The silence after loss sounds like this: the absence of a career that once defined you, the quiet where a baby's laughter should have been, the empty space where a marriage used to live. For years, I moved through transitions that felt like they were taking pieces of me—first my identity as a professional dancer, then the dream of motherhood through a grueling fertility journey, and finally, the most devastating of all, divorce.
But here's the thing about loss that I’ve somehow always known from the beginning: every ending is also a doorway. The question isn't whether you'll walk through it—grief will push you through eventually. The question is what you'll carry with you and who you'll become on the other side.
This is the story of how I found my way back to myself after I nearly lost myself completely during a hard season of transition. What follows are my survival strategies; the practices that helped me transform pain into purpose and return to a version of myself that was patiently waiting for permission to come through.
1. Allow Yourself to Face Every Hard Fact and Feeling
The first lie we tell ourselves about major life change is that we should "stay positive" or "move on quickly." But the truth is, you can't bypass grief. The only way forward is to go through it.
During my fertility journey, I gave myself shots every day for a period of time, my body becoming a battleground between hope and heartbreak. When my marriage ended, I could have numbed the pain, distracted myself, pretended I was fine. Instead, I let myself cry when sadness overwhelmed me. I screamed when anger needed a voice. I rested when my body and spirit said they couldn't take anymore.
There's a misconception that feeling everything means drowning in emotion…and trust me, sometimes that’s exactly how I felt. But it’s more about giving yourself permission to be human in the middle of the hardest moments of your life. The practice of allowing every feeling taught me the importance of honoring how I really feel, instead of dismissing or suppressing it.
Because as I’ve learned in therapy, feelings aren’t facts. And when you face them directly, they move through you. When you avoid them, they set up camp in your body and come out in toxic, and oftentimes, unintended ways.
Dr. Anita Phillips writes about this in her book The Garden Within—how our internal landscape needs tending, especially in seasons of change. Her work on emotional healing helped me understand that feeling everything isn't the same as being controlled by feelings. It's about creating space for your full experience, the beautiful and the brutal, without judgment.
2. Change Your Perspective: Something Is Always Beginning
Even in my darkest moments—choosing to move on from careers I’d previously loved, facing another failed fertility treatment, signing divorce papers—I held onto one truth: something was always beginning, even when I couldn't see it yet.
And honestly, that has nothing to do with finding the silver lining or any form of toxic positivity. It’s the law of nature…of life.
When one career was ending, my work as a producer and storyteller was beginning. When my marriage was dissolving, my relationship with myself was deepening. When my dream of one kind of family was fading, space was being created for a different kind of future.
The hardest part isn’t always the ending itself. It can also be tough navigating the "messy middle." That uncomfortable space between who you used to be and who you're becoming. The place where you're not where you were, but you can't see where you're headed either.
During these in-between seasons, I learned to hold space for two truths at once: this hurts,Each ending felt like a small death. And in a way, it was. there's purpose waiting on the other side of this. I didn't always know what that purpose was—and that's okay. Faith is always about taking the next step before you can see the full staircase.
Maya Shankar's podcast A Slight Change of Plans became a welcome companion during tough moments of my fertility journey. Episode after episode, there are stories of everyday people who faced devastating changes and found their way to something meaningful. And hearing the promise and purpose of their “other side” always gave me hope.
3. Get the Support You Need to Navigate the Transition
I didn't heal alone. I couldn't have.
God strengthened my faith when I couldn't see the path forward. Therapy gave me a space to process trauma and rewrite old patterns. Journaling helped me make sense of thoughts that felt too big to hold. Meditation taught me to sit still without running from or succumbing to my circumstances. Daily walks in nature helped me shift my perspective from my inner world to the beauty around me.
My community held me when I couldn't hold myself. Dance became a language when words weren't enough. Prayer became my anchor when everything else felt unsteady.
So, here's what I want you to know: asking for help isn't weak. It's wise.
And different seasons may require different kinds of support. Sometimes I needed my therapist's insight. Sometimes I needed a friend who would hold space for my tears. Sometimes I needed to move my body on the dance floor until the grief had somewhere to go. Sometimes I needed to write until my hand cramped and the page held what my heart couldn't anymore.
The myth is that healing is linear—that you get support, do the work, and emerge fixed. But the reality is that healing is anything but that. It’s circular…continuous. You revisit the same themes at different levels. You need different tools at different times. You build a toolkit of practices that meet you wherever you are.
Whether it's therapy (and if you can, please find a good therapist), journaling, prayer, meditation, movement, time in nature, or connection with people who truly see you—find the practices that help you process change in healthy ways.
Visit our RIZE Resource Directory for a growing list of therapists, books, and tools that can support you wherever you are on your journey.
The Return
I recently found language for my experience of adulthood over the past several years…
That the essence of adulting is learning how to hold space for both grief and gratitude at the same time.
Even if it’s true, I'm not here to tell you that everything happens for a reason, or that time heals all wounds, or that you'll look back and be grateful for the pain.
What I will tell you is that you’re stronger than you know. The version of you that will emerge after major change or loss will have expanded. You’ll contain more. Understand more. Hold more complexity, more nuance, more truth.
The career that ended taught me who I was beyond what I did. The fertility journey that broke my heart taught me about hope and surrender. The marriage that dissolved taught me about my own strength and the importance of becoming my own safe place.
Every transition I thought would destroy me actually expanded my capacity to live fully. Not despite the pain, but because of what I learned by moving through it.
Your story of transition may look nothing like mine. Your losses are your own, and so is your journey back to yourself. But if you're in the middle of change that feels impossible—if you're wondering whether you'll ever feel whole again—I want you to know: you will.
Face every feeling. Trust that something new is beginning. Get the support you need. Move through the messy middle with faith.
You don't have to have it all figured out. You just have to keep going.
That's how you return to yourself. Not by avoiding the hard parts, but by walking through them with intention, support, and the understanding that there’s always a path for your pain to become your purpose.
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