For nearly fifty years, my life moved forward within a whole and protected space. Looking back, I can see how deeply blessed those decades were, filled from the very beginning with a steady reservoir of love and warmth.
That long, gentle season of happiness remained unbroken until I was 48 years old, when my father’s passing softly, yet permanently, pulled back the curtain on the world I had always known.
Then, the foundation shifted.
As a grief counselor today, I humbly walk with people through the profound disruptions of life, those tender moments where the ground beneath them completely gives way. I know the anatomy of a shattered world because my own great disruption began with the death of my father. His passing quietly revealed the fragile spaces and hidden hurts that had always existed beneath the surface of our family life.
The Illusion of the Perfect Script
In the quiet, reflective aftermath of his death, a bittersweet truth became undeniable: our family relationships lacked genuine emotional depth. Everything had remained peaceful only as long as life was lived in a certain, set way.
My father had been the silent director, gently keeping each of us in our designated roles. He was the glue holding our family system together. When the director left the stage, the familiar script fell apart, and the long-held illusion of a whole, united family softly dissolved.
Following my dad’s death, I entered a season of deep vulnerability, learning to find my way through the stillness of a lonely landscape. Recently, I sat down to reflect on the journal entries and counseling notes I made during and after that time. Re-reading those pages was therapeutic, offering an honest, heart-baring look at my past.
Through the exact same empathetic lens, I use with those I support and care for today, I had to gently hold space for just how lost and spiritually depleted I truly was back then.
The Rhythm of Conditional Love and Pastoral Care
The root of my own quiet unraveling went deeper than grief; it was anchored in a lifelong struggle with accepting my own inherent worth. For decades, I wrestled with the concept of being valued simply for who I was, rather than for the role I performed.
Within the world of pastoral care and ministry, I naturally became a caregiver, stepping into the familiar role of the rescuer. I poured myself out for others, holding onto a quiet belief that giving everything away was the only way to secure my own value. My identity became entirely wrapped up in being strong, being available, and keeping the peace, all while my own internal world was steadily wearing down.
I have seen so many others walk through this same exhausting cycle in my ministry. So many of us carry an unspoken weight: the belief that to be safe we must be perfect, and to be loved means never showing our broken pieces. We become the faithful caretakers of everyone else’s comfort, while our own hearts weaken in the silence.
Through the stillness of my own recovery, I finally learned that the greatest gift we can offer the world is the courage to be true to ourselves. True caregiving does not require us to erase who we are; rather, it invites us to first practice a deep, intentional self-care. It is only when we tend to our own fragile spaces that we find a stronger, more sustainable strength—allowing us to truly be there for the ones we care for, without losing ourselves in the process.
What My Grief Taught Me About Healing
It was during this chapter of life that I encountered The Empowerment Dynamic (TED*), which completely transformed how I understand the healing process.
For years, I had unwittingly participated in a subconscious “Drama Triangle,” shifting between the exhaustion of trying to rescue everyone else and the quiet despair of feeling like a Victim to my own circumstances. TED* offered me a map out of the wilderness, and it is the very framework that guides my counseling work today.
It invites us to trade the exhaustion of relational drama for the freedom of empowerment:
- We shift from Victim to Creator. Grief can make us feel entirely powerless, as if life is simply happening to us. I teach those I walk with what I needed to learn myself: we cannot control the loss; we retain the sacred power to choose how we rebuild our lives in the present.
- We shift from Rescuer to Coach. I had to stop trying to “fix” people simply to validate my own worth. Today, my role as a grief counselor isn’t to save you from your pain, my role is to sit with you, deeply trusting your own innate capacity to heal.
- We shift from Persecutor to Challenger. It is natural to view a profound life disruption as an enemy. Together, those I serve, and I work to reframe grief, viewing it not as a punishment, yet as a fierce, necessary teacher forcing us to shed our old illusions.
Walking the Path Together
Stepping out of the old family script and shedding the weight of conditional expectations was the hardest work I have ever done. Still, it is precisely what allows me to sit across from those I support today with an authentic, unshakeable presence. I do not ask them to go anywhere I have not traveled myself.
We cannot change the fragile spaces of our past, nor can we bring back the directors who once held our world together. Still as a grief counselor, and as someone who has stood exactly where you are standing, I promise you this: you can choose, right now, to step off the stage of performance and step into a life of genuine, unfiltered truth.
Join the Conversation
I hope to hear from you. If you feel comfortable sharing, how has a major life disruption forced you to look at your own old scripts? Have you ever found yourself playing the role of the “Rescuer” at the expense of your own healing?
If sharing your personal story feels a bit too heavy right now, you are welcome to simply reply with a single emoji, or let me know: Did the concept of moving from a Rescuer to a Coach resonate with you today?