Leadership and Loss: Navigating Grief After the Death of a Life Partner

There are moments in life that split everything into “before” and “after.”

I entered one of those moments the day I lost my husband - my life partner of 28 years. My Stefan wasn’t just my other half; he was my mirror, my anchor, my greatest ally. We had been together since we were young. Who I was, how I became who I am; it was all shaped in partnership with him.

And then suddenly, I was no longer a wife. I no longer had “my other” by my side. I was a widow. A single mother to two teenagers who still needed me.

I was the one made to go on.

But I didn’t know how.

The Face of Grief They Don’t Show You

Grief is not a straight line, and it is certainly not graceful. Mine came with a fog so thick I couldn’t see who I was anymore. There were days I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror or in my own thoughts. Sleep was scarce. Food was a chore. Decision-making became nearly impossible. I was in trauma. In many ways, I still am. Yet, the world kept turning.

My children still needed stability. My clients still expected leadership. My business still needed a captain. I had to rise - even if all I could do that day was breathe, show up in my fog, and speak from whatever truth I could access.

Grief doesn’t arrive gently. It crashes in. It’s raw, confusing, exhausting. There’s no manual for how to wake up without the person you built your life with, no map for parenting through pain while trying to keep your heart from shattering.

The Unspoken Weight of “Going On”

People often speak of resilience like it’s a badge of honour. But sometimes, resilience is simply breathing through another morning. It’s doing the laundry. It’s making sure there’s food on the table. It’s holding space for your children’s grief while your own feels too big to name.

When you become the “one left to go on,” you carry not just your sorrow, and grieve even deeper for your children’s loss but you also grieve the unfulfilled hopes of the life you were building together. The birthday cards they’ll never write. The graduations they won’t attend. The future that shifted course in a heartbeat. And yet, you go on - not because you want to, always, but because love demands it.

The Unseen Strength of Heart-Led Leadership

This is where heart-based leadership stopped being a philosophy and became my survival strategy. Leading with heart doesn’t mean having it all figured out - it means staying connected to the truth of what is, even when that truth is pain. It means allowing yourself to be human, messy, cracked wide open, and still show up, not in spite of the cracks, but because of them.

I discovered that grief, as unbearable as it is, also carves out space for a new version of self to emerge. Not better. Not stronger. Just… more real. More aware. More awake to what matters.

Who Am I Without Him?

This is a question I’m still living into. When you’ve spent nearly three decades growing beside someone, the idea of an “independent self” feels foreign, even false. I didn’t just lose my husband, I lost who I was with him, and the identity we built together.

But I’m learning, slowly, painfully, that there is still a “me” here. A woman with wisdom. With a heart that still beats. With gifts that are still needed. With children who are still watching. With deep love to give and even deeper empathy than ever before within my being.

When Leadership is Just Getting Out of Bed

Some days, leadership looks like strategy sessions and client calls. Other days, it looks like brushing my teeth, answering one email, and not hiding under the covers. And on the hardest days, leadership is letting myself cry in the shower before facing my clients and my team.

This season of grief has taught me more about leadership than any book or training ever could. I’ve learned that leading through heartbreak means:

• Letting people in.

• Saying “I don’t know” and “I’m not okay.”

• Holding space for others while barely holding yourself together.

• Drawing strength from connection, not performance.

  
  

This Is the Work

In coaching, we often talk about emotional intelligence, conscious leadership, and inner work. But nothing has taught me more about those things than this traumatic and deeply personal experience of loss and grief.

To those who are navigating loss of any kind—death, divorce, identity, health - this is what I want you to know:

• You are still a leader.

• You are still whole, even in your heartbreak.

• You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

• The path forward will be messy, and meaningful.

We don’t lead in spite of our wounds. We lead through them.

So if you find yourself suddenly the one left to carry on, know this: you are not alone. Your courage doesn’t lie in your ability to “move on” - it lies in your willingness to stay present, stay open, and take the next step. Even when your voice shakes. Even when your heart breaks. That is leadership. That is love. That is legacy. And that is enough.

Honouring the legacy of love

This July, it will be two years since my Stefan passed. A part of me feels like he was just here yesterday. A part of me feels like it’s been a lifetime since he transitioned. I miss him every day, and each day, I have to remind myself that “even this” will have to be for my highest good. He would want me to go on.

I am determined to keep living and leading, honoring his life and legacy. He was my heart’s companion, and even though he’s no longer physically by my side, I carry his memory, his love, and his values with me. His legacy is woven into the work I do, the leadership coaching I offer, and the love I continue to give, and in the relationships I nurture from here on. I continue to lead in life and work, not only for myself and my children but for him, as well.

Grief Doesn’t Follow a Timeline - It Moves in Circles

When I first lost Stefan, people gently mentioned the “stages of grief.” Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. As a leadership coach, I understood the theory. But living it? That’s a whole different language.

What no one tells you is that grief is not linear. It’s not a to-do list you can check off in tidy order. It’s a spiral. You don’t just move through denial and never return. You revisit it, sometimes years later, when a smell or a song or a season takes you back. Life can feel very surreal at times. You can feel acceptance one moment, only to be swept up in rage or heartbreak the next.

It’s like waves on the shore. Some days, the tide is gentle. You function. You smile. You even laugh. Other days, the wave knocks you down without warning, and you’re left gasping for breath on the sand.

As someone who teaches leadership, this looping, messy, raw process challenged everything I thought I knew about progress and growth. I had to let go of the idea that healing meant “moving on.” It doesn’t. Healing, for me, has meant learning to carry the grief - and somehow, still live. The grief does not subside, but I have grown bigger so I can better hold it all.

And here’s the paradox: Grief is circular, but each time you come back to it, you’re slightly different. Slightly wiser. Slightly more spacious. Not because the pain has disappeared, but because your capacity to sit with it has grown.

Grief as a Teacher

Grief has become one of my greatest teachers. Grief has taught me:

• To be patient with myself in a way I never was before.

• To meet myself and others with more grace, because we never truly know what someone is carrying.

• To lead from the center of my humanity, not from the illusion of perfection.

This is what I now bring into my work: a deeper understanding that people carry invisible battles. That real leadership meets people in the swirl, not just when they’re polished and strong, but when they’re raw, uncertain, and just trying to stay upright.

So if you’re circling through grief right now, know that you’re not doing it wrong. It’s not supposed to be tidy. And you’re not supposed to “get over it.” You’re learning to carry it - and that is an act of strength.

To Those Still Standing After Loss

If you’re navigating profound grief while still trying to lead your business, your family, and yourself - I see you. There is nothing weak about your pain. In fact, I believe this is where real leadership begins: when everything is stripped away and all that’s left is your heart, still beating.

If you feel like you’re unraveling, you’re not alone. And you don’t have to put yourself back together all at once. Leading with your heart doesn’t mean being whole; it means being willing to stay open.

Final thoughts

If you’re walking your own “after,” know this: you’re allowed to feel broken and still build something beautiful. You can grieve and grow. You can lead and fall apart. Healing and leadership are not separate journeys - they’re interconnected.

Whether you are navigating grief, leading through change, or seeking to align more fully with your purpose, I can guide you. Reach out for a free consultation, and together, we can explore how you can step into a heart-led leadership that honours both your journey and your growth. I offer coaching and connection for leaders, creators and soul-seekers walking through real life transitions, and still showing up with purpose. Let’s walk together.

I want to remind you that you are not alone in this journey. No matter the depth of the pain or the uncertainty you feel, the strength to go on is already inside you. Grief showed me that I was even more powerful than I ever dared imagine. Sometimes, it just takes a little guidance and a lot of compassion to find your power. Seek out a support network and above all, give yourself grace in your grief. As we walk through life’s hardest moments, we can still lead from our wounded hearts, because that is where true leadership begins.