EP. 10 What Happened After?

After loss, life never looks the same… but that doesn’t mean your story is over. 💔✨ In this episode of What Happened After, I’m opening up about life after losing my dad — the grief, the pain, the unanswered questions, and the strength I found while learning how to keep going anyway. 🕊️

This episode is for anyone who’s ever had to smile through heartbreak, survive the unimaginable, and choose to live even when life felt heavy. 🌧️➡️☀️ Grief may have changed me, but it did not destroy me. And if you’re grieving too, I want you to know: your healing matters, your life matters, and your story is NOT over. 🤍🎙️

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:24

Okay, so now if you've been here with me for a while, then you already know I touched on my father before. But in that space, I spoke from a place of love, you know, from what he gave me and how he shaped me. So this is not that episode. Today we're talking about what happened after. What loss actually does to you, how it changes you, how it forces you to grow in ways you didn't ask for and honestly weren't ready for. Because sometimes healing isn't soft, sometimes it's not pretty, sometimes it's being thrown into a version of life where you have no choice but to figure it out with pieces missing. So today I'm opening up about losing my father. And not from the lens of what he meant to me, but from the reality of what loss did to my life and what it's been like growing up with one parent, navigating life, identity, and healing with that kind of absence. This one is honest, it's uncomfortable, but friends, it's real. And if you ever had to rebuild yourself after losing someone or grow up faster than you should have, you're definitely gonna feel this. Okay, so let's just get into it. So, like I told you guys before, I was 10 years old when my life split in two. And I don't think people really understand what that means. Because at 10, we're still a kid. You're not thinking about loss like that, you're not prepared for life to hit you like that. My dad was on his way to work, just a normal day, doing what he always did, providing, showing up, being consistent, and at the same time, there was someone else on the road coming back from a party on Memorial Day weekend. Underage, drinking, driving. And in one moment, she crossed into his lane, head on collision, and just like that, he was gone, and so was she. And now here I am, years later, recording this episode and on Memorial Day weekend. And honestly, guys, it's been hard for me to even record this episode, but I love y'all, and I'm part of this healing journey with you guys, so this is healing for me too. So at the same time of year that changed my life forever, while people were celebrating, traveling, kicking off summer, me, it's always been something heavier. It's a reminder of how fast life can shift, of how one decision, one moment can ripple into something permanent. And that's the part people don't always talk about because it wasn't just grief, it was shock, confusion, anger, questions that don't have answers. Like, how does something like that even happen? How does your whole life change because of someone else's choice? And at 10 years old, I didn't have the tools for that, I didn't have the language for that kind of pain. You know, all I knew was one day my dad was here, and the next day he wasn't. And nothing about life felt the same after that. I mean, absolutely nothing. And then comes the part nobody really prepares you for the silence. Because when you lose someone, people show up, there's calls, texts, family, friends, everybody's there holding you up whether you realize it or not. But then the funeral comes, and people say their goodbyes, they hug you, they tell you they're sorry, they tell you to stay strong. And I remember being there, you know, feeling like everyone was just staring at me. Like they were waiting for me to cry or to break, to show something. And I didn't. There was no tears, no emotion, and for a long time I thought something was truly wrong with me. It didn't hit me at the funeral. It hit me when I got home. When everything got quiet, no voices, no movement, no distractions, just pure silence. And that's when it all came crashing in. The sadness, the anger, the confusion, the emptiness that sits in your chest like it's weighing down every part of you. You know, I barely ate. Because how do you explain something you can't even process yourself? And the hardest part wasn't just the shock, it was watching the world move on. Because slowly life kept going around me, you know, people laughing again, living again, moving forward. And I couldn't. I literally felt stuck. Like I couldn't even move my own body forward. Like the part of me that used to move freely was frozen in the moment forever. That silence, it doesn't just happen once. You have to live in it day after day. You sit with it, you carry it, you learn to be quiet with your pain while the world keeps moving. So at 10, you don't really have the language for what you just lost. You know, you just feel that something important is gone, and everything after just feels a little different. I didn't grow up with this guidance. I grew up noticing where it should have been. You know, in big moments, yeah, but honestly, more in the small ones. The questions I didn't know who to ask. The decisions I had to make earlier than I should have, the times I had to be strong, and it's not because I wanted to be, but because there wasn't another option. And I think that's what shaped me the most. You know, not just losing him, but learning how to keep going without him over and over and over again. There are entire versions of me he never got to meet. And for a long time, that hurt in a way I couldn't even explain. Like, would he be proud of me? You know, would I be different if he was still here? Would things happen easier? And I still have the answers to that. But what I do know is this I became someone anyway. Not the version of me that had everything I needed, not the version that had a complete roadmap, but someone who figured things out, someone who kept growing, someone who learned how to stand on their own, even when they weren't ready to. And that doesn't erase the loss, it doesn't make it fair, but it does mean this. Who I am today was built through that absence, not destroyed by it. And I'm still becoming just in a way I never planned. You know, when I think about the things left unsaid, it's not just about words I didn't get to say. It's about all the conversations I never got the chance to have. I was only 10, so I didn't think in terms of say it now before it's too late. You know, I just assumed there would always be more time. And then you guys, it just wasn't. As I got older, the questions started showing up. The kind you don't even have at 10, but you definitely have later. Some of them were serious, trying to figure out life, decisions, who I'm becoming. And some of them were not serious at all. Like quote unquote boys. And honestly, he probably wouldn't have liked any of the guys I ever talked to. You know, I can already hear it. The silence, the look of absolutely not, Kayla. He got to go. And it's funny in a way, but it's also not because I never got to have those conversations, those awkward ones, the protective ones, the ones where he gives his opinion, whether I ask for it or not. You know, I never got to roll my eyes at him, even though I'm pretty sure he would have knocked me off if I tried. But I just never got to. I never got to argue or prove him wrong. And it's those little normal things that feel like the biggest sometimes. Not just the big life advice, but the everyday back and forth that just never happened. And there's no closure for that. There's no final conversation where everything is said, and there's no moment where you realize, okay, that's complete. You know, it just stops before it even really started. And so the questions just kind of stay there. You know, they change as I get older, they get deeper, more complicated, but they still don't have a place to go. And I think that's something I'm still learning how to live with is not just missing him, but missing all the versions of him that I never got to meet. You know, people talk a lot about healing, like it's something you finish. Like if enough time passes or you do the right things, it just gets easier. And in some ways it does. You know, I've learned how to carry it better, I've learned how to keep going, I've found ways to be okay. But there are still parts of this that are really, really hard. And honestly, guys, this may sound crazy, but one of the biggest ones for me is love. And not just love in general, you know, but letting someone or myself be loved by a man, letting something actually get serious, thinking about a future, like a marriage or having a family. Because as much as I want that, there's this fear underneath it. And I've had to be honest with myself, especially lately, about something. I don't always make the best choices when it comes to relationships. And I think part of that is intentional, you know, even if I didn't realize it at first. To me, it's just easier to choose someone I know won't last, someone who isn't right for me, someone where, you know, deep down I already know how it's going to end. Because if it never becomes real, then I never have to face what comes with something real. You know, I never have to step into a future that feels incomplete before it even starts. Because the truth is, if I do find something real, if I do build a life with someone, my dad won't be there. He won't meet them. He won't have an opinion. He won't be a part of any of it. And that thought alone is enough to truly make me hesitate. And I don't love admitting that. But I think it's part of being honest about what grief actually does. It doesn't just live in the past. It shows up in your decisions, you know, in the way you love and the way you hold back. So yeah, I've learned what helps, I've learned how to cope. But this part, the love part, is still something I'm working through. You know, learning how to stop letting fear choose for me. Learning how to believe that I can have something real, even if it doesn't look the way I've always imagined. And maybe that's what healing actually is. You know, not having it all figured out, but choosing differently even when it's hard. Guys, for a long time I thought moving on meant leaving grief behind. You know, like it's a box I had to check, a finish line I had to cross. But I realized that's not what moving on is. It's not forgetting, it's not about pretending it never hurt. It's not even about getting over it. Moving on is learning to carry the loss with you. It's learning to live fully with the absence and not in spite of it. It's the slow, sometimes messy process of saying, I will keep going, I will love, I will create, I will choose life no matter how hard it feels. Some days that choice is easy. And then there's other days where it feels truly impossible. Grief shows up differently all the time. Sometimes it's quiet, sometimes it's extremely loud, and sometimes it feels like it's shaping your choices without permission. But moving on isn't about removing grief from your life, it's about stepping forward anyway. It's about letting grief coexist with joy, it's about letting fear exist alongside courage. Moving on is a series of choices repeated over and over again. You know, I will get up today, I will show love today, I will try again today, I will create moments of meaning today. It's not perfect, it's not linear, it's not always comfortable, but friend, it's living and it's possible. And so today, with this activity, we're just gonna talk about some affirmations. We're gonna give ourselves some affirmations, and not just any kind, but the kind to live fully. So I want you to do something with me right now. It's not about overthinking, it's gonna be about claiming your life. So, friend, take your deep breath in. Breathe out, close your eyes if you can. And I want you to repeat each of these silently or out loud. I choose to live fully today. I choose to love even if it scares me. I choose joy even in the midst of grief. I choose connection even when it feels hard. I choose to honor the past by stepping into my life today. Pause for a second. Feel each one, let it sink into your chest, let it remind you you are here, you are alive, and you get to choose how you show up. You can make your own affirmations too. You know, saying them slowly, say them with intention. Let this be your moment, a moment to reclaim your power in your life. Repeat them once, twice, or as many times as you need, friend. Let them echo in your mind, let them guide your choices. Grief will always be a part of our stories because it doesn't go away, and honestly, it shouldn't, because it reminds us of what we loved, of who shaped us. But living fully is possible, and it begins with a choice. Every time you repeat an affirmation, every time you choose joy, every time you open yourself to love, you're practicing the life you want. Choosing life doesn't erase loss. Choosing life doesn't replace the people we miss. Choosing life doesn't pretend grief isn't there. Choosing life means stepping forward anyway. It means saying that I will honor my past by showing up for my present. It means trusting the possibility exists, love exists, joy exists, meaning exists, even if fear tries to tell you otherwise. And here's the truth the more we choose life, the more we realize we can carry grief without it carrying us. You get to live, friend. So take a deep breath. Look around, see the world you're in. There's beauty, there's love, and there's a life waiting for you to step into. And when you do, you honor those you've lost. You honor what they gave you by living a life that's yours fully, boldly, and unapologetically. Even with the absence, even with the questions, and even with the fear, because you are here, and being here fully is everything. So as we close, you know, I reflect back on myself, and honestly, I've lived through loss. I carried grief that felt heavier than anything I knew that anybody could bear. I've stumbled, I definitely doubted, I've made choices out of fear, and I've learned that it's okay. You know, through it all, I've discovered something powerful. Even when grief, even when fear, even when absence, I can choose to live. I can choose love, I can choose joy, I can step fully into life even when it feels impossible. And friend, if I can do that, so can you. Your grief doesn't define you, it doesn't get to decide how you love, how you create, how you move forward, you get to carry it, honor it, and still show up for yourself, still choose life, still believe in possibility. And friend, I'm living proof that it's possible to feel the weight of loss and still find hope. And I promise, whatever season of life you're in, whatever questions you're still carrying, it is possible for you too. You are here, you are alive, and that by itself is everything. And say it with me, guys. That's growth, baby. So, friend, thank you for showing up for your messy, beautiful, real self, and for being willing to do the work it takes to heal. Continue to make sure you follow the show wherever you listen. And if this episode spoke to your heart, please share it with someone. You know who needs a little healing because we're on what our healing journey. And friends, I truly thank y'all so much for being a part of this journey with me. And I know that it's been a roller coaster. But I honestly I find my healing in this. It's not just about wanting you guys to heal, it's about me filing the pieces of me that still need healing and actually going through it. And so you're going through healing with me, and I'm going through healing with you. And I hope that we at the end of this journey find a healed version of ourselves. But until then, take care of your energy, protect your peace, and always remember that becoming might be messy, but it's also beautiful. You've been listening to Healing Out Loud, Boundaries and Becoming. Keep healing, keep becoming, and keep laughing when life gets messy out loud. It's your girl, your host, signing off until next time.