposed place where everything felt uncertain. Where loss wasn’t just something that happened, but something that rearranged me.

I needed to go there.

Not because I enjoy reliving pain, but because pretending I was fine would’ve been dishonest. Grief, in all its grit and silence and roller-coaster intensity, pulled me apart in ways I didn’t see coming. And if you’ve been reading along, maybe it’s done the same to you.

But it’s really important to talk about the good that has come from grief.

It gave me a higher threshold for pain—physical and emotional. It gave me deeper compassion. It gave me a kind of quiet certainty I never had before. Because without naming those things, it’s easy to dwell in what I am no longer—what I’ve lost and what I can’t change.

And when I do that, I miss the opportunity to celebrate the person who stands here today. The version of me who is, frankly, the most grounded, capable, and resilient I’ve ever been.

So this week, I want to share what grief didn’t just take from me, but what it gave me. Unexpected and permanent power. This is the part no one talks about. The part where, somewhere inside the wreckage, a new kind of strength emerges. Not loud or performative. But unshakable.

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What Grief Took and What It Left Behind

Grief is ruthless. It doesn’t ask for permission. It just shows up, turns everything upside down, then dares you to keep going.

It took so much from me. My sense of control. My health. My expectations of how life was supposed to go. It dismantled the illusion of a “happy family.” It left me standing in the mirror, wondering who I was supposed to be for the rest of my life.

But in its place, I developed a tolerance for discomfort that now shapes how I move through the world.

I’ve had many medical procedures done to my body since losing my son. And honestly? It’s like I no longer have nerve endings. I can get through so much more because I have experienced deep pain below the surface which I used to think was fragile.

Once you’ve experienced the kind of pain that rearranges your cells, the day-to-day pains of life don’t feel worth depleting your resources over.

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The Power of Perspective

Grief gave me a new lens for understanding other people’s pain.

I see people differently now, especially those who are struggling or vulnerable.

Where I used to see difference or distance, I now see a whole person. Someone’s son. Someone’s sibling. Someone’s parent. I see them through the eyes of a mother who watched her own child suffer and who knows how wrong it is to reduce anyone to just their current condition.

We are all whole people. We all come from somewhere. And we are all moving toward the same inevitable end.

That’s the clarity grief gave me.

It leveled the playing field. It softened how I judge, how I interpret, how I connect. I can even recognize the humanity in people I completely disagree with. (I’m excited to discuss this topic on my UNFixed Podcast launching soon.)

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The Unexpected Arrival of Gratitude

Gratitude didn’t come rushing in with grief, despite the overwhelming acts of kindness and love that often kickstarts gratefulness.

Instead, I noticed gratitude developing unexpectedly.

It came through hospital rooms. Through quiet mornings. Through learning how other people grieve. Through listening to stories I never would have heard if I hadn’t lost what I did.

One of the biggest gifts has been the way grief has connected me with people I would’ve never otherwise known.

It sounds strange, but grief created unexpected kinship. I’ve found deep friendships with people whose lives look nothing like mine, but we understand each other because we’ve both walked through loss.

I once met an elderly man on a plane who confided his grief experience after losing his wife of 50 years; how he felt patronized by the way people told him what he could expect now that his wife was gone, instead of letting him experience his loss. When I asked him to describe his wife, his face softened, and I could see how much he still lived in the love he had for her. This is the power of grief; a key granted to open doors into others lives, to share a moment otherwise hidden. A reminder that we are human…together. What a gift.

There’s something powerful about stepping into someone else’s story and seeing the world through their grief.

It stretches your mind. It refreshes your perspective. It makes you ask better questions. And it reminds you that being human is the most unifying thing we’ve got.

If You’re in the Middle of It

I won’t feed you clichés.

Grief may be breaking you apart right now, but it’s also making space. For clarity. For self-respect. For new connections you don’t even know are coming.

This part is hard. But it’s not the end.

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Who I’ve Become (and Why I Wouldn’t Go Back)

I used to worry that I’d lose myself completely. But what actually happened is this:

I became someone who knows exactly who she is.

There was a moment in time I will never forget.

I was sitting with a group of girlfriends, and we were talking about relationships. About getting hurt. I showed them a picture of the scars on my belly. Then a picture of me and Danny in the hospital.

And I said, “Nobody can hurt me. Look what I’ve been through.”

And I meant it. Not in a guarded, bitter way, but in a grounded, embodied way.

I know who I am. I know what I’ve survived. And no single person can take that from me.

That is power.

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PS. Next week, I’ll share a story about when I realized laughter and sorrow can live in the same room. That joy doesn’t cancel out grief. It can sit beside it, gently reminding us we’re still alive.