My Year of Grief, Fire, and Becoming—Last year, I lost the love of my life. My husband and I had built something rare—seven years of marriage marked by laughter, travel, deep affection, and the quiet confidence that we were each other’s person. When cancer came, it came fast. Nine weeks from diagnosis to goodbye.
Grief cracked me open in ways I didn’t know were possible, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. I turned sixty this year without him. He was supposed to be here for that milestone, holding my hand as we crossed into the next decade together. Instead, I was suddenly doing everything alone—my work, family responsibilities, and the countless things he had handled, including grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, and the dishes.
At first, I felt overwhelmed and a little sorry for myself. I wasn’t supposed to be doing life by myself. But no one was coming to rescue me, so I had to suck it up and carry it all anyway. Then I learned that grief has a strange way of carrying not only endings, but beginnings.
Layers of Loss
For the first few months, I felt half-asleep. Everything felt heavy on my heart and mind. The grief work I did was raw and unflinching—therapy, the Grief Recovery Program®, somatic body work, long conversations with God. I refused to outrun my pain.
Somewhere during this process, I realized how many women in midlife carry invisible layers of loss. Loss of self-image as our bodies change. Loss of control over energy and metabolism. The loss of kids as the nest empties. Often, the loss of important relationships occurs through death or divorce.
I was so struck by this epiphany that I studied to become a Certified Grief Recovery Specialist®. It confirmed my knowledge that unresolved feelings lodge in our bodies, causing dis-ease. More importantly, I learned a method to help people take small, correct actions to release old “emotional baggage”—not to forget, but to move forward with freedom and wholeness.
Because here’s the truth: time doesn’t heal a broken heart. That would be like getting a flat tire and waiting on the side of the road for it to fix itself. Correct action steps, not just time, are what bring healing.
Grief and Desire, Side by Side
A few months after becoming a widow, something stirred in me—a current of energy I hadn’t felt since my marriage was alive and well.
It has a name: widow’s fire—a surge of libido after loss. For me, it wasn’t a whisper. It was a roar.
At first, I felt conflicted. How could I miss him so much and also feel longing to reconnect with another? I learned that grief and desire aren’t opposites. They’re both proof of life. One is the ache of loss; the other is the natural pulse of desire.
Sixty, Menopause, and My Body’s Wisdom
Turning sixty without him was a gut punch. But it was also strangely liberating. Menopause, grief, aging—they stripped me down but also woke me up. I stopped apologizing for my age, my body, and my desires. Instead, I started exploring my body with renewed curiosity and compassion—what felt good, what I wanted, what I didn’t.
I felt free to ask what pleasure and intimacy meant to me now, in this new season. I began to see my body not as something to fix, but as my ally—a wise, sensual, powerful partner in my healing.
Body confidence in midlife isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about claiming the right to feel beautiful, to enjoy touch, and live fully without apology.
Dating with a Tender Heart
Starting to date after loss was its own adventure. At first, I worried people would think it was too soon; that people would judge me. But dating wasn’t about replacing him. It was about seeing myself again—alive, curious, desirable.
Each person I met held up a different mirror, reflecting sides of me I hadn’t explored before: playful, bold, able to flirt and laugh even with a bruised heart.
I didn’t want to wallpaper over my grief with someone else’s body or attention. I let myself feel the sadness even as I explored desire. The two coexist, teaching me how to hold joy and sorrow at the same time as I move forward.
The Gifts I Didn’t Expect
Here’s what surprised me most: losing my husband unearthed parts of me that might have otherwise stayed hidden. In marriage, even a happy one, certain parts of us go quiet. After he died, I discovered corners of my independence, sensuality, and courage that had been quietly sleeping.
Grief wound me tightly into a new cocoon. Dating, desire, spiritual work, body exploration—they are all helping me emerge on my own terms.
This journey has even changed the course of my professional work. What I’ve learned—the small, correct steps to recover from loss, to resolve the unspoken pain that lodges in our hearts and bodies, and finally move forward without guilt or forgetting—has become the foundation of my calling.
As a Certified Grief Recovery Specialist® I now also help women in midlife who grieve not only people but also the loss of the body they once knew, the metabolism they once had, and the sense of control they once felt. Helping them find peace, wholeness, and even joy in the bodies they now have feels like the most meaningful work I can do.
Living Forward
I still talk to him often. In fact, I feel he is guiding and even helping me on my current path of discovery. I know he wants this for me – to be happy, alive and making a deep impact. While I know I will always miss him, I also know that feeling sad will come and go, but more and more without the crushing pain.
This year has been one of great loss, but also of fire, self-discovery, and learning that midlife can be less about fading and more about blazing. I have felt sadder than I’ve ever been, and also more alive than I’ve ever been. Both are true. Both belong.
Because here’s what I now know: our bodies in midlife are not problems to be solved or projects to be managed. They are living, breathing expressions of everything we’ve survived, loved, lost, and longed for.
When we choose to honor our bodies instead of criticizing them, when we feel grief fully and then work towards joy, we step into a power we didn’t know we had.
This is the gift midlife offers us: to inhabit ourselves without apology. To let desire, pleasure, strength, and softness coexist. To live forward with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing our bodies are not betraying us—they are inviting us to come home to ourselves.
Maybe that’s the real transformation from the cocoon into the new butterfly: to discover that even after loss, even after everything changes, we can still fall in love—with life, with others, and most importantly, with ourselves.
Connect with Dr. Liz Lyster: https://drlizmd.com
“This year has been one of heartbreak and transformation. I’ve learned that midlife isn’t about fading—it’s about blazing. Even after loss, our bodies hold not just grief, but desire, wisdom, and the power to come home to ourselves.” – Dr. Liz Lyster
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