The Wound That Happens When That Bid For Connection Doesn’t Land.

Yesterday, I hit a deep low.

Not a dangerous low.

Not a hopeless low.

But a heavy, quiet, soul-level low.

I didn’t know where to go or who to reach out to.

So I drove — music blaring — tears falling. I eventually pulled over and sat there, letting the wave come, letting the pain move through me instead of pretending it wasn’t there. For over 4hrs, I wept.

And I want to talk about something most people don’t fully understand about losing a life partner. Longing for connections. Feeling alone. Occasionally reaching out and needing someone at the other end to respond. To be available. To hold space. To listen. To hug. To share. To offer unconditional presence.

When you lose your person, you don’t just lose their physical presence.

You lose the shared rhythm of life.

The one who helped with taxes.

Car repairs.

Snow blowing.

Lawn care.

Caring for aging parents.

Running the business.

Cooking.

Cleaning.

Shopping.

But you also lose the one who laughed with you daily.

Who took you on dates.

Who made sure there was fun inside routine.

Who celebrated your strengths and softened your edges.

You lose the one who saw you in every season —20s, 30s, 40s, 50s —and loved every version.

Pregnant.

Curvy.

Wrinkled.

Radiant.

Embarrassed.

Brilliant.

Broken.

We completed each other.

And then suddenly…life becomes one.

The Three Phases No One Explains:

In my experience, grief unfolds in layers.

Phase One:

Intense mourning. The shock. The absence. The reality that they are no longer flesh and blood beside you. It’s all about them.

Phase Two:

The deeper grief journey. The emotions. The anger. The sadness. The fear. In some cases-the guilt and the shame. The thoughts. The constant internal work of hearing, releasing, shifting.

This phase is longer. It’s about the one left behind learning how to regulate and rebuild.

I moved through these two phases with surprising balance. Yes, there were waves — but overall, I felt steady.

Then came Phase Three: Reforming Identity

This is the one - no one prepares you for.

It’s the shift from “two as one” to “one entering a life as a single entity - once again”.

The adjustments are massive.

And here is what hit me in month fourteen:

I am a lone ranger.

Strong. Independent. Capable.

Daniel and I were good alone. We didn’t need the world to feel fulfilled.

But now?

I want to dance. With whom?

I want to go kayaking. With whom?

I want to go to a movie. With whom?

I want to attend events. With whom?

I want to go on a hike. With whom?

I want to be held. By Whom?

I want intellectual conversations that feed 'my' soul. With whom?

I want help in areas of business where I struggle. From whom?

The Ache of “Valued”

There is another word that keeps rising for me.

Valued.

I have always valued people the way I would want to be valued.

When something happens — I drop what I’m doing. I show up. I listen. I support. I make the call. I make the visit. I make the plan.

I have tried — truly tried — for over fifty years to live that way.

So when I heard at the funeral, “I’m here for you,” and months pass without an invitation —to snowshoe, to go for a drive, to a movie, to coffee, to a simple dinner…

There is a quiet sting.

Not rage.

Not entitlement.

Just a soft, deep question:

Why do I not feel valued?

The Honest Part

I am not blameless.

In the first year, a few people did reach out.

And for the most part, I wasn’t ready.

I was still in mourning. In grieving. Still stabilizing. Still figuring out how to breathe in this new reality.

Now, in this rebuilding phase, I am ready.

I don’t want to sit still.

I want to snowmobile.

I want to go glamping overnight.

I want to go on a motorbike ride.

I want to laugh loudly in a restaurant.

I want to get out of my house and feel movement again.

I crave experience.

I crave connection.

I crave being invited.

And yes — I know I can invite too.

But when you were once deeply partnered, deeply chosen, deeply prioritized,

there is something vulnerable about having to ask. Though I have tried a few times with a few friends.

The Deeper Layer

This phase of grief exposes something uncomfortable.

We often say we value people.

But valuing is not just a feeling.

It’s action.

It’s inclusion.

It’s thoughtfulness.

It’s remembering the one who is now alone when the plan is being made.

And here’s the self-awareness piece for me:

When I don’t receive that invitation, my mind can quickly create a story.

“I’m not important.”

“I’m forgotten.”

“I’m too much.”

“They’ve moved on.”

That story hurts more than the absence itself.

So again — the work returns inward.

Pause.

Listen.

Release the story.

Shift the narrative.

Not everyone shows love the way I do.

Not everyone understands this third phase of grief.

And not everyone knows I am ready now.

Identity and Invitation

Reforming identity means more than doing life alone.

It means learning how to:

• Ask.

• Initiate.

• Say yes.

• Risk vulnerability again.

It means honoring the very real human need to feel included.

To feel chosen.

To feel valued.

To feel remembered.

The Courage to Reach Out

Here’s the part that surprised me most.

When I reach out to someone for connection, it is not casual.

For me, it means I am at a deep low.

Not suicidal. Not clinically depressed.

But low enough that this strong, independent woman needs a hand.

A few hours of deep, real, honest connection.

The kind of connection that leaves me feeling lifted. Grounded. Alive again.

It takes everything in me to make that call.

And when the response makes me feel unseen…unimportant…not worth the interruption…

That ache is real.

It feels like being discarded.

Not because the other person intends to harm.

But because when you once had a person who would drop everything for you —anything less feels enormous.

Here Is the Self-Awareness Part

This is where my work comes in.

I cannot control how others respond.

I cannot demand that someone fill the space Daniel once filled.

What I can do is:

Pause.

Listen inwardly.

Acknowledge the ache.

Release the story that I am unimportant.

Shift the belief that I must be rescued to be whole.

My identity cannot be rebuilt on external availability.

It must be rebuilt from within.

But that does not mean I don’t crave connection.

It means I must learn how to seek it without losing myself.

Moving Forward

In this third phase, identity is everything.

I am no longer half of a pair.

I am one.

Still loving.

Still desiring laughter.

Still wanting intellectual depth.

Still wanting to dance.

Will those things come again through a partner one day? Maybe.

Through friends and family? They should.

Through new connections I haven’t yet met? Possibly.

This part of the journey is not about replacing what I had. It’s about rebuilding who I am now. I can crave connection and still be strong. I can feel the ache and still lead myself forward. It all begins — and begins again — with fierce self-awareness, unwavering self-leadership, and the courage to keep listening inwardly. Life continues. And I am choosing to continue with it.

~Michelle

Widow | Imperfectly Perfect Self-Awareness Guru ;)