Can people change?
I would have said no. You are who you are, and eventually, with time, you’ll fall back into old patterns, mindset, and habits. I lived blissfully naive for the first thirty years of my life. I didn’t think people could change because I had never experienced anything so significant that it altered the lens through which I view life.
Becoming a Mom humbled me, but giving birth to my Son and grieving the death of my Dad in the same calendar year rewrote my inner blueprint. For months, I lived in the midst of the connection to life and mortality. Every cell in my body was working overtime to create life, but my brain sat on a merry-go-round, processing death. The combination made me hyper-aware of both the fragility and the miracle of life. The way I saw myself, others, and The World changed. Motherhood expands your heart in ways you never thought possible; it rearranges your priorities, deepens your empathy, and teaches you both the strength to persevere and the surrender that comes with it. In contrast, grief carves out a hollow space that reshapes your understanding of love and time. Together, these experiences transformed my foundation—they stripped away what was superficial and rebuilt me with a new sense of purpose and vulnerability. I’ve changed into someone different over the last year: softer and firmer all at once, guided by love and loss in equal measure.
I was and still am grieving and surviving at the same time, and some days neither is easy. I see people differently now. I see the parent walking into the store with heavy eyes and the toddler with uncombed hair. I no longer judge them. I notice the individual standing in line in front of me with unfocused eyes, their mind submerged in a memory. I have immense empathy. The scope of my vision has widened. I notice the heartbreak and despair of those around me. I can feel it, and now I see it without critique, understanding that the parent or individual might be only surviving the day.
I’m living in two timelines: the life I have, and the one I lost. I have a beautiful life, with so much to be grateful for. We wake up in the morning in a warm house with food to eat. We go to bed at night with every bed full after saying a prayer. I know I am blessed, but I selfishly grieve the loss of a future I had always expected. Papa won’t be there this winter when Marlow learns to ski. Tears slip down my face every time I drive on Hwy 83 as I pass Seeley Lake, knowing there will be no more summer vacations that feel whole. There will always be one beating heart missing.
My inner circle changed. Friends came to stay, and others slowly disappeared. In the silence of life changes, people drift away – not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know how to reach you where you’re at. Even if you wanted to, you don’t have the capacity to throw the drifters a rope to reel them back in.
To every friend that’s become distant over the last year, I’m sorry if my brokenness ever made me a bad friend to you. I know there are days I disappear without a word. I’m sorry if my silence ever made you question if you really matter to me. It isn’t because I don’t care. It’s not because you aren’t important. The truth is that sometimes my mind becomes a war zone I can’t escape. I fight battles I don’t know how to explain some days, and in those moments, even the people I love the most feel a million miles away. Still, the ones who stand beside me mean more than I’ve ever expressed. In my silence, I carry gratitude, grateful that you’re here when I’m not easy to love. My inner circle shrank, but I love them harder than I ever have before. I will never again wait for a funeral to say what matters. My people will hear it and feel it with each conversation.
It’s okay to embrace the change that comes when life shifts so profoundly. In the past six months, I welcomed a new soul into the world and said goodbye to the one who helped shape mine. These moments, though opposite in nature, rewrote who I am at my core. Birth fills you with new love and responsibility, while loss opens a space of reflection and tenderness. Together, they remind you that life is meant to evolve, and that you are meant to grow as well. It’s okay to let go of who you were in the past and honor the person you’re becoming, whether you’re broken, whole, or somewhere in between. Change, after all, is not just something to survive; it’s something to live entirely within, allowing both love and loss into your heart.