When Positivity Goes Missing

Eight episodes, too much wine, and a letter I didn’t expect to write.

There’s a side to grief that is very rarely on show.

The rawness of it.

The kind of pain that sits so deep in your chest you can barely breathe.

The moments when it hits you, completely out of nowhere that your person, who was your whole world, has gone.

The finiteness of grief will stop you in your tracks.

There’s a constant how can this be? running underneath everything. A quiet disbelief. A feeling that surely this is some nightmare and soon you’ll wake up and feel relief flood through you.

How can life be there one moment and then gone the next?

Yes, we know death is part of life. But why this life? Why our person? Why us?

From very early on, I knew grief had the potential to destroy me. I’ve visited dark places before, but I always had my person to hold my hand and guide me back. This time, there was no hand to hold.

It felt like standing at the bottom of a deep, dark well.

There is no way out of grief, I know that now, but when you’re down there, you still look for light. You still look up.

I haven’t found the light. But I am climbing.

Some days that climb looks steady. Other days it looks like barely moving at all.

This week, my positivity disappeared.

I’ve always been the glass-half-empty one. Paul was the glass-half-full. Since he died, I’ve tried, in small, determined ways to lean towards his way of seeing things. To look for glimmers. To get outside. To walk. To write.

Writing has become the place where I can admit what I’m actually feeling, without pretending I’m coping better than I am.

But this weekend?

Positivity went AWOL.

So I wrote to it.

Dear Positivity Head,

I’m not exactly sure where you’ve gone, but you’ve disappeared, and I’d really like it if you could pop back.

I think I’ve been trying. I’ve been walking. Writing. Looking for hope where I can. I thought I was doing you proud.

But where were you this weekend?

Where were you when I sat and watched eight episodes of Grey’s Anatomy - eight hours on the sofa?

Where were you when I drank all that wine?

Where were you when I looked in the mirror and felt nothing but disappointment?

Where were you when I cried for everything I’ve lost instead of focusing on what I still have?

I’m still here. I’m still living. But right now, Positivity Head, where are you?

I’ve joined a Meetup group. I’m going to my first event this week. It feels daunting. Walking into a room where people probably already know each other. And then there’s me, the widow who would honestly rather stay home and watch Grey’s Anatomy.

I’ve joined a gym too. Not because I’ve suddenly become disciplined. But because I needed somewhere to go that wasn’t my sofa. Somewhere that might feel like movement, even if everything inside me feels stuck.

I don’t want another weekend to pass in silence, measuring time by empty bottles and episode numbers.

So I’m trying.

I’m showing up.

Even when I don’t feel brave. Even when I don’t feel positive.

These are the promises I’m making. Not to become someone else. Not to erase grief. Just to keep climbing, however slowly.

Positivity, if you’re listening, you’re welcome to walk with me.

But even if you don’t, I’ll keep going.

Grief will be there too.

And maybe that’s just how it is.

If you feel like it, you might try writing a letter to the part of you that’s missing this week.

If you feel ready to explore more writing activities, join our FREE Writing Challenge. Inside, you’ll find prompts to help you express what’s on your heart. There’s no rush and no pressure, just a safe space to write, reflect, and heal at your own pace.