Grieving Through Good

Recently, a friend suggested I might be grieving my past. At the time, I brushed it off. Between battling depression and hormone fluctuations, I didn’t give the thought much weight. But later, in a conversation with my husband – one I had been avoiding for a while – I realized just how right that friend might have been.

Let me first say how grateful I am to have a husband I can be honest with. He listens without judgment, and his advice is always grounded in love. Still, the topic I brought up was terrifying. I admitted something I had been praying would just go away: I missed the friendship I once had with my ex – and even his family. Not because I wanted a romantic relationship again, but because that part of my life was meaningful, even in its brokenness.

Speaking those words aloud made me realize I am grieving. Not just a person, but an entire chapter of my life – both the good and the painful parts. I’ve been feeling so alone lately, especially when it comes to friendships. And my husband, with such tenderness, helped me see that maybe what I have been feeling is lonliness. I never truly found closure from that version of myself or from what that relationship meant, either.

I’m grieving a life I wanted, a life I once had, and struggling to fully embrace the one I have now – a life filled with function and peace, yet one that feels foreign.

When I started experiencing PMDD symptoms alongside depression, it felt like I was unraveling. My husband would say, “There’s no reason for you to feel like this. We’re doing okay now; we have a stable life, a new car, a clean home, steady jobs.” And I would cry, “I know. I hate feeling this way. I don’t want to feel like this.”

The numbness was the worst part. Even moments of celebration – like getting a new car – felt empty. I couldn’t get excited. My mind was flooded with anxiety about what my parents would say, about not being able to fully enjoy the good.

Grief like this – grieving a life I never had, grieving a life I did have, and trying to live the life I have now without self-sabotaging – might be the most refining thing I’ve ever walked through. I have cried, prayed, begged God to take it away. But the surrender part? That’s been the hardest.

I keep wondering: Why now?  Why am I just feeling this way when so much of the pain is supposedly behind me? The truth is, I’ve spent years staying busy—working, moving, numbing, avoiding. And now that I’ve slowed down, the emotions I suppressed are finally surfacing. It’s as if the stillness has made room for grief. And in those quiet spaces, the enemy loves to whisper lies.

Even now, when emotions rise, I shove them down until my luteal phase hits, and then the dam breaks. Hormones make it impossible to hold it all in, the women will get it.

There are days I wish I could erase it all – forget the people, the pain, the memories, just to feel a little normal and enjoy my now life. But I can’t. And maybe that’s okay. Because in this tension, I’m learning to surrender. It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not easy. But I’m trying. Through prayer, support, and little bits of clarity, I hope to come out the other side stronger.

For now, I’m learning to give myself grace, trying to build a life the opposite I was raised is exaclty where God is calling me.