November Notes: Healing in Progress
November arrived carrying both quiet grief and small, bright moments of joy. This month marked the first year I will be celebrating the Day of the Dead with both of my parent passing away — a day etched permanently into my heart. Even as I try to slip back into the rhythms of “normal life,” grief remains a steady companion, reshaping how I move through each day. It is not something I can outrun; instead, it has become a lens through which I see the world, reminding me of both loss and love.
Facing Grief and Beginning Therapy
This November, I took a meaningful step toward healing by starting therapy. Opening that door felt both vulnerable and hopeful, like standing at the edge of a new chapter. My intention is to better understand how the past has shaped me, to learn tools for working through old traumas, and to find a way forward without feeling as though I am betraying the memory of those I lost. It’s still early, but already I’ve noticed how naming emotions and tracing their roots gives me small pockets of relief. Therapy is teaching me that grief doesn’t have to be silenced or hidden; it can be acknowledged, explored, and even softened. Each session feels like a quiet act of courage, a reminder that healing is not about erasing pain but about learning to live alongside it.
A Full-Time Mom’s Days
Most of my days are devoted to being a full-time mom to my little boy. Motherhood consumes so much of my time and energy, yet it is also where the bulk of my presence lives: in the routines, the small victories, and the endless little tasks that form our life together. Something is grounding about the way my son pulls me into the present moment. His laughter, his curiosity, and even his stubbornness remind me that life continues to bloom, even in the shadow of grief. Caring for him is sometimes the gentlest antidote to sorrow — a daily reminder that love can coexist with loss.
A Day with Friends: Reclaiming Youthful Energy
On one rare day off, I chose to spend time with my closest friends. We filled the hours with brunch conversations that felt like catching up with different parts of myself, a quick run through Ikea where we laughed at furniture names and imagined tiny home makeovers, a pampering nail session, and an early dinner at a popular Taiwanese noodle spot that tasted like both treat and comfort. I ended the day by giving them souvenirs I had brought back from my trip to the Philippines. The day was simple, but it returned a piece of the youthful energy I had feared might be gone forever. Friendship reminded me that joy doesn’t always need grand gestures — sometimes it’s found in laughter over bubble tea, shared stories, and the warmth of being seen.
Remembering My Mother Through Small Rituals
For my mother’s first birthday in heaven, I bought flowers and placed them where I could see them often. That small ritual of remembrance felt both painful and tender — a way to honor the relationship that shaped me and to hold her memory close without expecting the ache to disappear overnight. Grief has taught me that rituals matter. They are anchors in the storm, gestures that keep love alive even when presence is no longer possible. The flowers were not just decoration; they were a conversation, a silent offering, a way of saying, “I remember. I love you still.”
Thanksgiving and Quiet Family Moments
Thanksgiving this year was a quiet, intimate affair with my little family. There were no big gatherings — just the three of us settling into a low-key day at home. My husband used his time off to tackle home renovation projects, turning his attention to practical work while I focused on our son and the small domestic rhythms that keep us steady. The day was uneventful in the usual sense, but there was comfort in its simplicity. Shared space, steady routines, and the absence of chaos gave the holiday a gentle kind of meaning. Sometimes, peace is found not in celebration but in the quiet assurance that family is enough.
Looking Ahead to December
As November closes, I carry both grief and gratitude into the holidays. December will likely bring more gatherings and celebrations, and I hope those occasions will offer opportunities to connect, to laugh, and to create new memories while still honoring the old ones. I am learning to hold complexity: that sorrow and joy can coexist, that healing is a slow and stubborn process, and that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving the past behind. It means weaving it into the fabric of who I am, allowing both pain and love to shape the story I continue to write.
✨️FINAL THOUGHTSðŸ’
This month taught me the value of small rituals, honest steps toward healing, and the restorative power of friends and family. I am grateful for the gentle moments that recharged me and for the bravery it took to begin therapy. I am moving forward at my own pace, keeping my parents’ memory with me while making space to live, love, and grow. November reminded me that grief may be permanent, but so is love — and love, in all its forms, is what carries me into tomorrow.
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