The Space Between Goodbye and Beginning Again

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
— C.S. Lewis

For the first time, in a very long time, I stopped writing.

Not because I ran out of things to say.

Not because I stopped believing in this work.

But because life asked me to be somewhere else.

Since late February, I've stepped away from this space almost entirely. During that time, my mother entered hospice after a long and incredibly difficult battle with pancreatic cancer. In the weeks that followed, my role shifted from coach, educator, business owner, and advocate to something much simpler and arguably much more important.

I became a daughter saying goodbye.

My mom was one of the strongest people I've ever known, and walking beside her through the end of her life was one of the greatest privileges I'll ever have.

If you've ever walked alongside someone through hospice, you know there is no way to explain the experience to someone who hasn't lived it, hasn’t navigated that journey with someone. Time slows down and speeds up all at once. Every day feels impossibly heavy, yet strangely sacred. You learn that some conversations can't wait, that love is often expressed in quiet moments rather than grand gestures, and that grief begins long before a person takes their last breath.

My mom passed away on April 7th, 2026.

I wish I could tell you that life slowly returned to normal after that.

It didn't.

The weeks immediately following her death were filled with the practical realities that accompany loss—arrangements, paperwork, family, and the strange blur that comes from operating on instinct more than intention.

Then came the quieter months.

The months where everyone else's world kept moving while mine felt suspended somewhere between who I had been and who I was becoming.

That's when I truly began to understand something our culture doesn't teach very well.

Grief isn't linear.

It doesn't follow a timeline. It doesn't politely shrink a little each week until one day you're magically "better." It comes in waves. Some expected. Some arriving out of nowhere. Some so gentle you barely notice them, and others powerful enough to make you feel like you've stepped backward instead of forward.

One day I could answer emails, meet with clients, and feel like myself again. The next, a song in the grocery store or the instinct to pick up the phone and call my mom would remind me that healing isn't measured by consecutive good days.

It's measured by learning how to carry both joy and loss at the same time.

Grief Changed More Than My Heart

One of the things I talk about often in my coaching is that major life experiences reshape us. We don't simply "bounce back." We integrate them. We become someone new on the other side.

Living through my mom's illness, hospice, and death didn't just change me personally, it changed the way I understand the work I do.

It reminded me that executive functioning isn't just about planners and productivity systems. Stress isn't just something we manage with better habits. Emotional regulation isn't simply a skill we teach children.

Our brains and nervous systems respond to what we're carrying.

When life becomes overwhelming, our ability to focus, initiate tasks, regulate emotions, make decisions, and think clearly often changes too.

I knew that professionally before this year.

Now I know it differently.

There's a depth of understanding that only comes from living it.

For years, I've helped students navigate academic pressure, parents support children through emotional challenges, and adults find their footing during career transitions and major life changes. This season reminded me that beneath every planner, every goal, every strategy, and every executive functioning tool is a human being carrying a story.

Sometimes that story includes grief.

Sometimes it includes trauma, uncertainty, burnout, or fear.

And sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do is stop asking, "Why can't I keep up?" and start asking, "What am I carrying?"

That question changes everything.

The Coach Became the Student

One of the unexpected gifts of this season was realizing that I had to practice everything I spend my days teaching.

I had to ask for help.

I had to let go of perfection.

I had to redefine productivity.

I had to accept that some days surviving was enough.

I had to extend myself the same compassion I encourage my clients to extend to themselves.

And perhaps most importantly, I had to trust that stepping away wasn't failing.

It was honoring what mattered most.

For someone whose career has been built around showing up for others, learning to step back was one of the hardest lessons I've ever had to learn.

Why I'm Coming Back Now

Over the past several weeks, something has begun to shift.

Not because my grief is over.

It isn't.

But because I've started to understand that moving forward doesn't require leaving my grief behind. It simply asks me to make room for it while I continue building a life around it.

I've realized that everything I've experienced this year has only strengthened my belief in the work I do.

People don't need someone with all the answers.

They need someone willing to sit with uncertainty.

Someone who understands that life rarely follows a straight line.

Someone who knows that healing, education, identity, careers, relationships, and mental well-being are all deeply connected.

That has always been the heart of Custom Path Coaching.

Now it feels even more true.

Looking Ahead

As I return to writing, you'll notice some new themes emerging alongside the academic coaching, executive functioning strategies, and life transitions that have always been part of this space.

Over the coming months, we'll explore topics like:

• How young people are growing up in an era of constant global crisis.

• Executive functioning through the lens of nervous system regulation.

• Identity development during times of uncertainty.

• Parenting children through anxiety, overwhelm, and rapid change.

• Career transitions and rebuilding after loss.

• Grief, resilience, and creating a life that honors both who you've been and who you're becoming.

The world has also changed dramatically over the past several months that I have been away.

In many ways, so have we.

I've found myself thinking more deeply about what it means to raise children, educate students, and build meaningful lives during a time when information never stops, uncertainty feels constant, and many of us are carrying far more than anyone else can see.

Those questions are becoming central to my work, and I'm looking forward to exploring them with you.

Because if this year has taught me anything, it's this:

Growth doesn't happen despite our hardest seasons.

It often happens because of them.

A Closing Thought

This season reminded me of something I hope every person who finds this corner of the internet comes to believe:

You don't have to force yourself into someone else's timeline.

Not for healing.

Not for success.

Not for school.

Not for your career.

Not for becoming the person you're meant to be.

Every one of us carries a different story, different strengths, different challenges, and different seasons of life. Trying to follow someone else's blueprint often leaves us feeling like we're failing, when in reality, we're simply walking a different path.

Over the past several months, I've been reminded of something else, too.

Our brains and nervous systems respond to what we're carrying.

Sometimes what we're carrying is grief.

Sometimes it's uncertainty.

Sometimes it's trauma, burnout, caregiving, or simply the weight of trying to navigate a world that feels increasingly overwhelming.

We don't need more shame for struggling.

We need more understanding.

That's why I created Custom Path Coaching.

To help people build lives that work with who they are—not against it.

That mission hasn't changed.

If anything, this season has made it clearer than ever.

So, thank you.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for your patience during my absence.

Thank you to those who checked in, reached out, trusted me as your coach, referred clients, and quietly reminded me that this work mattered even when I wasn't sure I could do it.

I'm grateful to be back.

Not because everything is "back to normal."

But because I've learned that life after profound loss isn't about returning to who we were.

It's about honoring who we've become.

And I'm grateful we get to walk this next chapter together.