The other night, I was in the shower, getting annoyed with myself—again.
Our hot and cold water knobs are reversed. We’ve lived here since 2022, and you’d think by now I’d automatically remember which is which. But no. Every single time, I have to stop and think about it.
And in that moment, I laughed at myself. I rolled my eyes and thought, Really? After all this time?
Then something hit me:
The Knobs Aren’t the Only Thing I Expect Myself to “Get Over”
I can laugh off forgetting the knobs. I can find it mildly annoying and move on.
But when it comes to grief? I’m not so kind to myself.
I expect myself to be “normal” again.
To be “over it.”
To be the old me—the one from before I lost my child.
I loved his humor.
I loved our goofy conversations.
I loved the sound of his voice.
And yet, I sometimes treat myself as if losing him is something I should have “adjusted” to by now.
But the truth is—grief doesn’t work like that.
The Knobs Will Always Be Reversed
Losing a child changes everything. The way you see the world. The way you feel in your own skin. The way you measure time.
There’s no going back to the “before.” There’s only learning how to live in the “after.”
And sometimes, it’s like those shower knobs. You can live with them for years, and still have moments where you forget and reach for the wrong one.
That doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It doesn’t mean you’re not healing.
It means you’re human—and your reality has shifted in a way you’ll always need to navigate.
Giving Myself (and Maybe You) Permission
So I’m done expecting myself to “get over it.”
Instead, I’m giving myself permission to pause, to adjust, to fumble—and to know that doesn’t mean I’m broken.
And if you’re grieving too—whether it’s been months, years, or decades—I want you to hear this:
You’re not “behind.”
You’re not “stuck.”
You’re just living with the knobs reversed. And that’s okay.
💛 A Little Extra
If you haven’t read my most recent post, Birthday Signs and the HALT Fentanyl Act, I shared some incredible signs I felt from my son on my birthday, along with the significance of a new law that could save lives from fentanyl.
It’s another reminder that grief, love, and connection show up in unexpected places.
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