Grief Has a Way of Making Us Forget

This past weekend I packed up my car and headed to Cabot Shores for a women's retreat.

If you've never been there, let me tell you—it is pure magic.

Maybe it's the Cape Breton Highlands. Maybe it's the trees standing like ancient guardians. Maybe it's the sound of moving water, the stillness of the lake, the crashing of the ocean, or the wildlife quietly reminding us that we are just one small part of something so much bigger.

Or maybe it's all of it together.

Whatever it is, there is an energy there that you can't really explain. You just feel it.

Now imagine dropping thirty women into that environment—all at different places in their healing journeys, all trying to reconnect with themselves, all remembering that we are spiritual beings having a human experience.

Something shifts. There is no gossip. No judgment. No pretending.

Just love. Real love. The kind that says, "I've got you," without needing to say a word. And boy, did I need that.

The last six months have been hard.

Not just hard... soul-level hard.

Losing my dad broke something in me.

I'll admit something I'm not particularly proud of.

My faith was shaken.

How could God exist when I was hurting this much?

How could there be miracles when it felt like everything in my life was going to shit?

My move home has been one challenge after another. Financial stress. Unexpected battles. Constant uncertainty. It felt like every time I managed to catch my breath, life found another way to knock me sideways.

Even after writing a book called Miracles Are Normal...

I forgot.

And that's the funny thing about grief. Grief has a way of making us forget what our soul has always known. It doesn't mean God disappears. It doesn't mean the Universe stops whispering. It doesn't mean miracles stop showing up.

It just means we're hurting so much that we stop looking.

Or maybe... we simply can't see them through the tears.

This weekend reminded me to look again.

My beautiful friend Cindi didn't tell me she was coming. She just showed up.

There she was, shining that big beautiful light of hers exactly when I needed it.

That's love.

Lisa shared messages from my loved ones that softened my heart in ways I didn't know it still needed.

Julia reminded me of something I already knew. Without my spiritual practice, I lose myself. Not because God leaves me. Because I'm the one who stopped showing up.

That realization hit me hard.

Ginger read my astrology chart, and while she has her own challenging path to walk, she does it with such grace and joy that you can't help but think, "Maybe that's the point."

Life isn't about waiting until everything is easy.

It's about finding the Divine anyway.

Rebecca reminded me to slow down enough to notice the tiny miracles.

The little mushrooms beside what looked like a fairy door.

My gosh...Who gets excited over mushrooms?

Apparently I do.

And I'm okay with that.

Those tiny moments of wonder feed something inside me that has been starving.

One new friend reminded me that I don't have to live my life the way everyone else thinks I should.

I get to do it my way.

Without apologizing.

Audrey reminded me that healing doesn't happen when we stay stuck in our heads.

It happens when our feet touch the earth. When we remember we belong to the land.

When we honour those who came before us. When gratitude becomes a daily practice instead of something we save for Thanksgiving.

Sandy reminded me that love lives much longer than these earthly bodies do.

Isabel reminded me how beautiful it is to celebrate someone else's joy.

That girl is pure light. The world needs more people who clap the loudest when it's someone else's turn to shine.

Katherine reminded me that playing small isn't humility. It's withholding.

Our gifts were never meant to stay hidden. The world needs them. Now.

The Healing Sisters reminded me that healing begins with one intentional breath.

It's amazing how something we've done every second of our lives can become sacred the moment we pay attention to it.

Laura Leigh reminded me to stop being afraid of dreaming big.

To manifest boldly. To trust.

And stay tuned...

There just might be a little magic brewing....

I'm still unpacking everything this weekend gave me. Healing isn't something you finish before you go home on Sunday afternoon. It unfolds. It integrates.

It surprises you days later while you're folding laundry or standing in line at the grocery store.

But I know this.

My heart hurts a little less today.

I know my mom and dad are still with me.

Maybe not the way I wish they were.

But in the only way that really matters now.

Love never dies.

(And yes... my electricity actually flickered as I typed those words. You can decide for yourself what that means.)

This weekend reminded me that making time for your spiritual practice isn't selfish.

It's survival.

Nature isn't just beautiful.

It's medicine.

Community isn't a luxury.

It's medicine too.

Find people who remind you who you are when you've forgotten.

Find the people who gently pull you back onto your path when you've wandered off into the weeds.

And don't worry so much about falling.

Sometimes the fall is exactly what brings you close enough to notice the fairy door.

Or the tiny mushrooms.

Or the pink moth.

Or the miracle you would have walked right past.

The Universe, Source, God—whatever name you give it—is always trying to guide us.

Always.

The question isn't whether the guidance is there.

It's whether we've become quiet enough to hear it.