I've lost both of my parents. I've lived through relationships that left their mark, literally and figuratively. I've had to rebuild, and I've learned that moving forward and healing aren't always the same thing.
For years, I was very good at continuing with life. But grief doesn't always arrive when we expect it to—or in the form we expect it to.
I once attended a week-long grief intensive where we were asked to map the losses across our lives: deaths, moves, relationships, and the versions of ourselves we'd left behind.
And the loss that unexpectedly brought me to tears wasn't the death of either parent. It was my cat, Abercrombie.
I remember being surprised by the intensity of my reaction. It taught me something I haven't forgotten: we can't always predict which loss will open the door to feelings we haven't had room for.
That understanding has shaped how I approach this work, both personally and professionally. I wanted to create a space for women to explore the losses that others may never have recognized—and to begin doing something meaningful with what they discover.
