The holidays are a season of joy and togetherness—but for some, they can be bittersweet. This year, I find myself in an odd space. While I enjoy the festive sights of shop windows and a gentle snowfall outside, December marks a significant personal loss. Yesterday, December 7th, was the one-year anniversary of my mother’s passing.

Grief changes you. Life shifts, and as the saying goes, you either adapt or you don’t. I’m trying. I lean on those who love me—not in the same way my mother did, but still, they’re there, and for that, I’m grateful. There’s also an emptiness, though oddly paired with a sense of peace. It feels strange to admit, but after watching someone you love battle illness for so long, living in a constant state of high alert, there’s an odd quiet when it all ends. Caregivers, I know you’ll understand this feeling.

Though my mother’s illness lasted only a year—part of which she was doing well—the experience was a rollercoaster of stress and adrenaline. That chaos felt familiar to me, growing up in a home impacted by addiction. I’ve thrived in high-stress conditions for as long as I can remember. Therapy, meditation, energy healing—I’ve tried them all. Yet shaking that reliance on chaos is no easy feat. Without a crisis, I’m left wondering what to do with myself.

But here’s the revelation: Maybe this is the perfect time to write. Not under pressure, not in the stolen moments between disasters, but with intention. To create in the in-betweens. It’s uncharted territory for me, but perhaps it’s the lesson I need most.

Losing a parent—or any significant figure in your life—is like losing your biggest cheerleader. For so much of my life, I’ve worked tirelessly to prove myself to others, especially my parents. Now, with both of them gone, it’s just me and my accomplishments. But they don’t feel the same without my mother’s proud “good job” to make them sweeter. I’m learning to shift my perspective, to find my worth in myself, not in external validation.

Grieving, Growing, and Letting Go

I highly recommend The Strength in Our Scars by Bianca Sparacino for anyone navigating loss or trying to rediscover themselves. This book encourages embracing your identity and knowing you matter—without needing someone else to affirm it.

Learning to Live in the Quiet

As an oldest daughter, I’ve spent my later life being the responsible one, the fixer, the doer. Now, for the first time, my responsibilities are only to myself and my immediate family. It’s an unfamiliar landscape, and I’m grappling with questions like: What truly matters to me? What do I care about?

The answers aren’t easy, but I believe this period of reflection is crucial. Life will always throw curveballs—illness, loss, financial stress, relationship challenges. When they come, I know I’ll rise to meet them, likely pouring myself into a new project or novel. For now, though, my challenge is learning to thrive in the stillness and savor the “in-between.”

If you’ve been here before—struggling to adapt to a quieter, more stable life after chaos—I’d love your advice. What worked for you? How did you embrace the calm without waiting for the next storm?

Moving Forward with Gratitude

This holiday season, as I navigate grief and self-discovery, I’m holding on to gratitude. Gratitude for the people still in my life, for the lessons learned, and for the opportunity to grow. Writing this post felt a little cringy at times, but I know others with similar experiences will understand. For those of you navigating loss, give yourself grace. Lean into the people who love you, and take time to explore what truly matters to you.

If you’re looking for inspiration, I can’t recommend The Strength in Our Scars enough. And if you’ve been where I am, please share your thoughts or recommendations—I’m all ears. Let’s learn to thrive in the in-betweens together.