The muscle of hope
Or how to drive when grief wants to throw you in the trunk
A year ago, I lost my mother.
In the time since, I’ve walked the haunted path so many of us eventually face: the first birthday without her, the first holiday she didn’t call, the first time I needed her wisdom and knew she wouldn’t answer.
Grief has taken its swings.
Just as I think I’ve faced the biggest losses, I keep discovering new ones:
She won’t be here to coach me through menopause.
She’ll never meet my future partner.
Any future milestone, no matter how bright, will always cast a little shadow.
The sunniest days carry a slight overcast.
This isn’t the kind of pain that fades away, it’s the kind that settles in.
But midlife brings something new to the grief process. Something I didn’t expect: the chance to meet yourself at a new depth.
Grief isn’t linear, it’s layered
In midlife, grief takes on new dimensions.
We don’t just grieve people.
We grieve past identities.
We grieve relationships that couldn’t be saved.
We grieve careers we gave everything to, only to outgrow, or be pushed out of.
We grieve youth, dreams we didn’t chase, and kids who no longer need us the way they once did.
There’s a quiet violence in these transitions.
They’re not dramatic enough to bring casseroles, but they gut us just the same.
And they leave us wondering: Who am I now?
And more quietly: Am I allowed to be happy again?
Choosing joy doesn’t mean betraying the grief
Here’s what I’m learning:
Grief doesn’t end.
But neither does joy.
I used to think I had to “wait out” the sadness. Like it was a thunderstorm and happiness was sunshine waiting on the other side.
But it’s not.
Grief isn’t weather. It’s climate.
It becomes part of the emotional ecosystem.
Joy isn’t something that appears when grief is done.
Joy is something you choose in the middle of the storm.
You don’t wait to feel ready.
You choose happy, even when it feels like betrayal.
You choose happy, even when it breaks your heart.
Because if you wait for the grief to vanish, you’ll be waiting forever.
Your ego wants grief to earn joy…but that’s not how it works
My ego insists that the facts must change before my emotions can.
It whispers:
“You can’t be happy. Look what you’ve lost.”
“You can’t feel joy today, Mom is still gone.”
Some days this week, it only mumbles from under the blankets, “…not today.”
Because in grief, your ego wears black too.
It knows how to play the mourner.
But here’s something else I’ve learned in midlife:
Feelings are data, not dictators.
They make excellent guides, but they don’t get to decide your life for you.
If you wait for grief to “let you” feel happy, you may never feel happy again.
Joy becomes something you have to choose, have to dig for sometimes.
But when you do, something crazy happens. Not in opposition to grief, but alongside it.
Grief doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t have to be in charge
You can feel the loss and laugh until your face hurts.
You can miss them and dance to your favorite song.
You can ache and build something new.
Grief can ride in the passenger seat. But you have to learn to take the wheel, or it can run you off a cliff.
Midlife is when we stop letting our emotions lead us blindly.
It’s when we learn that emotional intelligence isn’t just about feeling, it’s about choosing.
Not in a fake-it-‘til-you-make-it way.
But in a show up anyway kind of way.
In a feel it fully and still move forward kind of way.
That’s emotional leadership.
That’s the strength you earn from living long enough to know joy and sorrow aren’t opposites: they’re companions.
“All of a piece,” as Alan Watts said.
Midlife gives you grief, but also wisdom
This season of life can feel like a reckoning.
The losses hit harder.
The changes come faster.
But we also have something we didn’t have in our 20s or 30s:
Clarity.
Depth.
Perspective.
A knowing that emotions are waves, and we can ride them without drowning.
We’ve built enough history to trust that pain won’t last forever.
And that joy, even after devastation, isn’t just possible: it’s necessary.
How to choose joy when grief is still here
There’s no checklist for grieving well.
But there are small acts of defiance you can choose. Moments that signal to your soul: I’m still here. I still want to live.
🟡 Find one thing every day that makes you smile. Do it, even if it feels “wrong.”
🟡 Speak your loved one’s name. Keep them present.
🟡 Start something new, not to forget them, but to honor the life you still get to live.
🟡 Let yourself be surprised by delight. It will sneak in if you leave the door cracked.
🟡 Remember: choosing joy isn’t a betrayal. It’s a continuation.
You are still learning. That’s the whole point.
Midlife doesn’t mean you’ve figured it all out.
If anything, it’s the moment you realize how much more there is to feel.
But also how much better you are at holding it all. Grief. Love. Regret. Celebration. Sadness. Joy. All of it.
Often, all in the same hour.
It’s a dance you never asked to learn.
But you’re learning it anyway.
A yoga that pushes you to hold challenging spaces, and just keep breathing.
And with every move, you’re proving:
You’re strong.
You’re wise.
You’re not done yet.
Because even now, life is still offering you beauty.
And you’re allowed to say yes. 💛