If there was one thing that I was most afraid of when it came time to dating again, it was the fear of the guilt I would feel. I had heard the stories and seen the movies about loss and the overwhelming feeling of ‘replacement’ that I would experience when I thought I was ready. Honestly, when the time came, it wasn’t guilt that I felt at all. It was the lingering question, “Am I ready?”

I had already realized that I wasn’t quite ‘whole.’ I had lost my left arm, my right leg, a large part of me. I had lost so much of myself that I wasn’t even sure if I knew who I was anymore. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for when I started to date again. Comradery? Benefits? Am I looking for a long term relationship? Or short term? I wasn’t sure where I was going on the next step of this adventure, all I knew was that I FELT ready, so I decided to jump in. 

Little did I know that I was absolutely NOT ready. It was about one year after he had passed, and I had totally transplanted my life. I was in a new state, with a new job, in a whole new world trying to adapt, and it was utterly overwhelming. Trying to keep it all together was like trying to herd stray cats! Between my up and down emotional state, learning a new job, trying to make friends, and adapting to a new way of living, I was a mess. There were times where I completely broke down in tears in the grocery store, or when a particular song came on in the car. But, for some reason, I still FELT like I was ready. 

Maybe it was the need for companionship; maybe it was the need for some kind of ‘normal,’ perhaps both of the above and other reasons. Even after a few ‘relationships,’ I realized that I wasn’t ready, but for some reason, kept going. It was like some kind of self-destruction combined with temporary bliss that I now realize was part of the individual growth necessary for recovering from this loss. The self-destruction came in the form of bad, fake, and temporary relationships that I knew wouldn’t last. The bliss came from dates, kisses, hand-holding, and all the physical aspects of a partner that I apparently needed to feel ‘complete.’ 

It wasn’t until I stopped dating to spend time focusing on myself that I realized I only prolonged the healing process. It wasn’t until I was truly alone with my thoughts and habits to create an individual routine that I realized just how much more growth I needed before going into a long-term relationship. Those nights alone with prayer healed my heart. Those days of visiting parks by myself, I found friends. And days of doing what I wanted to do where I rediscovered my new likes and dislikes. Quite frankly, if I had only given myself a little more time to absorb my new reality and grow into ‘me,’ I don’t think it would have taken so long to find love again. 

I realize that everyone is different when they are ready to move on. And there is one important factor I need to point out here; there is no defined time-frame for when someone is ready to begin dating again. I know other widows who were married within one year after their loved one’s passing, others take longer, and others are shorter. If you are a friend or family member of a widow going through the phases of loving again, do NOT hate on their status. If it’s single, let them be single. If they feel they are ready to start dating again, let them date. It’s not for you to decide how far along their healing has come. Their love, their readiness, their healing is their own. Support them, encourage them, love them, and help them to recover at their own pace. Loving again is not a race, but a matter of putting the pieces of a broken heart back together, however slow or fast.