When Joy and Grief Walk Hand in Hand

People say your wedding should be the happiest time of your life. And in so many ways — it is.

I’m marrying my best friend and the love of my life this December. Jon is kind, steady, hilarious, thoughtful, and so deeply mine. I'm excited. I’m honored. I’m all in.

And also — I’m grieving.

I wasn’t expecting this strange tenderness that keeps rising in the quiet moments. The mirror is one of those places where it speaks the loudest. At 45, I don’t look like I thought I would on my wedding day. My body has changed — from life, from stress, from Hashimoto’s, from hormones that are shifting without asking for permission.

I’m tired. I feel older. My hair is thinning. Some mornings I wake up and just feel… worn.

It’s a complicated thing — to love yourself and still long for something different- to be grateful for the body that carries you, while quietly wishing it felt more vibrant, more youthful, more like the version of you you thought you’d be when standing in white.

And then there’s the deeper ache — the one I almost don’t want to say out loud: I need a hysterectomy. I cannot carry our children.

Jon has a wonderful 17-year-old son, and I’m endlessly thankful that he’s had that experience. We are exploring our options, and I do believe I will be a mother. But I will never be pregnant. I will never feel life grow inside me. And even in the joy of our union, that loss lingers.

It’s strange, grieving in the midst of such love.

But this is what no one tells you about healing: It doesn’t wait until the timing is perfect. It comes when your heart is cracked open — sometimes by sorrow, sometimes by love, sometimes by both.

And I think that’s okay. I think there’s sacredness in the “both.” I think it’s human to feel the fullness of emotion — even at the happiest times.

So if you’re in a season where you’re celebrating something big — a wedding, a baby, a new job, a life change — but your heart is also carrying something tender, something unspoken… I want you to know:

You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

This isn’t about pushing through the pain. It’s about letting the ache be part of the beauty. Letting your tears water the soil of this next chapter. Letting your wholeness include the parts you wish were different.

I’m still showing up. I’m still glowing — in my own way. And I’m learning that looking my “best” doesn’t have to mean looking young. It means looking true. It means being fully me — soft, strong, open, wise, and willing to let all of it be part of the love I’m stepping into.

If you’ve ever felt something similar — the ache, the beauty, the bittersweet — know I’m holding your heart alongside mine. Thank you for being here.

With love and breath,

Cathy

Inner Nature - Begin Within