"Learning to Breathe Again: Self-Care for Grieving Parents Like Me"

By Teresa Carnes

When my daughter Kaylee died, the world kept spinning  but I didn’t.

The days blurred together. I forgot to eat. I couldn’t sleep. I felt guilty doing anything that resembled living.

How could I go on when she couldn’t?

But here’s what I’ve come to understand, slowly and painfully:

Taking care of myself doesn’t mean I’ve stopped grieving her.

It means I’ve decided to survive.

The Myth That You Have to Be Strong All the Time

People told me I was strong.

But most days, I didn’t feel strong. I felt shattered.

There’s this unspoken expectation that grieving parents especially those who lost a child to addiction have to hold it together, stay quiet, get back to work, “move on.”

But there is no moving on. There is only moving through.

And moving through it requires rest. It requires care. It requires grace  especially for ourselves.

What Self-Care Looks Like After Loss

I’m not talking about spa days and bubble baths, though if those help, take them. I’m talking about the kind of self-care that keeps you breathing when it feels impossible. The kind that says, “You still matter.”

Here’s what it looked like for me and what it might look like for you:

Getting out of bed, even when I didn’t want to.

Letting myself cry in the grocery store aisle without apologizing.

Sitting in silence when the noise became too much.

Asking for help. Letting people in.

Saying her name out loud. Telling her story, even through tears.

Finding a therapist who didn’t flinch when I said ‘heroin.’

Journaling. Walking. Screaming into a pillow. Praying.

Loving on her boys  my grandsons when the ache felt unbearable.

Being present for Colton, her little brother, even when my heart was half gone.

You Are Still Here and That Matters

There’s guilt in surviving your child.

Guilt in smiling. In laughing. In living.

But you are still here. And your life still matters.

You didn’t choose this story. But you can choose how you walk through it one fragile, courageous step at a time.

Taking care of yourself doesn’t erase your pain. It honors your love. It says:

“I will carry your memory, but I will not disappear.”

A Note to Grieving Parents

If you’re reading this and you’ve lost a child to addiction:

You are not alone.

Your pain is real.

Your story deserves to be told.

And you, dear heart, deserve to heal in your own time, in your own way.

You do not have to be okay today. But I hope you’ll drink some water. Eat something. Step outside.

Take one breath.

Then another.

And when you're ready, talk about them. Say their name. Keep their light alive in the most human way possible — by continuing to live.