After losing Alaina, I discovered that grief doesn’t follow a roadmap. Some days I felt completely isolated, like I was stranded on a deserted island where no one else can understand my pain. Other days I was overwhelmed, surrounded by people living normal lives. And then there are moments when I was reaching desperately for something: Alaina, my old life, hope itself: that felt impossibly out of reach. For me they were small moments. For many they remain and won’t leave.
Many think these feelings mean, they are broken. I now understand they’re actually where transformation begins.
The Deserted Island: When Isolation Feels Complete
Picture yourself on a deserted island. The silence is deafening. You scan the horizon for rescue ships that never come. The human connection seems distant. This is what early grief feels like: completely cut off from everyone who hasn’t walked this path. I remember thinking, how can anyone relate as the number of people who lost their child in a mass shooting is more common than it should be, yet at the same time, not very common.
But here’s what I learned: the island isn’t your permanent address. It’s your processing space.
What to do when you’re on the island:
Stop fighting the isolation. Your brain needs this quiet to begin making sense of something that makes no sense. Let yourself feel disconnected for a while: it’s not permanent, even when it feels like it. Truly, sitting in the grief at times helps the process. Just be sure not to stay there when you need others around you, as that is also important to be surrounded by love and kindness.
Possibly, look for one other person on their own island. Not to fix them or get fixed, but to acknowledge that neither of you is alone in feeling alone. Sometimes that’s enough to start building your first bridge back.
The Crowded Street: Overwhelmed by Normal Life
Now picture yourself on a busy city street. People rush past, talking on phones about dinner plans and weekend trips. Their problems seem so small. Their joy feels offensive. You’re moving in slow motion while the world speeds by at normal pace.
This is where I call in my book, Always November: Lessons in Loss, Love & Resilience, the calm after the storm. Everyone else had moved on to their regularly scheduled lives while I was still figuring out how to breathe.
The crowded street phase taught me something crucial: you don’t have to match everyone else’s pace to find your purpose. Take it moment by moment.
What to do when you’re on the crowded street:
Give yourself permission to move slower. That’s not depression: that’s recalibration. Your nervous system is doing complex work that people rushing to happy hour can’t see.
Find your anchor points. Maybe it’s the same coffee shop every Tuesday, or a specific bench in a park, or a weekly call with someone who gets it. These become your stability while everything else spins around you. Support groups of grief and/or relationship are great bridges as well.
Notice who sees you. Not everyone rushing past is oblivious. Some people will make eye contact, offer a genuine smile, or simply acknowledge your presence without trying to fix you. These are your people. Some still might not know what to say, that might not mean they don’t want to try not to take it personally.
The Unreachable Goal: When Everything Feels Impossible
The third setting is you, reaching desperately toward something hovering just beyond your grasp. Maybe it’s your child. Maybe it’s your old sense of security. Maybe it’s simply feeling normal again.
What to do when you’re reaching for the impossible:
Stop reaching for what was. Start reaching for what could be. I couldn’t bring my daughter back, but I learned that I could reach for the sense of her. I found while she might not be here in body, I still feel her around me or am reminded of her daily.
Try to change your aim. Instead of reaching for your old life, reach forward for skills you never knew you had. Resilience you didn’t know you possessed. Empathy that can help someone else who’s drowning.
Reach for small, achievable things first. Not “I want to feel joy again” but “I want to get through Tuesday without crying.” Not “I want to help everyone who’s grieving around me” but “I want to connect with one person and connect with them.”
The Framework: Building Purpose from All Three Places
Here’s what I discovered after cycling through these three settings: they’re not obstacles to overcome. They’re information.
The island teaches you about your inner resources. The crowded street shows you how you relate to the world differently now. The unreachable goal clarifies what actually matters versus what you thought mattered.
Step 1: Name where you are
Don’t try to be somewhere else. If you’re on the island today, be on the island. If you’re overwhelmed in the crowd, acknowledge that. Fighting your location wastes energy you need for healing.
Step 2: Find your “why”
This is where transformation happens. My “why” became helping other people navigate their grief journey without feeling like they were losing their minds. Yours will be different, but it will emerge from the wisdom these difficult places taught you.
Step 3: Take one small step
Purpose doesn’t require grand gestures. It requires consistent small actions aligned with your “why.” Share your story with one person. Volunteer for one hour. Make one phone call to someone who’s struggling. No need to rush into this if you are still new on your grief journey.
Step 4: Let go of the timeline
Transformation isn’t linear. You’ll cycle back through all three settings, sometimes in the same day. That’s not regression: that’s integration.
Living Your Purpose Forward
The goal isn’t to never feel isolated, overwhelmed, or like you’re reaching for the impossible again. The goal is to recognize these feelings as temporary locations, not permanent destinations. It’s how we move forward in our new normal.
Your pain doesn’t disappear when you find your purpose. Instead, your pain becomes the foundation for something meaningful that wouldn’t exist without your specific experience.
Today, when I speak to audiences about resilience, I’m drawing directly from those hours on the island, those overwhelming moments in crowds, and all that desperate reaching. The very experiences I thought would destroy me became the source of my ability to help others.
Your transformation is waiting in the places that feel most difficult right now. Trust the process, even when you can’t see where it’s leading.
The island, the street, and the unreachable goal aren’t punishments. They’re your classroom. And you’re already learning, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
Check out my site arikhousley.com or my youtube channel by my name for podcasts with others on their grief journeys.