I’ve lost track of how many caring friends have shared with me the TED Talk by Nora McInerny, the author and creator of the Hot Young Widows Club. (If you’re unfamiliar with this club, consider yourself fortunate. Despite the playful name, it’s a club no one aspires to join. The price of admission isn’t based on looks or youth but on experiencing a life-altering loss.) In her talk, Nora emphasizes that we don’t really move on from our grief; instead, we learn to move forward with it.
“A grieving person will laugh again and smile again,” she states in her TED Talk. “They will move forward, but that doesn’t imply they have moved on.”
The idea seems straightforward enough. I’ve been widowed for 1,138 days and have been grappling with grief for even longer, especially during the days when doctors informed me that my young husband had only weeks to live. I began grieving the life we would never have. After all this time, I believed I understood what it meant to move forward rather than move on.
If you had asked me just a few days ago, I would have confidently said I was progressing with my grief. Over the past three years, I purchased a new home, embarked on new career paths (two, to be precise), and even started dating again. I allowed myself to experience joy and sorrow on significant days, speaking my husband’s name and recalling both the good and bad moments of our life together. I was following Nora’s advice: moving forward with my grief by my side.
But in truth, I wasn’t. Not really. As I observed friends advancing in their lives, I felt like I was lagging behind.
This past weekend, the man I’m dating (the word “boyfriend” still seems odd, but for simplicity, let’s call him that) invited me to take my kids on a hike with him and his son. I eagerly accepted for two reasons: to get my kids away from their screens for a few hours and because I was grappling with the remnants of a particularly intense wave of grief. I thought some fresh air and a break from our pandemic routine would be beneficial.
I expected a hike to mean a leisurely stroll along a familiar path to a specific destination and then back. (This is why I thought wearing platform sneakers was acceptable.) I was mistaken.
About seven minutes into our walk, my boyfriend veered sharply to the right, leading us uphill through the trees. My kids and I followed him, still unsure of what we were in for. Before we knew it, we were leaping over rocks, traversing streams, climbing over boulders with the help of tree branches, and squeezing through narrow stone passageways. For most of the hike, I lacked solid footing and direction. Ultimately, we found ourselves at the top of a waterfall, gazing down at all the hikers who had taken the familiar route—the one I had always known.
Amid the combination of a grief wave, a scraped knee from an unforgiving tree branch (who wears platform sneakers on a hike?), and the dizzying height, the phrase “moving forward with grief” suddenly resonated with me in a new way. In that moment, I recognized something I should have understood long ago: while I had grasped the “with grief” part, “moving forward” was not as I had imagined.
I believed moving forward meant keeping busy. I had indeed been busy—buying a house, starting new careers, and dating. But upon reflection, all that movement wasn’t truly forward. I had moved into a new house, but it was just down the street. The neighborhood remained the same. My running route hadn’t changed, either.
I had launched two new careers, but both were hobbies I had enjoyed before becoming a widow. Neither pushed me out of my comfort zone.
While dating was entirely new (especially the world of online dating—I’m still shocked by it), I quickly withdrew from situations that required me to change any aspect of my life as it was before my loss.
The truth was that all my so-called steps forward were merely superficial. Instead of progressing, I was shuffling sideways within my comfort zone, holding onto a life I had built with my husband, even though he was no longer here. Even though that version of myself was gone. And even as my grief expanded, taking up more space than that old life could accommodate, I realized I no longer fit.
It took a literal detour—veering right and stepping into the unknown—to help me understand that “moving forward” is far more than just being able to laugh and live again after loss. Yes, learning to laugh is an essential step toward moving forward with grief. However, standing atop that waterfall, I recognized that “moving forward” encompasses more. It means acknowledging that your journey forward will look different from what it once did—and grieving that reality. It means letting go of what no longer fits and wholeheartedly embracing what does. Sometimes, it may even require you to take a right turn instead of following the familiar path. (Even if you’re in completely unsuitable shoes.)
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In summary, moving forward while grieving is not just about keeping busy or making superficial changes; it’s about acknowledging the depth of your loss, allowing yourself to feel the pain, and embracing the new path that lies ahead, even if it means stepping into the unknown.