Today marks 10 years since my husband’s passing. A decade ago, I was faced with a choice, two paths that seemed like the only options at the time. One was to keep grieving, to allow myself to be consumed by loss and remain a victim of my circumstances. The other was to keep going, never looking back and bury myself in responsibilities for the sake of survival. With three daughters to care for and bills to pay, I chose the second path. It seemed logical, even familiar, because I had seen my own mother do the same when she lost my father.

For a year, I lived that way. Constantly busy, sacrificing everything for my children. I told myself that I was doing what mothers are supposed to do. I wanted to make sure my daughters never felt the weight of their father’s absence, that they could have the life they deserved. But one day, my eldest daughter said something that shook me to my core. She said, “Every day I see you, I wish I could die because it feels like you’re sacrificing everything for us, like you’re not really living your own life.” Her words broke me, but they also woke me up.

I realised that in trying to protect my children, I had lost myself. I had become disconnected, on autopilot, living as a shadow of who I was. My daughter’s words showed me that there was another way. A path I hadn’t considered before. Not one of just sacrificing or surviving, but of truly healing. I realised that my own pain, the grief I had buried so deeply, needed to be felt and processed. It was time to stop the cycle of generational trauma, to be conscious enough not to pass my pain on to my daughters.

With my family’s support, I finally allowed myself to grieve, really grieve. For the first time, I began to understand that healing isn’t about ignoring pain or covering it up with responsibilities. It’s about meeting it, holding it and transforming it. My daughter helped me see that my healing was essential not just for me, but for them too. I wanted to show my daughters that life, even after great loss, could still be full, vibrant and worth living.

My journey wasn’t easy. I had to unlearn beliefs, patterns and habits that I had carried all my life. I began to ask myself questions that seemed so basic, yet were entirely new to me: Who am I? What do I love? What music makes my soul dance? What brings me joy? And slowly, I started to find answers. I started to rediscover Roya, the woman behind the mother, the widow, the caretaker. I embraced my grief, my vulnerabilities and began the process of healing not just for myself, but for my daughters too.

I threw myself into learning about the human experience, studying with incredible teachers, psychologists and somatic practitioners. I graduated as a Somatic Facilitator and Healer. Today, I still consider myself a student of life, always learning, always growing. Losing my husband taught me that our inner world creates our outer reality, that our thoughts and beliefs shape our experiences. It’s hard work, requiring discipline and courage, but it’s the most rewarding journey I’ve ever undertaken.

Tonight, my daughters and I will watch old family videos together. We’ll celebrate the memories, the love and the life that we had with him. He was taken from us too early, but his spirit lives on in our hearts, in our laughter, in the stories we tell. Today, as tears run down my cheeks, I feel blessed. This journey has been full of obstacles, judgments, doubts and fears. But with the support of my mother, my sisters, my brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews and most importantly, my daughters, I have come to a place where I can look back and see not just the pain, but the growth.
To anyone out there who resonates with my story, know this: You are not alone. Your story doesn’t have to end in despair. Believe in yourself, take small steps, and know that healing is possible. Even if you don’t have family to lean on, there are others who share your pain, who want to connect, who want to create community. We are divine souls, placed here to experience life in all its beauty, to grow, to love and to heal. Let’s make the most of this one precious life.