I sometimes look back at my younger self and marvel at how much I thought I knew and how much I had yet to learn about becoming whole. In my twenties, I was searching for identity, measuring my worth through achievements, career milestones, and relationships. I chased professional success while navigating two marriages that ultimately failed. Each ending felt like proof that I was broken, but in truth, those experiences were teaching me about self-worth, personal growth and how to rebuild.

Motherhood was the first place where I felt both rooted and lost at the same time. I adored my children, yet I often found myself giving so much that I forgot who I was outside of being “Mom.” In Motherhood as a Healing Force, I shared how my kids brought me joy and purpose, but also how I had to reclaim my sense of self. Many mothers know this tug-of-war:  loving fiercely while feeling invisible, grateful yet bone-tired, proud yet unsure of how to balance self-care, personal growth goals, and family life.

Then came the quiet of an empty nest. I thought I would celebrate the freedom, but instead, I was surprised by the ache. My children had flown into their own lives, and I was proud of them. Yet the house felt hollow. It wasn’t only their absence I grieved; it was the passing of a season, the shift of my role, and the silent question: Who am I now? It was a powerful reminder of how the stages of grief and loss appear not just in death but in life’s changes.

Now, another chapter has arrived—one that brings both blessing and burden. I am caring for my ailing father, a man who has always been a pillar in my life and who now depends on me for nearly everything. It is rewarding to provide for him, to sit with him, to hold his hand through the long afternoons. It is also exhausting—physically, mentally and emotionally. And it is sad. I grieve the man he was, the relationship we had and the inevitable day when I will no longer be able to hear his voice.

Why transitions hurt—and how they can help

Researchers remind us that life’s transitions, whether positive or painful, can shake our sense of identity and emotional balance. Empty-nest feelings, for example, are not just about missing children. For many, they involve a sense of loss, disorientation, or diminished purpose.

Caregiving, too, brings its own grief. Experts talk about “anticipatory grief”—the sorrow we feel even before loss arrives, and the exhaustion that comes when roles reverse and we become caregivers to someone who used to care for us. The emotional and physical toll of caregiver stress is real, and without intentional support, it can lead to burnout and impact self-talk, inner peace, and overall wellness.

What’s helping me stand steady

1. Naming the grief
   Grief isn’t only tied to death. It’s also the sadness when your father’s decline means you lose the parent-child dynamic you once knew. Recognizing that helps me process the stages of grief and loss more openly and honestly.
2. Creating small rituals
   I sit and talk with him in the evenings. I play a favorite hymn or song. I meditate when I can—sometimes just a few minutes of sleep meditation to settle my mind before bed. In From Darkness to Light, I wrote about how sacred spaces and guided meditation helped me find healing. I return to those practices now with intention and gentleness.
3. Reaching for community
   Just as this blog gave me a safe place to share my healing journey before, I now lean into support groups, life coaching tools, and networks—knowing I do not walk this path alone.
4. Prioritizing self-care
   If I don’t rest, eat well, meditate and step outside (even for a moment) I cannot give my best to him or to anyone. These moments of mindfulness bring me closer to inner peace.
5. Holding mixed emotions kindly
   I can feel gratitude and grief, love and emptiness all at once. A recent account of former caregivers echoed my experience: they felt relief, fear, joy and confusion simultaneously. Each emotion deserves space and gentle self-talk.

Turning grief into growth

Transitions redefine us. They remind us how resilient we are and what truly matters. Whether it’s becoming a parent, becoming a caregiver, facing empty nesting, or confronting our own aging, each chapter asks us to adapt and to heal.

• Grieve what you’ve lost without judgment.
• Reach for support, whether through life coaches near you, online communities, or local groups.
• Seek small joys—the hum of conversation, a shared laugh, a quiet dawn.
• Meditate daily—even five minutes of guided meditation can restore calm.
• Remember you are enough—right here, right now.

A gentle invitation

This chapter is not easy. But it is sacred, too. If you are walking through a transition, whether joyful, painful, or both, I want you to know you are not alone.

• Connect with a trusted friend, life coach, counselor or faith leader.
• Bookmark or call SAMHSA’s national helpline (1-800-662-HELP) for free, confidential support 24/7.
• Share your story—with me, with others, or in your own journal.
• Set personal growth goals—Big or small. that honor this chapter and guide you toward inner peace.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. We can navigate these chapters together, holding space for what is ending and hope for what is just beginning.