Hello, sweet friend, and welcome back.
Today’s episode feels a little heavier, but also really important, because I think so many of us are silently carrying the weight of it: the question of identity after loss. If you’re new here, I’m Dionna, and I just want you to know you are so very welcome here. Whether you’re walking through grief yourself, supporting someone who is, or simply feeling a little bit lost these days, this is a safe space for you.
When the Ground Shifts Beneath You
When my husband passed away in May of 2022, I thought the hardest part would be the absence — the missing, the empty spaces he once filled, the deafening quiet where his voice used to be. I braced myself for birthdays without him, holidays without his laugh, ordinary mornings that no longer started with a sleepy kiss or a quick hug in the kitchen.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the way losing him would make me lose pieces of myself, too.
Overnight, it felt like the word wife slipped from my hands, replaced by a title I had never wanted — widow. It was a word that felt foreign and cold, as if it somehow erased all the life, love, and memories we had built together. It hurt in ways I didn’t know words could touch.
And just as I was beginning to find my footing again, my world shifted once more. A little over a year later, I lost my only brother — my protector, my childhood partner in crime, the one person who could make me laugh no matter how bad the day had been.
That loss cut just as deeply but in a different way. I wasn’t just grieving the absence of him; I was grieving the part of myself that had always been someone’s little sister. I realized that when we lose the people who helped define us, we lose part of the way we see ourselves, too.
Suddenly, I was standing in front of the mirror asking questions I never thought I would have to ask:
Who am I now?
What do I love?
Where do I belong in a world that feels so unfamiliar?
If you find yourself asking those same questions, please hear me: you are not broken, and you are not alone. This is what it looks like to be human — to love deeply, to lose deeply, and then to find our way back to ourselves, slowly and tenderly, one step at a time.
We Are More Than Our Titles
When I was growing up, it seemed like everyone was determined not to be labeled. We wore shirts that said things like “Don’t label me!” and prided ourselves on being free, undefined, and independent.
But somewhere along the way, life taught me that we actually do cling to labels — not out of fear or conformity, but because they tell the world who we love and how we love. Titles like wife, mom, sister, daughter, friend, caretaker — they aren’t just roles we play. They are the heartbeat of the lives we are building.
When death came for the ones I loved, it felt like those labels were stripped away without my consent, leaving me exposed and aching. I didn’t ask to be a widow. I didn’t choose to be a sister left behind. And for a long time, that made me so, so angry. It felt unjust. It felt like everything that gave my life its shape and meaning had been stolen.
But slowly, and so gently, God began whispering a different truth to my heart:
“Your real identity has never changed. You are still Mine.”
Remembering Who We Are
No matter what this broken world tries to label us — widow, orphan, single mother, survivor, failure — there is a deeper identity that death, grief, and loss can never touch.
We are daughters and sons of the King.
We are chosen, loved beyond measure, fearfully and wonderfully made.
We are called by name, never forgotten, always cherished.
When I allow myself to rest in that truth, it soothes the raw edges of my heart. It reminds me that even when everything feels unfamiliar — when the mirror reflects a version of myself I barely recognize — I am not lost. I am not less-than. I am still exactly who God says I am.
And so are you.
You are not defined by what has been taken from you.
You are defined by the love that created you and the grace that still holds you.
Carrying Their Love Forward
Last night, while flipping through my Bible, a photograph slipped out from between the pages — a picture of my brother and his two youngest boys, all of them smiling wide and shining with life.
It broke me a little bit, because the last time I saw my brother, he wasn’t smiling like that. Life had weighed heavily on him toward the end, and sometimes, the final memories we have of our loved ones can feel so heavy that they threaten to eclipse all the good.
But God, in His mercy, reminded me of a better memory — a simpler, sweeter one — from our childhood. I remembered the afternoons we spent in “Plum Heaven,” a patch of wild plum trees in our backyard where we would climb and laugh and gorge ourselves on plums until our fingers and mouths were stained purple. It was sticky, messy, carefree joy. And it is just as real, just as much a part of his story and mine, as the hard memories.
Grief does not erase the good.
Loss does not erase who they were or who we are.
Their love still lives in us.
Our stories continue.
Even when the titles change, even when the path ahead feels unfamiliar, we are still beloved, still whole, and still held by the One who calls us His own.
Final Thoughts
If you are sitting in the messy middle of grief today, wondering who you are without the people you have lost, I hope you hear my heart: you are not alone. You are still you. And you are so deeply loved — right here, right now, even in the wondering, even in the wandering.
Hold on to that.
Hold on to Him.
And hold on to the truth that you are more than the titles you have worn.
You are a masterpiece still being shaped by the hands of the Master Artist Himself.
