Losing a parent shifts your entire world. Life must go on, and sometimes it can feel like we’re being dragged along. Grief from multiple sources feels like being hit from all angles, like we’ve walked into the open in a paintball war with targets on our backs.

My mom died in 2018, and I’m still living with and processing the grief of losing her. I’m also grieving my marriage that crumbled and ended in divorce. I’m managing the grief of rebuilding a new life and reinventing myself in my forties.

I’m grieving my lost life as a stay-at-home mom as I struggle to apply for jobs and can’t get an interview. I grieve because I feel like I’m not a good enough mom. Life is harder now in too many ways. I’m grieving because I’m isolated and lonely. My family faded away after my mom died, because maybe she was what held us all together.

I’m grieving for my father, who is still alive but complains about that fact constantly. I grieve because as much as I want to connect with him, I’m still struggling to forgive his abuse and the trauma he poured over my childhood. Our relationship is reduced to the occasional email sharing memes or random family memories, but mostly he writes to lament his lot in life and how he thinks he won’t last much longer.

I’m grieving the loss of the hopes and dreams I never pursued. So much empty time has passed. I’m grieving my health and chronic medical issues that make it hard to function every day. My two teenage children have their own struggles and challenges that I wish I could solve.

I’m grieving being diagnosed with ADHD in my forties. Though it’s a relief to finally be told I’m not simply broken and there’s a real, neurological reason I am the way I am, it’s tough to constantly fight faulty brain wiring just to feel good or exist.

I wish we could compartmentalize grief.

If my mom has to be dead, I wish I could focus solely on grieving for her. But I’m the adult in the house, with bills and responsibilities piling up, but little to no fallback reserves, no safeguards or protection in place if I break down.

With multiple sources of grief, it’s easy to feel confused. Not all things hurt us with the same amount of force, but sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s causing each pain when pain originates in several places.

Grieving the death of your parent obviously far outweighs the routine, daily struggles of life. But unfortunately as we get older and life gets more complicated, harder things happen. People we love get sick. We lose a beloved pet. Our children struggle, but we can’t fix it. These things bring more grief. Not as much as losing your mom or dad, but still grief or hardship is added to your pile.

When grief and difficult things happen almost constantly and daily in your life, the grief begins to color outside of the lines. It doesn’t stay neatly organized. One grief bleeds into another. One hardship makes the others seem heavier. Grief will not stay neatly compartmentalized.

Raw grief with maximum impact, as with the death of your parent, seeps through the fabric of your life. It changes your baseline. Reasonably manageable tasks under normal circumstances weigh more in grief.

Things that are usually just inconvenient or difficult can overpower you when you’re carrying big grief from a death. Grief magnifies even small discomforts. Grief can turn everyday hurdles into monstrous obstacles.

So how do we get back to that baseline? Is it even possible?

Grief might be a one-way door.

I don’t think there’s a way fully back. I think once a person experiences a great loss that changes their life and heart forever, the old baseline is gone.

We must begin the new and completely unfamiliar process of trying to draw a new line on the ground. We have to create a new path to follow into the future. Just thinking about doing that can feel so daunting and overwhelming. It’s hard to know where to begin.

Right now for me this phase of grief is about rebuilding my life, reinventing myself, and creating a hopeful future. Except the ground upon which I’m trying to establish this new baseline is covered with debris that must be cleared away before I can draw the path.

It’s like when I need to vacuum my house, but the floor is strewn with shoes, cat toys, backpacks, and other random stuff. We can’t eat at a dining table covered in paperwork. You probably can’t sleep on a bed covered in laundry.

We have to do the work to tidy, pick things up, or put them away before we can start the cleaning work. We can’t rebuild or draw a new baseline for ourselves in grief when we live in a house of cards with walls that won’t stop tumbling down.

I’m busy cleaning up the daily mess. I make sure everyone is fed. I’m on alert to put out the dozens of small fires that pop up in the life of a family with teens. It feels like I drive everyone everywhere all of the time. I can’t often see enough of the ground in front of me to begin moving forward.

Is this happening to you, too? Are you trying to uncover your baseline and draw a new path for yourself, but meanwhile another part of your house begins to flood? We can’t blaze a trail through standing water.

So what can we do?

It’s time to connect.

One of the best solutions to ease the struggle is other people. A network. A community. A bulwark of supportive friends. Loving family members who will step in to help. Therapists. A formal or informal support group. Even just people who can hug you or listen. A human safety net.

I know how hard it can be to reach out and seek community, but if ever there’s a time to gently nudge yourself out of your comfort zone, this is it. Reach out. Call a friend. Send a text. Meet for coffee. Ask someone to walk with you. Inviting these relationships in is how we can begin to heal the small cracks in our walls.

Unfortunately, not all of us have people in our lives. I’ve struggled with profound loneliness for most of my adult life. I have ADHD and a weird brain. People tend not to stick with me for a very long, and it’s hard for me to reach out or be assertive and let people into my life.

So what can we do? What else can we, the isolated, lonely ones do when grief and hardship is bombarding us from all sides like paintball pellets?

Let it go.

You’re probably holding onto many expectations–of yourself, of others, of the way life should be–and you’ll feel much lighter if you can let them go. You don’t need that pressure weighing you down.

Let go of anything you’re keeping for your fantasy self. Items for hobbies you planned to do someday, but never got around to using. Clothes in your closet that make you feel terrible because they don’t fit. Decor and items for entertaining that don’t align with who you are or what you really like.

Let go of trying to keep up with others. Stop trying to force yourself into their mold. Before my mom died, I tried so hard to keep up with the other Portland moms, with their Pacific Northwest, flowing-yet-sensible fashion. With their meticulously planned vegetable gardens. With their rain boots, their artisan coffee, and Thule boxes on top of their Subarus.

A first it felt wrong and rebellious to simply not plant the vegetable garden after she died. Then I looked out of my kitchen windows at empty garden beds and felt strangely uplifted. It felt good to let that go. It felt good to give up watering plants and to let the ground rest.

After my mom died I stopped trying to fit in and look like the other moms. Even though my current style doesn’t fit the typical put-together mom aesthetic, it was a relief to let go of clothes that weren’t truly me. I donated multiple bags and boxes of clothes (This awesome organization picks up donations at your house!).

Look at your calendar and see what you can erase. It might be time to say no if you’re a person who usually commits to anything asked of you. You might not attend every event or participate in every fundraiser. You might cut back on volunteering. You might reduce your obligations in order to focus on yourself, your family, your inner circle of friends, your children, or your grandchildren.

As wonderful as it can be to reach out and invite people in, sometimes we need to limit who has access to us. If you need to turn in, to light a lantern inside as you recharge and rebuild, it’s okay to draw that boundary. Create a filter so only the most important people and events can get through. Hold your hands around your small flame to protect it as you rebuild.

Only Cinderella fit into the glass slipper. For everyone else, it just wasn’t their shoe. I regularly remind myself that my life is not going to look like other people‘s lives, and that’s okay.

Add more to your life.

Yes, I just wrote several paragraphs telling you to jettison physical items, mental obligations, and unimportant calendar events. But here I am now suggesting you add things to your life.

Add small joys.

We can shift our mindsets to be kind to ourselves and approach ourselves with gentleness. Let’s find ways to bring even tiny changes to our habits and routines that make us feel a little bit better. I’m not expecting you to feel joyous all the time. This isn’t toxic positivity.

We’re aiming to do things for ourselves so that our brains think oh, this feels good or okay, this is actually nice. Sometimes I make myself a mug of hot cocoa at night, which can feel special and comforting. Often I’ll go outside for a walk and mindfully listen for the birds chirping. How beautiful are their little songs. They seem so happy. In any city, even during these troubled times, the birds live in the moment and sing.

Paint with your true colors.

It’s so easy to recede into ourselves. To change so that we fit in or go unnoticed. To assimilate into a way of life that begins to feel more like a conveyor belt moving us along through the years. We get on a treadmill of routines–paying the bills, doing what’s expected of us, working with our heads down, yearning for the weekend. Over and over.

It’s so easy to lose sight of who we are and what makes us each a fantastic miracle. There is only one you in the entire universe. You bring things to the table that no one else can. (You may not fully believe me, but it’s true.)

It’s so easy to let that spark within us fade when our parent dies and we live with grief. Remember to stay authentic to yourself. It’s the way forward.

Do what you love. Take time for the small things that make you happier. Not happy like you must be overall happy all the time. Not totally and completely happy in all ways. But happier, yes. Allow yourself that.

Remember to live.

We’re supposed to live, not just exist.

Turn your music up. Sing. Explore a new place. Try new foods with a friend. Get out there, even if getting out there is sitting on your back steps in the dark, looking up at the stars and breathing into your belly.

We are not just drawing a new baseline. We’re not simply blazing a trail forward. It’s more complex, because you are a complex, multi-faceted, fascinating, flawed, beautiful human.

Right now you are a cluster of new stars forming, pulling in what you need and keeping out what you don’t. Don’t forget about that little voice inside you, that person who wants to enjoy life and to really live.

Choose happier. Acknowledge that the big grief is there. Acknowledge that struggle is part of life, but triage it. Make some of it wait. Don’t let it all swamp you and take over.

You are in charge of your mind.

When you can, take some of those struggles and put them in a jar in your mind. Seal up the jar. Envision yourself putting the jar on a shelf. The jars will still be there when you’re ready to deal with them. You’re in charge. You’re making room for good things to come in.

Make some of the hard feelings wait. Hold up the line and let some small joys cut to the front. Make caring for yourself a priority always from now on.

There’s a row of reserved VIP seats at the front of your theater–that’s where you focus. Good things for you get the front row. Center stage. It’s okay to want this and to prioritize yourself.

When grief comes at you from all sides, when the pain points start to blend and bleed together, and when everything feels like a struggle, choose to live. Choose happier–an inch at a time if that’s where you are.

That’s what I’m trying to do, with my new life, in this new year.

Are you with me?