It’s been four months since my mom died. Four months feels like such a lifetime. Long enough that each day I do not feel the shock as deep, but still not long enough for the ache to soften. And in that space, I’ve spent it cleaning up the pieces of myself that had shattered into a million little pieces.

If I had to describe where I am today, I’d say this:
I’m learning to move differently through life. Slower. Softer. More deliberate.

For most of my life, I’ve lived at 100 miles per hour. That old me didn’t pause, didn’t question, didn’t breathe. She kept going. Head down, tasks checked off, emotions shoved aside, always onto the next thing. I thought that was strength. I thought fast pace meant survival.

Now I’m starting to see how much I missed while I was speeding past everything.

My mom dying has forced me to slow down. Not in a gentle, graceful way, but in the way a sudden stop jerks your whole body forward. I’ve had to face things I never made time for. Or just didn’t have the space for. I’ve had to feel things I’ve spent years outrunning. Now when something comes up, I don’t just bulldoze through it. I stop and ask myself, what’s happening here? Why do I feel this way?

It’s strange to respond instead of react. To choose instead of rush. To move with intention instead of speed.

But this is the version of me I’m trying to grow into. The Lauren who takes a slow stroll through life. Noticing things. I’m paying attention to every little detail now because I know what it feels like to miss everything. And I don’t want to live that way anymore.

To be honest, I think a lot about what I might have missed before. Time I wasted. Moments I rushed. Memories I never made because I was too busy surviving. There’s grief in that too.

I can’t change the past version of me. I can only honor her. She did the best she could with the tools she had.

What I can change is how I move forward.

Today I make decisions with purpose. Today I try to listen before reacting. Today I allow myself to pause, to feel, to understand. Today I choose presence, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Four months after losing my mom, this is where I am:
Still grieving, still learning, still unlearning. But remembering to move with intention instead of speed.

This is me grieving.