How I’m Navigating Grief in Sobriety This Season
What’s helping me through my first year without my mother and a few practices that might support you too
Watch my TEDx Talk on Self-Worth: What’s Success Without Self-Worth
A Year Ago
A year ago, I was pregnant when my then-85-year-old mother fell and broke her hip. It was devastating, because I understood what that meant. For someone her age, a broken hip can quietly begin the final chapter. No matter how hopeful anyone tried to be, including my partner, I carried the truth in my chest and it ran through my veins: my mother was dying.
At every OB appointment, my blood pressure crept higher. The doctors warned me to be mindful of pre-eclampsia, and every time they raised their concerns, I found myself asking, “Doesn’t it count that my mother is dying? What if this grief is what you’re seeing in the numbers?”
My mother passed away on January 25th.
Grief & Sobriety
Grief has been a thread running through my entire sobriety journey.
I entered sobriety after losing a love to his own addiction. Before losing my mother, and before carrying Amara, I experienced a pregnancy loss. I used to believe grief was unbearable, that it was an emotion so intolerable and dangerous that I had to run from it. I didn’t think it was something a person could hold without falling apart.
Sobriety taught me otherwise.
Now I understand that grief is so much more than just a reflection of love lost.
It’s the ache of knowing that everything connected to that person—the good, the hard, the familiar, the comforting, the joy, the tenderness, the complicated moments, the charged interactions, the history that only existed between the two of you—is suddenly gone.
It’s the weight of how deeply I cared, and the realization that all the future moments with them, even the ones I didn’t know I wanted, are now just empty space.
One strategy that helps me sit with grief, especially the kind that feels sharp and especially heavy, is pairing it with gratitude.
I ask myself:
What are the moments of love, connection, or joy that make this grief so heavy?
What does this pain reveal about what mattered?
And when the pang hits, instead of assuming something is wrong, I remind myself:
It hurts because it was real.
That reminder softens the ache.
If You’re Navigating Grief, Here Are a Few Practices That Have Helped Me
Pair the pain with gratitude.
I give an example below. When grief feels overwhelming, look for the moments of love or connection that explain why the loss hits so hard.Let multiple emotions exist at once.
You might laugh while grieving, feel joy during a hard holiday, or remember something silly and feel both warmth and sadness. None of this means you’re doing something wrong. Grief is not linear.Notice the traits of your loved one that live on in you.
This can be a grounding way to stay connected and to remember that they can still be here in some form. I giggle when I think of this, because not too long ago I shared in a staff meeting that my guilty pleasure is letting the parts of me that remind me of my mother come out especially when I’m with my sister, Sofia. What I didn’t mention in the “What I Carry Forward” list below, is that my mom had a sharp tongue, which I definitely inherited. The difference now is that I practice the pause button. And sometimes I’ll run to my sister to share what I would have said, but knew better than to actually say out loud.Allow space for your grief to change over time.
There’s no correct way to mourn. Some days hit harder than others. Let your grief shift and soften without judgment.
The Gifts She Gave Us
As the first holidays without my mother approach, I’ve been leaning into that practice of pairing the pain with gratitude by thinking back on positive moments. And as I shared some memories with my partner, one stood out clearly:
Years ago, after a wreck, I needed a new car. My ex didn’t want me to buy one with our joint funds, and I felt stuck and powerless. I called my mother crying, and she said without hesitation:
“Te mando algo de dinero para que puedas comprarte algo.”
(I’ll send you some money so you can get yourself something.)
In that moment, she gave me both support and independence.
My sister added, “No matter how grown we were, Mami always had our backs. She’s the most generous person I’ve ever known. She wasn’t mushy, but if she loved you, she made sure you were taken care of.”
As we talked, two realizations landed for me:
I am exactly like my mother.
And that is a beautiful thing.
This video above came from a KET interview when I won Kentucky Teacher of the Year.
What I Carry Forward
Here are some of the gifts she left in me:
1. Her Generosity
If she had it, she shared it. Security, support, comfort. I see that same instinct in myself, to share my gifts, and it feels like a blessing.
2. Her Brilliance With Numbers
She had incredible number sense and could budget, plan, and save with ease. Now that I run my own business and navigate the expenses of a baby, I feel her guidance in the way I solve problems and trust my intuition with money. Buying a brand-new car when my Prius runs just fine? No, thank you. Oh, you need money for your college fund? Here you go.
3. Her Loyalty
She valued depth over breadth. Her circle was small, intentional, and fiercely loved. I’m the same now. I cherish the people who are truly in my life and keep my connections with others to a minimum. I thrive in small circles, and that’s okay.
An Invitation, If You Want One
If you feel ready, or curious, you can try asking yourself:
What beautiful qualities did this person bring into the world?
Which of those qualities show up in you?
How does it feel to recognize that connection?
How might you care for those parts of yourself?
These reflections don’t take the pain away, but they definitely can help reframe it.
As I move through this season without my mother, I’m grateful for the memories, the traits we share, and the love that still lives in me.
Sending you warmth, especially if you’re carrying your own grief this season.