Lost My Mom, Found Myself: The Unexpected Beauty Hidden in Grief

When I lost my mom, I thought I had lost everything. What I didn’t know was that inside the pain was also the beginning of finding myself—my strength, my soul, and the truest version of who I’m meant to be.

When my mother died from complications of alcoholism, I felt like I was tossed into a storm without a compass—adrift in waves of sorrow that constantly threatened to pull me under. Her last days are seared into my memory: the phone call, the hospital gowns, the fragile moments of hope followed by devastation. I remember holding her hand as I whispered my final words to her, “It’s okay, we’re okay, you’re okay,” and then holding that same hand still when her breath slipped away.

Walking out of that hospital, the world felt wrong—too loud, too bright. I wasn’t just a grieving daughter anymore; I was also a wife and mother, with a family waiting for me, looking to me for comfort, stability, and love.

For years, her loss consumed me. I carried it everywhere—behind smiles, inside tired prayers, tucked into the quiet corners of my life. My husband became my anchor, the steady presence who caught me when I broke, while my children reminded me I could not shatter completely. I wanted desperately to be for them what she chose not to be for me.

But slowly, quietly, something shifted. The pain didn’t disappear—but it began to change shape, weaving itself into me, reshaping me into something new.

When I let go of trying to control my grief, I began to notice her in the little things: the echo of her laugh in my children’s joy, the way her favorite songs still filled a room, the sudden beauty of a sunset that felt painted just for me. The loss remained, but it no longer only destroyed—it began to teach me.

I began to heal. I forgave her. I forgave myself. And I started to see grief not only as an ending, but as a strange, painful kind of transformation. An awakening, if you will.

That awakening is the beginning of finding myself. What once feels like only emptiness slowly becomes an opening. In the silence left behind, I uncover a spiritual side I never knew existed. I feel a new connection to nature—trees, skies, rivers, even the stillness of the earth—offering me comfort and quiet reminders of resilience. I start noticing beauty everywhere: in laughter, in silence, in imperfection.

The way I move through the world shifts. I grow more patient with people, sensing how much we all carry beneath the surface. At the same time, I lose patience for the superficial. I no longer want small talk, masks, or shallow living—I crave depth, meaning, and truth in every part of my life. The pain reshapes not only how I see myself, but how I see others, and how I want to live from this point forward.

And it’s here, in this transformation, that I realize the lesson: loss will break you, but it can also remake you. Losing my mom taught me how to love fiercely, how to be fully present, and how deeply to appreciate beauty in the midst of brokenness.

I am a better mother, for having lost mine—the depth of my abandonment taught me to prioritize my children the way my mother should have prioritized me.

I am a stronger person, because my strength has been tested. I have the ability to stand with my loved ones, or for them if they need, when they too face the chaos of life.

I am more soulful, because my sorrow stripped away the shallow layers I once leaned on and left me searching for meaning in everything. I see people more deeply, I feel life more fully, and I crave truth and connection in a way I never did before.

And though I still miss her in every breath I take, I carry her with me—in the strength I gained, in the tenderness I offer, and in the way I love with every part of my soul.

Grief takes everything from us, yet somehow has the ability to give us the very best parts of ourselves we may never have known were there all along.

‘Everything I am now, is because you're gone, is because I lost you, is because you died… and that, I think, is the most confusing, beautiful, part of grief.’

Love, Brit