I’ve lost track of how many kind friends have shared the TED Talk by Nora McInerny, the author and founder of the Hot Young Widows Club. (If you haven’t heard of this club, consider yourself fortunate. Despite its catchy, playful name, it’s a club nobody wishes to join. The cost of admission is steep — not based on looks or age, but a heart-wrenching, life-altering loss.) In her talk, Nora emphasizes that we don’t move on from our grief; we move forward while carrying it with us.
“A grieving person will laugh and smile again,” she expresses in her TED Talk. “They will move forward, but that doesn’t imply they’ve moved on.”
The idea seemed straightforward enough. I’ve been a widow for 1,138 days. My acquaintance with grief extends even longer if I include the days when doctors informed me that my young husband had only a few weeks to live, prompting me to mourn the life we would never have. After all this time, I thought I had a clear understanding of what it meant to progress, rather than move on.
Just days ago, I would have claimed I was making strides in my grief journey. Over the past three years, I’ve purchased a new home, started two new careers, and even ventured into dating. I was allowing myself to experience joy and sorrow on significant dates, saying my husband’s name, and reminiscing about both the good and the challenging moments of our life together. I was following Nora’s advice: moving forward with my grief by my side.
However, I realized I was mistaken. As I observed my friends advancing in their lives, I felt increasingly left behind.
This past weekend, the man I’m dating (though the term “boyfriend” still feels odd, let’s use it for simplicity) suggested taking my kids on a hike with him and his son. I eagerly accepted for two reasons: first, I wanted to get my kids away from their screens for a few hours, and second, I was grappling with the tail end of a particularly intense grief wave and thought some fresh air and a change of routine might help.
I assumed “hike” meant walking along a familiar path to reach a specific spot and then turning back. (This explains why I thought it was acceptable to wear platform sneakers.) But that’s not what unfolded.
Just seven minutes into our walk, my boyfriend veered sharply right and began trekking uphill through the trees. Unaware of what lay ahead, my kids and I followed him.
Before long, we were leaping over rocks to cross streams, pulling ourselves up over boulders with tree branches, and navigating narrow stone passages. For most of the hike, I had no solid footing and no clear sense of direction. Eventually, we found ourselves standing atop a waterfall, gazing down at the hikers below who had taken the familiar path — the very one I’d always chosen.
In that moment, amidst my grief, a scraped knee from a jagged branch (who hikes in platform sneakers?!), and the dizzying height, the phrase “moving forward with grief” began to resonate in an entirely new way. I realized something I should have grasped long before: I understood the “with grief” part, but “moving forward” was something different than I had assumed.
I had thought moving forward meant simply doing things. And I had been doing — buying a house, starting new careers, dating. But, on reflection, all that activity wasn’t truly moving forward. Yes, I moved houses, but it was just down the street. I had new jobs, but they were hobbies I’d pursued before becoming a widow, and neither pushed me out of my comfort zone.
Dating was new and challenging (online dating still surprises me), but I found myself retreating from experiences that would alter any part of the life I had before my loss.
The truth was, my steps forward were superficial. Instead of progressing, I was shuffling sideways, remaining in a comfort zone that I had created with my husband — even though he was gone, and the version of me who existed with him had vanished too. My grief had expanded, taking up more space than my old life allowed, and I recognized that I no longer fit within it.
It took a literal turn into the unknown, stepping into an unprepared situation, to help me understand that “moving forward” is more than just being able to find joy and laughter again after loss. While learning to laugh is crucial for moving forward with grief, standing on that waterfall made me realize that it also requires recognizing that your path forward will look different than it did before your loss — and mourning that change. It means releasing what no longer serves you and wholeheartedly embracing what does. Sometimes, it may even require taking an unexpected detour, even if you’re not dressed for it.
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Summary
In her reflective piece, Emma Larson explores the complex journey of progressing through grief. Through personal anecdotes, she illustrates that moving forward involves acknowledging the changes in life after loss and embracing new paths, even when they feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar.
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