Sometimes, I felt like I was losing my mind during affair recovery. One day, I could barely get out of bed, let alone go to work, be a mom, or even take a shower. Then, the next day, I’d feel almost normal—maybe even a little happy. I was all over the place, caught between devastation and something that resembled hope.
I feel that same way now as I sit beside my husband, watching him move closer to the end of his earthly life. Some days, I can hold his hand, read to him, even laugh as I reminisce about the life we built together. And then, in an instant, I’m in pieces—grief hitting me like a wave so strong I can barely catch my breath.
This back and forth—the swinging between unbearable sorrow and fleeting moments of okay—is exhausting. It’s disorienting. I used to think grief was a linear journey, that you’d simply pass through sadness and come out the other side better. But that’s not the truth. Grief isn’t a straight path. It’s a cycle. A relentless, unpredictable rhythm of okay, not okay, okay, not okay. And it lasts longer than anyone warns you.
The Third Thing They Don’t Tell You About Grief:
Grief is heavy, and it’s unpredictable.
It’s 2:30 a.m. as I type this. I should be sleeping, but I’m afraid to close my eyes. I want to be awake when my husband takes his last breath. I want to be touching him, holding him, with him. It’s eerie how much this reminds me of those sleepless nights during the affair—when I’d sit up, watching him sleep, silently crying, wondering how he could shatter my heart the way he did.
Grief does this. It messes with time. It brings you to places you thought you’d left behind. It makes you feel and think and do things you never expected. Because grief is heavy. So, so heavy.
Grief is Like a Backpack
If grief had a shape, I imagine it as a backpack. When we lose something or someone we love, that loss becomes a weight inside the backpack—something we’re forced to carry. At first, it’s unbearably heavy. It holds all our sadness, our fear, our anger, and the sheer overwhelm of losing what we thought would always be there. Some days, that weight is crushing. We move slowly, if at all. The smallest thing can break us.
Then, there are days when the backpack feels manageable. We even forget, for a moment, that we’re carrying it. This is the back and forth—the unpredictability that makes us feel like we’re going crazy. One moment, we’re laughing at an old memory, and the next, we’re crumbling under the weight of what’s gone. There’s no consistency for a while. Just heavy and not so heavy. Just okay and not okay.
But over time, something shifts. The weight doesn’t change, but we do.
We get stronger. We learn to carry it differently.
The backpack becomes part of us—not just a burden, but something woven into who we are. Inside of it, we still carry our sadness and longing, but we also begin to see the love, the growth, the healing. What once felt like an unbearable weight becomes something we hold with reverence. The grief remains, but it no longer crushes us.
If You’re Grieving Right Now, Hear This …
The weight of grief doesn’t get lighter. But you will get stronger.
You will learn how to carry it. You will learn how to live with it. And in time, you’ll see that this unbearable weight is also a reflection of the depth of your love. Because to grieve deeply means you have loved deeply.
Right now, I carry the backpack of affair recovery and all the losses that came with it. And now, I carry this new weight—the grief of losing my husband. It’s heavy. It’s unpredictable. It’s showing up in ways I never expected.
But I know this: I will become strong enough to carry it. And, my friend, so will you.
Coach Monica
xoxo
❤️🙏❤️