For nearly 40 years, my husband Eric and I were a team. We weren’t just married—we were partners in every sense of the word. We met when we were just 19 and 20 and grew up together, learning, maturing, and navigating all the twists and turns of life as a couple. Over the years, we raised kids, made big decisions, shared little victories, and created a life that was uniquely ours.
But now, it’s just me. After decades of being one half of an "us," I find myself asking: Who am I on my own?
You grow together, evolve together, and before you know it, the lines between “me” and “us” blur.
The Weight of Being Half
When you’ve spent so much of your life as part of a team, it’s hard to know what it means to be just one. Eric and I had our rhythms and unspoken roles. Together, we balanced each other. Without him, I feel like half of the whole we once were—left to figure out how to move forward without the person who steadied me.
And here’s the truth: It’s daunting. When you’re part of a couple for so long, your identity becomes intertwined with theirs. It’s not something you consciously think about—it just happens. You grow together, evolve together, and before you know it, the lines between “me” and “us” blur.
Rediscovering My Own Path
I’m not looking to erase the life we shared or reinvent myself. But I know I can’t stay stagnant either. Life, as unfair as it feels sometimes, demands that we keep moving forward.
Some things won't change. I'll always love immersing myself in my roles of Mom and Nana. My kids, their significant others, and my grandkids bring absolute joy to my life! And I'll always share about my passion for natural wellness. Now more than ever, it's important to me to reduce exposures to toxins and to support healthy body systems. Eric's story is a testament to that.
So, where does it leave me? Somewhere between holding on to who I’ve always been and opening myself to growth I didn’t ask for but know I need. That kind of growth is definitely going to come from outside of my comfort zone. What do they say? "Get comfortable being uncomfortable?" Yeah, that's already happening.
This isn’t going to be about building a brand-new version of myself. It’s about continuing to be who I’ve always been while continuing to grow, even though the path forward feels uncertain.
What’s Missing and What Remains
One of the hardest parts of this journey has been recognizing all the small ways Eric’s absence changes my daily life. It’s not just the big events—it’s the little things. The inside jokes, the shared looks, the division of responsibilities that we never even had to talk about.
At the same time, I’m learning to appreciate what remains. The values we built our life around. The lessons we learned together. The love that still surrounds me in the form of family, friends, and memories. It's quite the legacy!
I’m discovering that being “just me” doesn’t mean I have to leave those things behind. It means finding a way to carry them with me while allowing space to grow into something new.
How do I keep growing while keeping the life we shared at the heart of who I am?
Small Steps, Big Questions
Right now, I’m learning that rediscovery doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a process, and it starts with small steps that I'm still figuring out:
• Asking myself what I want my days to look like.
• Exploring what feels fulfilling now that the life I envisioned us having together is no longer the life I’m living.
• Finding ways to stay grounded in the values Eric and I shared, while allowing space to grow into my own.
There are even bigger questions I haven’t answered yet. What do I want for this new chapter? How do I set realistic expectations for myself while allowing space to grieve? And most importantly, how do I keep growing while keeping the life we shared at the heart of who I am?
Learning to Carry Love and Loss
Here’s what I know so far: Moving forward doesn’t mean letting go of the past. The life Eric and I shared is still with me, and it always will be. It’s in the lessons we learned together, the love we built, and the memories I carry with me... that legacy I mentioned earlier.
But moving forward does mean allowing myself the chance to discover what’s next. Not in a rush, not with unrealistic expectations, but with small, intentional steps toward a future that’s mine to create.
Finding Hope in the Process
As hard as this process is, I’ve come to realize that it’s not about finding a “new me.” It’s about continuing to learn and grow as the person I’ve always been—just in a different season of life.
I don’t have all the answers, and I probably never will. But I’m hopeful that with time, grace, and a willingness to keep taking small steps forward, I’ll figure out what this new chapter looks like.
If you’re in this place too, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel unsteady. It’s okay to not have it all figured out.
And it’s okay to take your time.
This isn’t about starting over—it’s about continuing on. One small step at a time.
📖 Read two of my recent blogs about grief, joy, and faith in Humanity:
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