Widowed at 50 - 30 things I did to survive the first year
Six months before he died, I turned 50.
That year, I'd written a bucket list of 50 things I wanted us to do together. We ate fish and chips in Whitby. We went ten pin bowling. We went on what turned out to be our last family holiday to Greece.
I love a bucket list, they're filled with the kind of ideas you file away under 'one day.' I never imagined we'd tick off everything, but I always assumed there would be more time. More years. More chances.
How wrong I was.
The year I became a widow, I didn't write a bucket list. I didn't write anything. I just had to find ways to survive. Some days, survival meant nothing more than remembering to feed the family.
There was no plan. No list of crazy ideas. No roadmap for any of this.
All I knew was that there were two options available to me.
Survive or don't survive. Survive won.
It's only now, looking back, that I can see how much I actually did that year. None of it was planned. Most of it was just me trying to fill the hours, and some of it was simply because I was now the only one left to do it.
If you're feeling stuck and don't know how to move forward, please hear this: you don't need to have it all figured out. I can still only look ahead one week at a time. Anything further than that is when the anxiety creeps in.
But here are 30 things that helped me get through the first year. If any of them can help you too, please steal them. Print them off. Stick them somewhere that reminds you that you are still here, and still living.
This isn't a bucket list. There's no pressure to do any of them. Think of it as a quiet nudge for the days when you don't know how to get out of bed. If you’re having a really bad day (I had plenty) and you really have no idea how to even get out of bed why not try this trick that I used. It’s called my 3 Activity Jars and I talk you through it on this post >>> 3 Activity Jars
Back to the 30 things I did in my first year as a widow.
Take singing lessons. If one-to-one feels too much, look for a Rock Choir or local singing group. There's something about singing with other people that lifts something you didn't know was weighing on you. It gave me brain 30 minutes to switch off from everything. I was so busy concentrating on the words and my breathing it stopped my grief from being so loud.
Buy a Paint by Numbers kit. Head to Amazon - there are hundreds of designs. It's wonderfully absorbing and requires absolutely no artistic ability.
Join an art class. A friend and I did a Paint and Sip evening and laughed about how bad we were at painting, but that didn’t matter at all. The wine helped, but so did having something to focus on with my hands.
Book a session on a pottery wheel. No skills required. You will almost certainly make something wonky and wonderful. Either way, an hour with your hands in clay is an hour you're not inside your own head.
Build a Lego construction. Whether you're a Star Wars fan, a Harry Potter lover, or just want flowers on your windowsill that don't need watering. Lego is surprisingly meditative.
Get a tattoo. If permanent feels too permanent, look into henna. I wanted something on my body that marked this chapter of my life. Something that was mine.
Meet a friend for coffee. This one took me a long time to do. I felt safe at home, or out with my children. Sitting in a café with a friend felt exposing somehow. It was outside my comfort zone for months. When I finally did it, I wondered what had taken me so long.
Join a widow group. I joined WAY - Widowed and Young - and found both online and in-person events. Being in a room with people who genuinely understand is different to being around people who are trying to understand.
Join a Meetup group. There are groups for everything across the UK - walking, cinema, book clubs, social evenings. You don't have to go as a widow. You can just go as a person who wants company.
Find a pen pal and start writing. This is actually how Letters After Loss began. I asked in a Facebook group whether any other widows fancied being pen pals. The response told me everything I needed to know about how lonely grief is.
Try a cocktail making class. Bring a friend, or a group of friends. You get to drink them afterwards. Enough said.
Go on a brunch date. I Googled 'quirky places for brunch' and found a little café I'd never have discovered otherwise. Making a small occasion out of an ordinary morning does something for your spirit. Going to new places can be easier than visiting ones with memories attached.
Create a memorial area in your garden. In those first few months, I needed somewhere to put my grief. A corner of the garden became that place for me, somewhere to go and just be near him.
Scatter some ashes somewhere meaningful. We chose a beach at sunset. We brought cocktails. We sat together as a family and we scattered a little of him into the sea. It was one of the most peaceful hours of that entire year.
Write their memoirs. Recording their memories, their stories, their voice, the things only you know about them is one of the most powerful things you can do. It's a legacy. It's also a way of keeping the conversation going.
Look through their childhood photos. I had never seen any baby photos of him until his sister shared some with me after he died. Seeing him as a little boy, before I knew him, broke my heart open in the most tender way.
Celebrate their birthday with cake. Just because they can't enjoy it doesn't mean you have to miss an opportunity for cake. Light a candle. Say their name. Mark the day.
Sort their clothes into three piles. Charity. To sell. To keep. You don't have to do anything beyond that unless you feel ready. But having three piles gives you a framework when everything else feels formless.
Talk about them. If you don't, no one else will. Say their name. Tell the stories. Keep them part of the conversation.
Walk every day. It doesn't need to be a five-mile hike. Ten minutes around the block is enough. Moving your body moves something else too.
Join a gym. My daughter goes to university in September. I could already see the weekends alone on the horizon, and I needed somewhere I felt comfortable going by myself while still being surrounded by people. The gym became that place. Sometimes that quiet kind of company is exactly enough.
Travel and write postcards. I started writing postcards to him, telling him about the places I was visiting, the memories I was making without him. It felt strange at first. Then it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Book a solo trip. It doesn't have to be completely alone. There are plenty of ladies-only trips if the idea of total solitude feels too much. The point is to go somewhere that is yours.
Start a business. If you've always thought about it then why not now? You have more to say than you think. You have more to offer than you realise.
Go on a podcast. You have a story. If you feel ready to share it, there are people who need to hear it. You never know whose life your words might reach.
Join TikTok. I was nervous about this one and I’m still yet to post. But I will, watch me!
Say no to things. If you can't say no right now, when can you? This is your permission slip.
Teach someone a skill you have. Whether it's driving, cooking, wiring a plug, sharing what you know with someone who needs it is quietly generous. And generosity, even small acts of it, does something good for grief.
Appreciate the people holding your hand. A handwritten card to say thank you, just that, nothing more is one of the most meaningful things you can give someone who has shown up for you.
Dare to dream. You are still living. You used to have dreams. They may look different now (they probably will) but they are still yours to have.
If you're reading this and wondering how you'll ever get through, start with one small thing. Just one.
You don't need to have it all figured out. You don't need a plan. You just need to keep going, and to be a little kind to yourself while you do.
Healing doesn't happen all at once. It happens one small act at a time.
I've turned these 30 things into a free printable you can keep somewhere visible - on your fridge, your mirror, your desk. For the days when you don't know where to start. Download it below and keep it close.
