Finding My Way Back:

How To Take the First Step In Healing Grief

When I was 18 months old, I wandered ahead on a three-mile hike through the Black Hills, my small feet finding their way over sunbaked trails. My mother tells me I appeared undaunted, utterly sure of where I was going. It’s one of my favorite memories to reflect on—not because I remember it myself, but because it feels like a truth imprinted deep within me.

That story is a touchstone, a reminder of something fundamental: I have always known how to find my way. Maybe that explains why, decades later, I’ve sought out trails across the world—the Annapurna Range in Nepal, the Appalachian Trail closer to home, the Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu. Hiking has been my way of remembering who I am, of reconnecting with that part of me that trusts the path beneath my feet.

But what happens when the trail disappears?

Like many of you, I have experienced seasons of profound loss and disorientation. In fact, the last twenty years have felt like a continuous cycle of endings—my father’s sudden death when I was nine months pregnant, the unraveling of my marriage, the death of my children’s father from alcoholism, a career transition that shook my financial stability, the complexity of remarriage and step-parenting, multiple moves, and my mother’s diagnosis with stage four cancer. With each transition, I lost a little more of myself. The magnetic pull of my inner compass weakened, and I began to feel untethered.

And still, I fought.

I’m a trained lawyer—someone who was taught to never surrender. For nearly two decades, I fought the good fight, advocating, strategizing, pushing forward. Resisting was my default. Strength, control, and sheer willpower had always been my response to loss.

Until the unthinkable happened.

In May 2022, days after his high school graduation celebration, my 18-year-old son Patrick died by suicide. There was no argument to win, no strategy to deploy. Grief of this magnitude does not respond to force, logic, or determination. It requires something else entirely.

For the first time in my life, I could not "push through." The loss of Patrick shattered everything—including my identity. Who am I now that I am no longer Patrick’s mom? The question haunted me in the quiet hours of the night, lingering in the spaces where his presence once was.

For the past two and a half years, I have felt lost in a wilderness without a map. But something unexpected has begun to emerge in that space—something that does not feel like fighting, or controlling, or resisting.

It feels like remembering.

When I think back to that 18-month-old child in the Black Hills, I take comfort in knowing that she still exists within me. That certainty, that connection to the earth and of feeling supported by it, that quiet trust in the path ahead—it has never fully disappeared. And if I could find my way then, perhaps I can find my way now.

Maybe you, too, have felt lost—whether in grief, transition, or uncertainty. If so, I want you to know this: The part of you that once knew the way is still there. It may feel quiet, buried beneath sorrow or self-doubt, but it has not abandoned you.

The first step in transcending grief is not to push forward, but to pause. To listen. To remember and to trust that even in the darkest of times, there is still a path—one that only you can walk.

And when you're ready, you will take that first step.

Why am I sharing this now? Because this story is the foundation of everything I’ll be exploring in my writing here—what it means to lose yourself and rebuild, the paradoxical nature of grief, and how identity can be both shattered and reshaped in the aftermath of life’s most devastating losses. I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this: transformation is possible. Not by force, not by logic, but by something deeper. And for those of you who already know me, I’ll be occasionally sprinkling in some astrology, as another reference tool for helping us navigate the changing times we live in.

If this resonates with you, I hope you’ll join me here as I continue to explore these themes. You’re not alone on this path. It is my intention to share my stories and listen to yours. I want to create a safe and inviting space for honesty and the intimacy that accompanies being truthful, even when it’s really hard.

I’ll be postings semi-regular in the beginning since I’ll be traveling a bit this Spring. I plan to host at least one monthly live stream where paid subscribers have the chance to interact with me on chat, ask questions and share reflections. I envision the live streams as starting with a short teaching on processing and transforming grief, followed by a chance for us to connect in real-time—sharing insights, asking questions, and supporting each other in this space. My hope is that this will be a collaborative journey, where we not only navigate grief but also explore resilience, meaning, and the ways we continue to shape our lives after loss.

For now, I encourage you to subscribe, share your thoughts in the comments, and let me know what resonates with you. What aspects of grief, transformation, and identity feel most present in your life? What would you like to explore together?

Thank you for being here. I look forward to walking this path with you.

Patrick, Tim and I after a hike in beautiful Sedona.

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