Other than the death of grandparents, my experience with loss was quite limited. That was until one beautiful Sunday morning in 2012 when grief showed up, unannounced with no warning. It caught me completely off-guard and unprepared for the devastation that was to come.

Since then, I’ve had to unlearn many of the lessons I taught myself about widowhood:

Tears Don’t Mean You Aren’t Moving Forward

I remember the first time I laughed after the death of my husband. It was one of those from the depths of your belly laughs. I’d been sad for so long that it felt good to laugh. I immediately scolded myself. How dare someone who had barely celebrated a first wedding anniversary find laughter again? How dare my mind allow any semblance of happiness to filter in through the pain? I felt I didn’t deserve the laughter or happiness.

I soon came to learn I wasn’t doing my husband a favor by closing myself off from happiness. I didn’t miss him any less on the days I laughed. I didn’t lose any love for inviting joy into my life. There were days I sought out positive things – disconnecting from anything that dared threaten my newfound peace.

Then one day, the flood gates opened. Just as with my husband’s death, it showed up out of the blue. I cried for our past, my present, and the future of which we were robbed. It was as though all the tears I’d avoided while on my happiness mission can rolling in with the tide. I was drowning, and all the progress I’d made seemed to wash away with each teardrop.

Tears, I’ve since learned, can be cleansing. They take nothing away from your path forward. They don’t mean you’re stuck or going backward. Sometimes a good cry has catapulted me over a grief “hump,” through a memory, or alongside a project we planned to complete together. I often remind myself of the expression, “It’s okay to have a meltdown; just don’t unpack and live there.”

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What Makes a “Good” Widow

I thought I wanted my obituary to tell how my world ended on the day my husband died. It should point out I became a shell of the person I once was, dutifully awaiting the time I was reunited with him. I thought these feelings made me a “good” widow.

The reality is that there is no one way to be widowed. Grief is not a mu-mu; it’s not one size fits all. I earned no more “widow points” for disconnecting from the world than the widow who lives as though tomorrow isn’t promised. I don’t love my late-spouse any more than a fellow widow simply because I allow my late-spouse’s death to define my life. There are no prizes for being the “widowest widow.”

I’ve learned the “good” widow is the one who gets up each day to face a world filled with uncertainties. Who marches forward, unsure of what is around the corner. Who is painfully aware of the brevity of life and therefore, lives unapologetically and boldly. Who acknowledges her past while appreciating the now. Who is trying to be better than she was yesterday. Who is determined to work through the darkest and rawest parts of her grief – whether on her own or with support. Who is still here. Who is knocked down by life seven times but rises eight.

My choosing to suffer isn’t a testament to our love.

Acceptance is the Grand Finale

There were times in my grief when I felt my anger would consume me. I questioned what kind of God would allow a rapist or murderer to roam the streets freely when my husband didn’t make it to his 36^th birthday. I Googled and found the “Five Stages of Grief.” I believed I was in the “anger” phase and could expect “bargaining” to be next. But I skipped ahead to “acceptance” before circling back to “anger.”

I kept beating myself up for ricocheted between all the various aspects of grief, at times experiencing more than one at the same time!

Through some additional research, I had to unlearn these five stages. They were never intended to move us through loss. The five stages were introduced in the 1960s by Swiss-born psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross to describe the emotional state of dying patients. They aren’t designed for those experiencing the loss of a person…our person.

It was normal that my grief didn’t fit into a nice little package. I wasn’t crazy because my emotions were all over the place. Everything I felt was normal and healthy. Coming to this realization was a huge part of my healing.

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Grief and Love Can’t Coexist

I’ll admit it. Before I was widowed, I judged those who dated post-loss. I’d read about a widowed person finding new love and then calculate just how long it had been since his/her spouse died. Now that I’m in their shoes (and thanks to more people talking about widowhood), I realize no amount of time – whether 3 months or 3 years – means they’re “over” the loss.

I swore I’d never open my heart to love again because that would mean I no longer loved my late-husband. Was I ever wrong!

I’ve learned loving a new man doesn’t mean I’ve stopped grieving. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the man who held my heart before he did. It just means my heart has expanded and has allowed in more love.

It’s a myth that widows and widowers can’t move forward while holding a place in their hearts for a late spouse. The love may be different because loss has changed us, but it certainly isn’t “less than.” We can love without making a new partner feel as though our love is some sort of consolidation prize or that there needs to be competition.

In loving post-loss, I’ve had to unlearn that it’s either my love for my late-spouse or the love for my current partner. Love is limitless. It doesn’t max out at a certain level. We have the capacity to love again, giving all of who we are now to him/her. Both loves can coexist and live harmoniously in our hearts.

Kerry runs a support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a contributor to Open to Hope. She is the author of “Letters to the Widowed Community” and “The One Thing: 100 Widows Share Lessons on Love, Loss, and Life.” Her articles on widowhood and grief have been featured in HuffPost and Love What Matters. She’s also the host of the Young, Widowed & Dating podcast.