Rising From Grief: A Story of Resilience and Purpose

A Heart Forever Changed

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me." —Psalm 23:4

I didn’t truly understand the depth of that verse until I walked through the valley myself.

In 2020, I lost my daughter, Stephanie, my greatest blessing, and my closest companion. I was a teenager when I had her, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. I had never been alone in life until the day she died. And when she left this earth, so did a part of me.

I tried to run from my grief. I left home, hoping that a new environment would bring me peace. But the thing with pain is—it follows you. It sits beside you in silence. It wakes you up in the night. It breaks your spirit while you’re trying to smile in public.

Losing someone you love is a challenge for the mind to comprehend. While we understand death on an intellectual level, it transforms into a different reality when it affects our family, especially our children. It leaves behind a lasting ache that never fully heals.

The Weight of Grief

I was angry. Angry at the hospital. Angry at the police. Angry at God.

I had been faithful. I went to church, paid my tithes, prayed every day, and followed God's will as best as I could. So, I asked the questions we’re often too afraid to say out loud: “Why, God? Why my baby? Why not someone evil? Why not someone who doesn’t know Your name?”

My anger was real, and so was my confusion. I felt punished, lost, broken, and ready to give up. I even begged God to take me, because I didn’t know how to live in a world without my child.

But then came a still, painful truth: If I gave up, Stephanie would truly die. Her light, her legacy, her future—it would all fade with me. That’s when I made a decision. I didn’t feel strong, but I chose to act strong. Because sometimes, being strong is the only option we have.

My Journey to Resilience

Resilience is not the absence of pain, but the presence of strength in the face of it. It is the ability to bend without breaking, to suffer without surrendering, and to carry on when everything within you wants to give up.

I held on to the little faith I had left in God. I started with small steps. I changed my diet. I exercised, using physical movement to process the emotional weight I carried. I meditate. During the pandemic, I began volunteering. It gave me a renewed sense of purpose—to be useful, to matter to someone else. Volunteering reminded me that I could still make a difference.

I also learned that healing is never just emotional. Mental health is deeply holistic. It involves taking care of the physical, spiritual, emotional, and nutritional parts of ourselves. I committed to that process—not because I was strong, but because I had no other choice.

A Journey of Purpose

I didn’t stop there. In honour of Stephanie’s memory, I went back to school and earned a Master’s degree with Merit in Criminology and Criminal Psychology. I chose this path because my grief had opened my eyes to injustice and how institutions treat people, especially in moments of crisis. I wanted to understand society, understand why some people commit crimes and how we can create a more compassionate world. My daughter would have loved that as she dreamed of becoming a teacher, and I saw this work as a continuation of her desire to educate and uplift.

I continued to find healing through running. In October 2023, I completed my first half marathon in Stephanie’s honour. Since then, I’ve participated in three half marathons, several 10K races, and even completed a 100-mile challenge in a single month, logging over 120 miles. Each step I take is for her, and for every parent who wakes up each day with an empty room in their home and a hole in their heart.

Running gave me a new outlet for my grief, one that felt empowering. Every race became a statement: I am still here. I am still moving. And I will keep going.

The hardest part of loss is that society often expects you to stay broken. But grief doesn’t mean we stop living. We carry our pain with us, yes, but we can also carry joy. These things are not opposites—they coexist

Embracing Healing Through Understanding

I decided I didn’t want just to survive—I wanted to transform.

I pursue further training in Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) and Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (TF-CBT) so I could become the support I once needed. I founded MCH Counseling and Therapy Limited—a space to help others heal, to break the stigma around mental health and grief, especially in communities where silence is the norm and vulnerability is mistaken for weakness.

One of my biggest missions is to help people understand: there is no “right way” to grieve. No one gets to tell you when to move on or how long to cry. Your journey is yours. And healing is not linear—it’s messy, complicated, and often two steps forward, one step back.

If someone had told me in 2020 that I’d be where I am now—still standing, still smiling, still dreaming—I would have called them a liar. But here I am, by the grace of God, standing tall like Job. And if I can do it, so can you.

Here are a few lessons I’ve learned about resilience

• Allow yourself to feel. Don’t bury your emotions. Your pain is valid. Your anger is valid. Your tears are sacred.

• Take action, no matter how small. A short walk, a healthy meal, a journal entry—they’re all steps forward.

• Ask for help. There is strength in vulnerability. Therapy, support groups, trusted friends—use every resource available.

• Give yourself grace. Healing takes time. You are allowed to have bad days.

• Find purpose in the pain. It doesn’t have to make sense, but you can make it meaningful.

You are not alone in your experience. Pain connects us, but so does hope. Resilience is not just surviving what tried to break you—it’s learning to dance in the rain, to smile again, and to carry your loss with love and courage.

Grief changed me. But it didn’t end me. In fact, it awakened a fire inside me—to live not just for myself, but for the girl who called me “Mum.”

Stephanie will always be a part of me. And through every life I touch, every step I run, every hand I hold—I keep her light shining.