“Our sorrows and wounds are healed only when we touch them with compassion.” ~Jack Kornfield

Her absence lingers in the stillness of early mornings, in the moments between tasks, in the hush of evening when the day exhales. I’ve gotten good at moving. At staying busy. At producing. But sometimes, especially lately, the quiet catches me—and I fall in.

Grief doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s a whisper, one you barely hear until it’s grown into a wind that bends your bones.

It’s been nearly three years since my daughter passed. People told me time would help. That the firsts—first holidays, first birthday without her—would be the hardest. And maybe that was true.

But what no one prepared me for was how her absence would echo into the years that followed. How grief would evolve, shape-shift, and sometimes grow heavier—not lighter—with time. How her loss would uncover older wounds. Ones that predate her birth. Wounds that go back to a little girl who never quite felt safe enough to just be.

I’d like to say I’ve spent the past few years healing. Meditating. Journaling. Growing. And I did—sort of. Inconsistently. Mostly as a checkmark, doing what a healthy, mindful person is supposed to do, but without much feeling. I went through the motions, hoping healing would somehow catch up.

What I found instead was a voice I hadn’t truly listened to in years—my inner child, angry and waiting. While this year’s whirlwind pace pulled me further away, the truth is, I began losing touch with her long before.

She waited, quietly at first. But ignored long enough, she began to stir. Her protest wasn’t loud. It was physical—tight shoulders, shallow breath, scattered thoughts, restless sleep. A kind of anxious disconnection I kept trying to “fix” by doing more.

I filled my days with obligations and outward-focused energy, thinking productivity might shield me from the ache.

But the ache never left.

It just got smarter—showing up in my body, in my distracted mind, in the invisible wall between me and the world.

Until the day I finally stopped. I don’t know if I was too tired to keep running or if my grief finally had its way with me. But I paused long enough to pull a card from my self-healing oracle deck. It read:

“Hear and know me.”

I stared at the words and wept.

This was her. The little girl in me. The one who had waited through years of striving and performing and perfecting. The one who wasn’t sure she was lovable unless she earned it. The one who held not just my pain but my joy, too. My tenderness. My creativity. My curiosity.

She never left. She just waited—watching, hurting, hoping I’d remember.

For so long, I thought healing meant fixing. Erasing. Becoming “better” so I wouldn’t have to feel the ache anymore.

But she reminded me that healing is less about removing pain and more about returning to myself.

I’m still learning how to be with her. I don’t always know what she needs. But I’m listening now.

Sometimes, she just wants to color or lie on the grass. Sometimes she wants to cry. Sometimes she wants pancakes for dinner. And sometimes, she wants nothing more than to be told she’s safe. That I see her. That I won’t leave again.

These small, ordinary acts feel like re-parenting. I’m learning how to mother myself, even as I continue grieving my daughter. It’s a strange thing—to give the care I long to give her, to the parts of me that were once just as small, just as tender, just as in need.

I’ve spoken so much about the loss of my daughter. The space she once filled echoes every day. But what also lingers is her way of being—her authenticity. She was always exactly who she was in each moment. No apologies. No shrinking.

In my own journey of trying to fit in, of not wanting to be different, I let go of parts of myself just to be accepted.

She, on the other hand, stood out—fearlessly. The world called her special needs. I just called her Lily.

Her authenticity reminded me of something I had lost in myself. And now, authenticity is what my inner child has been waiting for—for so, so long.

Sometimes I wonder if the universe gave me Lily not just to teach her but to be taught by her. Maybe our children don’t just inherit from us—we inherit from them, too.

Her gift, her legacy, wasn’t just love. It was truth. The kind of truth that comes from living as you are.

Maybe her lesson for me is the one I’m just now beginning to accept: that being fully myself is the most sacred way I can honor her.

It’s not easy. The adult in me wants a checklist, a result, a clean timeline. But she reminds me: healing isn’t a destination. It’s a relationship.

It’s a relationship with the past—yes—but also with the present moment. With the part of me that still flinches under pressure. With the softness I once thought I had to abandon in order to survive.

I’m learning that my softness was never the problem. It was the silence that followed when no one responded to it.

She is the key. The key to my own heart.

It doesn’t always come in waves.

Sometimes it’s a flicker, a breath, a quiet knowing that I’m still here—and that they are, too.

My daughter, in the memories that move like wind through my life. And my inner child, in the softness I’m learning to reclaim. In the space where grief and love hold hands, we all meet.

Maybe that’s the lesson she’s been shouting all along: that we can’t truly love others if we abandon ourselves. That within our own hearts—tender, bruised, still beating—lies the key to beginning again.

We can’t mother our lost children the way we once did.

But maybe, in their absence, we can begin to mother the small, forgotten parts of ourselves—with the same love, the same patience, the same fierce devotion.

Maybe that’s how we honor them—not by moving on, but by moving inward.

About Elizabeth Candy

Elizabeth Candy is a writer, mother, and spiritual seeker. She writes about grief, healing, and the journey of coming home to oneself after loss. She believes we can find our way by listening inward and loving the forgotten parts of ourselves. You can read more of her writing at lifeafterlil.blogspot.com, or follow her on Instagram @lifeafterlil.

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I believe what triggered this depressing event for me was that my mom always watched when my dad and I, or my sisters and I, would ride a ride. She would hold everybody’s things and wave to us from the sidelines. Since I hadn’t ridden a ride in almost a decade, it makes sense why I was looking for her while we were riding the carousel. My brain was still computing that she was supposed to be somewhere out in the crowd, but she wasn’t. 

Healing Doesn’t Always Come 

Although my mom has been gone for almost a decade, I still have times when my brain has convinced me that she is still with us, just like this situation at the carousel. I have also had times when I swore I saw her out in public, but it is just a random woman. While I understand this is a trauma response, I have been told that it is odd that it is still affecting me all these years later. However, what some might see as odd might just be what they don’t understand. 

I haven’t come across a person who lost their mom when they were a teenager as it normally doesn’t happen. While I’m sure there are people across the world whose moms passed away when they were a teen, I personally haven’t met anyone. The closest I came to knowing someone who also related to experiencing the death of someone they loved at a young age was a friend from college. Her fiance passed away due to a car accident, and his death sent her into a depression that still shows up every now and then. 

She has since married another man, but you can tell that her former fiance’s death still bothers her. I can relate to my friend in some instances because she lost someone she loved at a young age; however, I can’t go out and get a new mom. It’s not like I can just start over again. My mom was my mom and there is no replacing her, and I wouldn’t want to. My mom wasn’t perfect, but she was the best mom for my sisters and me. 

It is not surprising that our lives would change so much after her passing since she was the heartbeat of our family. You could always depend on her and rely on her to help you solve any problems. Nowadays, we tend to feel lost about the problems we face. We try our best, but nothing has been the same since my mom passed away.

Allowing Grief to Take Up a Part of Your Life

Ever since the day my mom passed away, grief has taken up a significant amount of space in my heart. I will never be the same person I was before my mom passed away. Granted, I already had depression prior to my mom’s passing, but her passing has done nothing to help my depression. It has only grown and intensified. Most people think depression is just crying and staying in your bed, and sometimes it is, but other times, it is anger outbursts, feeling misunderstood, or feeling hopeless about the future. 

Grief coexisting with depression is a double punch that I have to face every day. A new family moved in behind our home, and to this day, I cannot understand how they host parties and celebrations outside of their home almost every weekend. While my logical mind understands they never knew my mom and my personal loss doesn’t affect them, I still don’t understand how the world can keep spinning when my own life died a long time ago. Nothing is the same anymore, and it will never be the same again. 

Many people will say this is pessimistic, but for those who say that, I would argue that they have never gone through the death of a loved one or had to face grief. They simply don’t understand. Sometimes it takes all the strength in your body to admit that things won’t be the same because, when you do, the tears come, and the pain in your heart intensifies. Things will never be the same, and there is no point pretending they will be. 

My entire family has been affected by the death of my mom and rightfully so. To have someone so central to your life pass away is enough to send anyone into the darkest spiral of sorrow, depression, and pain. My family and I try our best to pick up the recovered pieces of this painful thing we call life, but our lives have been permanently altered by my mom’s death, and things will never return to what they were when she was alive. 

Giving Yourself Permission to Grieve Your Former Life 

Something that I have had to do is allow myself to grief my past life. When my mom was here, everything seemed brighter. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was better because she was in it. Once she passed away, it felt as though all the light in my life burned out. If you have also felt this, know that you are not alone in your struggles. We need to turn to Jesus and rely on Him to help us as we take time to grieve. 

Grieving will last for a long time, and for some of us, it might last for the rest of our lives. We have to understand that this is okay and is nothing to be ashamed of. We grieve so much because we loved so much. Therefore, we never need to be ashamed of our tears or our memories because they are immeasurable. 

Through the pain and grief, we never need to ignore the Lord. We can cast our anxieties, worries, and fears on Him because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). Bring all of your pain, sorrow, and tears to Jesus and allow Him to give your soul peace. This is not a one-time practice, but rather, something we must continue to do throughout our lives. When pain, anxiety, and struggles come into your heart, hand them over to Jesus. 

All of the hardships in life will not endure forever. I will see my mom again in heaven, and whatever is causing you pain today will also see its end. Death, agony, and pain are not our final destination. Rather, eternal life with the Lord is our forever home, and we will never be full of sorrow again (Revelation 21:4). Take heart in knowing the Lord is with you, and He will mend the broken pieces of your heart (Psalm 147:3). 

Photo Credit: ©GettyImages/Filmstax

Vivian Bricker obtained a Bachelor of Arts in Ministry, followed by a Master of Arts with an emphasis in theology. She loves all things theology, mission work, and helping others learn about Jesus. Find more of her content at Cultivate: https://cultivatechristianity.wordpress.com/. 

The first time I got my heart broken—really, painfully broken—I remember feeling too ashamed to ask for support. I didn’t talk about it with anyone because, at the time, there weren’t many people I trusted with such a raw and tender part of myself.

I cried a lot, so people around me knew something had happened, but looking back, I think it’s tragic that I had no friends or family I felt safe enough to open up to. No bestie to cry into a tub of ice cream with. Tragic, but also a bit revealing.

Like all painful experiences of loss, it eventually became more bearable. I resumed my regular routines. Heartbreak is just another part of life, and we move on as time passes, right?

It was over a decade later when I chanced upon a letter I had written to my ex shortly after our breakup. I found it at my parents’ house in the pocket of an old pair of pants, in a drawer full of remnants from those restless years of young adulthood when I had no true home of my own.

My stomach sank as I pulled it out, recognizing it instantly. Had someone found it and read it? Imagine that. Shame outweighed curiosity even all those years later. But the envelope was still sealed. It had his name written on the front in my handwriting.

The letter was written to him, but it was always meant for me. I had been drowning in misery when I wrote it, and re-reading the words pulled me right back into that pain. But with years of distance, I saw something I couldn’t have grasped back then.

At the time, I had believed the pain was all about losing him—that I couldn’t imagine not being with him anymore. Missing him felt like a black hole in my life, one that only he could fill. And yes, part of my pain was indeed about him. But if I’m being honest, our connection was never strong enough to justify the depth of pain I felt when it ended.

The true source of my pain—the visceral agony of the weeks that followed—was not about him at all. It was about what his rejection confirmed for me.

I’m not enough.

That is why the whole experience was so closely tied to feeling shame as much as (or more so) than feeling grief. Every insecurity I had carried since childhood—not smart enough, not interesting enough, not attractive enough, not cool enough, not sexy enough, not fun enough—felt legitimized the moment he decided I wasn’t for him. Losing him was a personal failure and a reflection of my insignificance.

Even more than that, I realized that our entire relationship had been a desperate attempt to prove my own worth. If I could be loved by him, then maybe I was good enough. That was my only focus. And in making that my focus, I sabotaged the relationship.

In the early days, I was being me. That’s what had sparked the attraction. But once we committed, I became hyper-aware of everything I thought I needed to be in order for him to keep wanting me. I stopped being present. I stopped enjoying him. Without even realizing it, I created drama—not because I wanted to, but because I needed him to prove he cared enough to stay. I was so obsessed with being enough for him that I never paused to ask myself if he was enough for me.

I didn’t know it then, but breakups don’t just hurt because of who we’ve lost. They crack open something deeper. They expose wounds we didn’t even know we were carrying.

At the time, I looked at other people—especially my ex—who seemed fine, and I convinced myself that something must be wrong with me. But looking back, I see how misguided that was. I wasn’t broken. I was reckoning with my own self-loathing. Without support. Without any reason to see how human it was.

I wish I had known that the pain of a breakup isn’t necessarily just about missing someone. It’s also about what the feeling of desertion stirs up in you. It’s about how the sudden loss of connection can make you question your own worth.

I tried to be strong by pushing through, distracting myself, pretending I was okay. I tried to hate him, fixating on all his flaws. But avoidance isn’t healing—it only postpones the inevitable. The feelings I refused to process didn’t disappear; they resurfaced in my self-doubt, in my choices, in the quiet moments when no distraction was enough.

Standing in my parents’ home that day, I was able to see the missed window of opportunity. I understood how going through that alone due to my shame never gave the experience a chance to be properly digested. The same inner critic and shame resurfaced again and again in the years that followed until eventually, I was brave enough to do the work and step into a version of myself who believes in my inherent value.

If I could go back, I would tell myself a few important things:

• This isn’t something to just get over. It’s something to move through. The pain isn’t here to break you—it’s asking for your attention.
• Real strength isn’t pretending you’re fine. It’s allowing yourself to feel what needs to be felt. It’s getting the right support, whether from a therapist, a coach, or a trusted guide. It’s letting the experience change you—not by making you harder, but by making you whole.
• Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean waking up one day and realizing you no longer care. It means learning from the loss. Understanding yourself more deeply. Stepping forward with a clearer sense of what you truly need and deserve.

I can’t go back and give my younger self this wisdom. Who knows if she would have been ready to listen anyway? But I can offer it to anyone who might be there now—wondering why it still hurts, wondering when they’ll finally be “over it.”

The truth? The most painful moments of our lives often carry the greatest invitations for self-discovery. Normalizing our pain and meeting it with self-compassion can unlock massive personal growth.

We don’t get through life unscathed. We will be hurt. We will face pain. We will have to accept the incomprehensible.

But if we learn to turn inward—to become a safe refuge for ourselves, filled with kindness and understanding—we can evolve. We can transform our lives rather than repeat the same lesson over and over, carrying that wisdom into our next experience.

So here is my wish for all of you with a broken heart. May you meet your pain so it won’t just wound you but shape you into a truer version of yourself. Stay in your heart.

About Natasha Ramlall

Natasha Ramlall is a trauma-informed mind-body health practitioner. She helps individuals see their pain in a new way which moves them into more evolved levels of mind-body health, wholeness and healing. To learn more or work with her, visit humanistcoaching.ca and get her free audio Letting Go of The Past, a 24-minute mix of visualization, mindfulness and hypnosis.
nudge your nervous system back into balance when you’re having one of ‘those’ days.

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The Planet Of Luck Is In Cancer — What Your Sign Needs To Know

By Sophia Lin – Mindfulness & Mental Health Guide

As I sip my morning herbal tea on my city balcony, watching the first light of dawn soften the skyline, I can’t help but feel a surge of optimism about the cosmic energies at play. With Jupiter, the planet of luck, now in Cancer as of June 2025 and lingering through much of 2026, we’re entering a phase rich with emotional nurturing and abundant growth. This transit invites us all to tune into our inner worlds, fostering deeper connections and heartfelt expansions. Whether you’re seeking stability in relationships or a boost in personal intuition, understanding what the planet of luck in Cancer means for your zodiac sign can guide you toward profound healing and joy. Drawing from recent retreats where I’ve witnessed clients embrace these shifts, let’s explore how this benevolent influence can illuminate your path.

Jupiter’s journey through Cancer, exalted in this water sign, emphasizes themes of home, family, and emotional security. As noted in astrological insights, this period from June 2025 to July 2026 amplifies our capacity for compassion and abundance, encouraging us to build from the heart outward.

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Jupiter in Cancer 2025 Will Bring Luck to Each Zodiac Sign

Caption: Astrological illustration of Jupiter in Cancer zodiac sign with cosmic elements, symbolizing luck and emotional growth during this transit – essential for what your sign needs to know about the planet of luck in Cancer.

Understanding Jupiter: The Planet of Luck and Expansion

Jupiter, often called the Great Benefic, rules over fortune, wisdom, and broadening horizons. When it transits a sign, it magnifies that area’s qualities in our lives. In Cancer, a cardinal water sign governed by the Moon, Jupiter’s energy turns inward, promoting nurturing and protective vibes. This isn’t about flashy risks but about cultivating a safe space for dreams to flourish.

From astrological perspectives, Jupiter in Cancer enhances our intuitive side, making it easier to attract opportunities through emotional authenticity. It’s a time when luck flows from listening to your gut and honoring your roots. For instance, if you’ve been feeling scattered, this transit offers a cosmic reset, aligning with practices like mindfulness meditation for everyday life. Studies from the Greater Good Science Center highlight how such emotional attunement boosts resilience, turning potential setbacks into stepping stones.

Why Jupiter in Cancer Is a Game-Changer for Emotional Growth

Cancer’s influence softens Jupiter’s expansive nature, focusing on heartfelt expansion rather than external conquests. This exalted position means Jupiter operates at peak potential, bringing blessings in areas like family dynamics and self-care. Expect themes of belonging and empathy to dominate, as this transit encourages us to release old wounds and embrace abundance.

Psychologically, this aligns with fostering secure attachments, per Psychology Today research on emotional bonds. It’s an ideal period for nurturing your mental fitness, where small acts of self-compassion yield big rewards. As someone who’s navigated burnout, I see this as a call to prioritize inner peace, much like my daily balcony reflections that ground me amid city chaos.

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2025 Jupiter in Cancer Horoscope – by Cosmic Camille

Caption: Vibrant zodiac illustration featuring Jupiter in Cancer with cosmic elements, highlighting emotional abundance for each sign – key insights into the planet of luck in Cancer and what your sign needs to know.

Aries: Embrace Nurturing New Beginnings with Heartfelt Action

Aries, with Jupiter in Cancer lighting up your home sector, luck comes through creating a nurturing base. This transit urges you to slow down and invest in family or personal sanctuaries, turning impulsive energy into protective drive. You might find fortune in home-based ventures or emotional breakthroughs that fuel your ambitions.

To heal and grow, incorporate gentle routines like morning meditations to channel your fire productively. This mirrors finding calm in everyday moments, helping you build lasting security. Expect unexpected support from loved ones, amplifying your natural leadership with empathy.

Taurus: Strengthen Your Foundations for Lasting Abundance

Taurus, Jupiter’s presence in Cancer enhances your communication zone, bringing luck through heartfelt expressions and learning. Share your values openly, and watch opportunities in networking or short trips unfold. This period stabilizes your emotional foundations, making it prime for financial growth tied to intuition.

Practice gratitude journaling to solidify gains, aligning with the art of self-reflection. As Jupiter expands your voice, lean into nurturing conversations that attract prosperity.

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Jupiter and sun cycle begins in cancer

Caption: Cosmic zodiac art depicting Jupiter’s transit in Cancer with ethereal elements, guiding emotional luck for all signs – vital for understanding the planet of luck in Cancer and what your sign needs to know.

Gemini: Deepen Connections and Financial Wisdom

Gemini, this transit spotlights your values and possessions, infusing luck into finances and self-worth. Jupiter in Cancer encourages intuitive investments, perhaps in home comforts or emotional security nets. It’s a time to deepen bonds, turning your adaptability into nurturing support systems.

Explore understanding emotional boundaries to enhance relationships. Financial windfalls may arise from family or heartfelt pursuits, rewarding your curiosity with stability.

Cancer: Your Time to Shine with Inner Wisdom and Confidence

Cancer, with Jupiter in your sign, you’re the star of this transit! Luck amplifies your natural empathy, bringing personal growth and opportunities for self-expression. Embrace your intuitive gifts, as this exalted position heals old insecurities and attracts abundance in all forms.

From my retreat experiences, this mirrors profound self-discovery. Focus on cannabis as a tool for self-knowledge and ethical living for deeper insights. Expect expansions in identity and relationships, with emotional fulfillment at the forefront.

Leo: Nurture Your Creative Passions Through Inner Healing

Leo, Jupiter in Cancer activates your subconscious realm, bringing luck through introspection and spiritual pursuits. Release hidden fears to make space for creative abundance. This transit nurtures your inner child, leading to profound healing and inspired actions.

Incorporate dream journaling, tying into why I don’t want to become enlightened anymore for reflective depth. Luck emerges from behind-the-scenes work, setting the stage for your spotlight moments.

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What Jupiter in Cancer/the 4th House Reveals about Your Chart …

Caption: Mystical illustration of Jupiter influencing Cancer zodiac with cosmic symbols, revealing luck for every sign – core to the planet of luck in Cancer and what your sign needs to know.

Virgo: Heal Through Service and Expanding Social Circles

Virgo, this placement illuminates your hopes and networks, drawing lucky alliances and community support. Jupiter in Cancer softens your analytical edge, encouraging empathetic collaborations that fulfill your service-oriented soul.

Build meaningful groups, perhaps through wellness circles. This resonates with gentle parenting: a compassionate approach. Abundance flows from shared emotional goals, enhancing your practical magic.

Libra: Balance Home and Career Ambitions with Heart

Libra, Jupiter boosts your career sector, bringing public recognition tied to nurturing roles. Luck in professional expansions comes from aligning work with emotional values, perhaps in home-related fields.

Harmonize ambitions with self-care, as per balancing life as a working mom. This transit elevates your status through compassionate leadership.

Scorpio: Transform Through Emotional Depth and Exploration

Scorpio, Jupiter expands your philosophy and travel house, infusing luck into adventures that deepen your emotional wisdom. Seek truths that heal, perhaps through spiritual journeys or studies.

This aligns with the power of compassionate living. Transformative growth awaits, turning intensity into abundant insights.

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Jupiter in Cancer brings authenticity and feminine wisdom

Caption: Enchanted zodiac depiction of Jupiter in Cancer with stellar cosmic elements, offering guidance on luck for each sign – pivotal for the planet of luck in Cancer and what your sign needs to know.

Sagittarius: Expand Your Horizons with Intimate Bonds

Sagittarius, this transit delves into shared resources and intimacy, bringing luck through deep emotional mergers. Jupiter in Cancer encourages vulnerability, leading to profound partnerships and financial gains.

Embrace assessing if marriage is right for me. Your optimism flourishes in trusting connections.

Capricorn: Build Lasting Security in Relationships

Capricorn, Jupiter graces your partnership zone, attracting lucky alliances and harmonious bonds. Nurture commitments with empathy, as this softens your structure for emotional rewards.

Tie into 4 hard lessons we all learn by letting go in life. Stability grows through heartfelt collaborations.

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Jupiter in Cancer 2025: When It Happens, Astrology Meaning …

Caption: Radiant illustration capturing Jupiter’s energy in Cancer zodiac with cosmic flair, illuminating luck paths for all signs – fundamental to the planet of luck in Cancer and what your sign needs to know.

Essentials for Navigating Jupiter in Cancer’s Lucky Transit

Enhance your emotional journey with these supportive tools:

1. Meditation Cushion – Perfect for deepening introspection during this nurturing phase.
2. Essential Oils Set – Diffuse calming blends to foster inner peace.
3. Wellness Journal – Track your intuitive insights daily.
4. Herbal Tea Set – Soothe your soul with nurturing sips.
5. “The Mindful Body” Book – Gain wisdom on emotional healing.
6. Sunrise Alarm Clock – Awaken gently to embrace the day’s abundance.
7. Oura Ring – Monitor your well-being for optimal growth.
8. Blue Light Glasses – Protect during reflective screen time.

These have been invaluable in my practice.

P.S. Ready to harness Jupiter’s luck? Sign up for my free mindfulness journal—zodiac edition, with tailored prompts for each sign during this transit. Grab it here to align your intentions with the stars.

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• Perimenopause Power Checklist
• Cycle Wellness Checklist

“If you have ever followed a rainbow to its end, it leads you to the ground on which you are standing.” ~Alan Cohen

There’s nothing more exhilarating than riding in a Jeep through masses of standing water. With each push forward, my friend Angela expertly maneuvered through enormous puddles, sending fountain-like arcs of aquatic glory past my passenger-side window.

This was joy to me.

It was a welcome reprieve considering the past couple of years had unraveled in ways I never saw coming. In fact, this watery wonder, cruising through the quaint streets of the beloved beach island I called home, was a rare outing for me.

I wouldn’t call myself a shut-in exactly, but if you had spotted me out and about in recent months, you might have likened it to a unicorn sighting—rare and a shock to the system. Rare, because leaving my house required something other than pajamas. Shocking, because it meant I had somehow rallied after a morning of ugly crying.

These days, the ugly cries came less frequently, but getting out the door still required careful planning and a healthy dose of positive self-talk. Angela, sensing all I had been through, didn’t attempt to fill the space between us with mindless chatter. She let the air breathe, allowing our hearts to settle into a comforting silence.

And wouldn’t you know it? In that silence, as we rolled forward over the waterlogged road, a rainbow appeared.

It was magnificent. A full curve stretching across the sky, untouched by a single cloud. We both took it in, wordless at first, until Angela finally spoke the thought we were both holding:

“This has to mean brighter days are ahead.”

I nodded, hoping with everything in me that she was right. Not just for our community, which had been pummeled by weeks of relentless storms, but selfishly, for me. I needed this to mean something. The universe wouldn’t place something so breathtaking in my path if life wasn’t about to shift in a meaningful way… right?

At that moment, although I wasn’t ready for it, a tiny doorway of hope cracked open in my heart.

Angela pulled into my driveway, gave me one of those deep, soulful hugs she’s known for, and I stepped onto the sand-packed pavers, feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: the possibility of relief.

But relief never came.

The next morning, I woke up expecting transformation. I brushed my teeth, looked in the mirror, and waited for the shift. And then it hit me. Nothing had changed.

Worse yet, everything that had once shattered me remained intact, as if locked in a forgotten pause. My father was gone—forever. And instead of the clarity or closure I had hoped for, I was left with the unsettling reality that some pieces of life can never be fully mended.

By some unknown force of grace, the years, months, and weeks leading up to our last conversations allowed them to be light, even warm. A reminder that the love we shared, though imperfect, continued to move freely in both directions. And still, his sudden departure sent shockwaves through my family, shifting fault lines in ways I couldn’t control. Unable to bear it, like a sea turtle stunned motionless after a sudden freeze warning, I collapsed inward and began my retreat from the external world.

Then, there was my future looming over me, a blank slate waiting to be filled. My identity had been tethered to raising my boys, but soon, my nest would be empty.

I had no roadmap for what came next. I had tried to carve out a new path through writing and building a mindful and self-compassionate community, but since my father’s death, that dream and the energy for it had faded.

My reflection met my gaze, uncertain and hesitant. Fifty years etched into my skin, fine lines tracing both laughter and worry, a strip of silver roots marking the passage of time, yet I felt invisible in a world that had seemingly moved on.

What now, rainbow? What now?

And beyond the grief, beyond the exhaustion, there was something else.

Anger.

How dare that rainbow give me hope? How dare it let me believe, even for a moment, that things were about to get better? I felt tricked, betrayed by my own willingness to believe in something beyond my suffering.

But as I spiraled deeper into my chasm of despair, something else took shape on the edges of my soul. A truth so simple, so unshaken by my sorrow, that it stopped me in my tracks.

I finally learned the truth about rainbows.

Rainbows do not exist to change our lives. They do not come with promises or guarantees. They are not here to tell us whether things will get better or stay the same.

A rainbow’s only purpose is to illuminate what already exists. To take the ordinary and, for a fleeting moment, drench it in color. It does not erase the rain, nor does it undo the storm. But it shifts our perception. It allows us to see the world, and ourselves, in a way that feels momentarily brighter.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.

Maybe healing is not about waiting for life to change but about learning to be with life exactly as it is. Maybe it’s about making space for the full spectrum of our emotions—grief and wonder, despair and hope, pain and beauty—without needing to force one away to make room for the other.

Maybe the rainbow was never a promise of transformation. Maybe it was simply an invitation to see my life, my grief, and even myself through a different lens.

And so, instead of cursing the rainbow for failing to fix me, I let it teach me something else.

That I am still here.

That even in grief, I can experience awe.

That even in uncertainty, wonder can still find me.

That even in the hardest moments, light doesn’t disappear. It refracts, scattering in ways I might not have expected but still can choose to see.

And maybe, just maybe, hope isn’t about believing something external will come along to save us. Maybe hope is simply the courage to keep going, even when we don’t yet see the path ahead.

So, I will keep going.

Not because I know what’s next.

Not because I believe everything will suddenly fall into place.

But because there is still light in this world. Light that is beautiful, redemptive, and multi-faceted, and I want to keep searching for it.

Even in the rain.

Even in the in-between.

Even in me.

About Diana DeVaul

Diana DeVaul, MSW, is a writer and seeker who believes in the healing power of shared truth. While moving through her own season of uncertainty, she offers honest and compassionate words to anyone struggling to find steady ground. Read more at dianadevaul.com.

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“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let  the righteous be shaken.” Psalm 55:22

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Proverbs 4:23

Knowing when to let go of a fragmented relationship is a serious decision that requires God’s wisdom. You can only release your loved one with His blessing, peace, and assurance. If you believe the Lord is leading you to let go, here is a prayer that can help:

Lord, I am sensing it’s time to let this person go, but I need Your wisdom and guidance. I release all bitterness and unforgiveness, asking You to lead me in perfect peace. If this fragmented relationship cannot be repaired, please close the door gently, leading them in the way they should go, and guiding me on the path You have marked for me. I trust you in this, in Jesus’ precious name, amen.

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