Breaking Down to Break Through

I don’t know the last time I sat in my car and cried uncontrollably. It’s the place I used to allow myself to completely fall apart after my son died. My car was my sanctuary—the one space where I didn’t have to hold it all together. Life didn’t slow down just because mine shattered, so I tucked my grief into those moments alone behind the wheel.

But today, before the sun even had a chance to rise, I found myself standing outside, surrounded by snow, and breaking down again. Not in the driver’s seat this time, but out in the open—no walls, no doors, no false sense of privacy. Just me, the cold air, and a fresh, untouched blanket of snow that felt both haunting and beautiful.

I let it out—all of it. The grief. The heartbreak. The frustration over futures that will never be. And the fear that, no matter how much I rebuild, some pieces will always feel out of place.

And then something shifted.

As I stood there, shivering and raw, I saw something else too—a blank slate. A field of endless possibility. The snow didn’t just remind me of what was lost; it whispered of what’s still waiting to be built.

The Safe Spaces We Create to Fall Apart

Grief doesn’t wait for the perfect moment to hit. It sneaks up on you in the grocery store, in the shower, or when you’re halfway through your morning coffee. For me, it often found me in my car—windows up, music on, pretending to check my phone so no one would see the tears.

That space felt safe. Contained. And for a long time, that’s what I needed. But eventually, the car door had to open. I had to step out.

Sometimes breaking down isn’t a setback; it’s a clearing. It’s making room for what comes next.

Grief and Growth Can Coexist

The snow reminded me of something we often forget—beauty and brokenness can exist in the same space. I wasn’t just crying over what was lost. I was crying for what could still be. For the dreams I haven’t given up on. For the love I still have to give.

Grief doesn’t mean you’re stuck. It means you loved deeply enough to feel the loss. And sometimes, it’s that love that pushes you forward.

I thought about the woman I used to be—the one who clung to survival because thriving felt impossible. And then I thought about the woman I’m becoming—the one who’s learning that thriving doesn’t mean never breaking down again. It means trusting yourself to get back up.

The Blank Slate Moment

Standing in the snow, I realized that fresh starts don’t always come with a plan. Sometimes they start with tears and cold air and the terrifying feeling that you don’t know what comes next.

And maybe that’s the point.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to be willing to step into the blank slate and start shaping something new.

Permission to Feel and Heal

If you’re reading this and you’re still sitting in your car, crying it out—know this: It’s okay. Stay there as long as you need to. Feel it all.

But when you’re ready, open the door.

Step into the snow, the rain, or the sunshine—whatever is waiting outside—and let yourself believe that new beginnings can be born out of breakdowns.

You don’t have to let go of the past to move forward. You just have to trust that you’re strong enough to carry the lessons with you.

What Comes Next?

For me, it’s continuing to build. To love. To believe in a future I can’t fully see yet.

For you? That’s up to you to decide. But know this—whatever your blank slate looks like, you’re already brave enough to face it.

So take the first step. And if you need to cry along the way, let the tears fall. They don’t make you weak. They’re just proof that you’re still here, still fighting, still writing your story.

Because this? This is just the beginning.