Grief Didn’t Ruin Me. It Rebuilt Me.

Written By Melissa Hull

I used to believe grief would destroy me.

That it already had.

I looked at my life and saw ashes where beauty used to live. Shattered pieces too small to matter. A silence that swallowed the sound of who I used to be.

There was a time, longer than I care to admit, when I couldn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts through the static of pain. I couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t hurt to think about.

I thought grief had taken everything. But what I didn’t see back then was that grief wasn’t the end of my life.

It was the invitation to build a new one.

And that’s what I want to talk about. Not the glossy version. Not the polished story wrapped up in a five-step formula. I want to tell you the real truth.

Because if you’re in the place I once was — hollow, unraveling, afraid to hope again — you don’t need someone to cheering you on. You need someone who’s been in the wreckage. Who sat in the silence. Who didn’t just survive, but let the grief transform them.

That’s why I’m here. To tell you what I wish someone had told me in the beginning.

The Lie Grief Told Me

When I lost my son, Drew, the color drained from the world.

Not metaphorically — literally.

The sky, the trees, the flowers… everything looked muted, like someone had dimmed the world without warning. Food lost its flavor. Music lost its meaning. Laughter sounded like a language I no longer understood.

I wasn’t living. I was existing.

And during that time, grief whispered lie after lie:

  • You’ll never feel whole again.

  • Joy isn’t for you anymore.

  • You missed your one chance at a meaningful life.

I believed it. Because when you’re deep in the center of loss, those lies feel like facts. The pain is real. And it feels final.

But now I know something I didn’t back then.

Grief doesn’t end you.

It brings you to the threshold of becoming someone new.

Rebuilding Isn’t a Straight Line

People crave before-and-after stories.

They want timelines, step-by-step instructions, clear signs that you’re getting better.

But healing doesn’t move in a straight line. It circles back. It doubles over. It disappears for a while and then reappears in the most inconvenient moments.

Some weeks I felt grounded, even peaceful. Other days a smell, a date, or the sound of a child’s voice would unravel me. I’d fall apart again and wonder if I was doing something wrong.

But healing isn’t measured by how far forward you go. It’s measured by how gently you return to the same broken places — this time with more compassion than before.

Grief didn’t destroy me.

It stripped away everything I wasn’t.

I Had to Let the Old Me Go

This is the part no one really talks about.

The woman I was before? She’s gone.

Not because she was weak. Not because she didn’t matter. But because grief rewrites your understanding of everything — safety, fairness, control.

I didn’t just lose my son. I lost the illusion that life makes sense if you follow the rules. I lost the part of me that lived to meet everyone’s expectations. I lost the version of me who smiled through pain just to make others comfortable.

And I’ve grieved her too.

She got me through more than most people will ever know. She deserved a soft and sacred goodbye.

This Wasn’t Reinvention. It Was Remembering.

People love the phrase “reinvent yourself.”

But for me, healing didn’t feel like becoming someone new. It felt like uncovering someone old.

Like peeling back the layers of fear, duty and pressure — until I could finally hear my own voice again.

The quiet one. The wise one.

The voice that whispered:

  • There’s still beauty here.

  • You’re allowed to want more.

  • You’re not here just to survive.

And when I heard it, I followed it. Even when I was scared. Even when I didn’t know where it would lead.

I Started with the Smallest Things

Healing doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic.

Mine started with getting out of bed.

Standing in the grass barefoot. Letting the sun touch my face and not turning away.

It looked like lighting a candle and saying Drew’s name aloud.

It looked like crying in the bathtub and not being self critical for it.

It looked like whispering “help me” when I didn’t have the words for anything else.

I didn’t have a five-year vision. I just knew I couldn’t keep feeling dead inside.

And that was enough to begin.

Joy Was the Most Radical Thing I Reclaimed

There’s a strange kind of guilt that sneaks in when joy returns.

As if smiling betrays the grief.

As if laughter makes what you lost less sacred.

But that’s another lie.

Joy doesn’t mean forgetting.

Joy doesn’t mean you’re “over it.”

Joy is what happens when love survives loss.

Joy is proof that something beautiful still lives inside you.

I didn’t laugh because I moved on from Drew.

I laughed because loving him changed me.

And joy is one of the ways he still changes me.

Even now, joy is special. It’s sacred. It’s hard-won.

And I had to fight for it.

This Isn’t the End. It’s the Rewrite.

If you feel numb right now, like there’s nothing left to live for…

I need you to hear this:

Your life isn’t over.

It’s being rewritten.

One word, one day, one breath at a time.

You don’t need to rush. You don’t need to have it all figured out.

You just need to want more — even if more feels far away.

You’re not here to stay in pieces.

You’re not here to live a quiet, half-life.

You’re here to reclaim. To expand. To rebuild a life that honors what you’ve lost — without being defined by it.

And you don’t have to do it alone.

This Isn’t a Happy Ending. It’s a New Beginning.

Grief didn’t ruin me.

It asked me to rebuild from the inside out.

And in that process, I found strength that wasn’t about pretending — it was about presence.

I found purpose that wasn’t performative — it was soulful.

I found joy that didn’t depend on the outside world — it was rooted in meaning.

If you’re standing in your own storm right now, it’s okay if you can’t see what’s next.

I couldn’t either.

But I’m here to remind you:

You are not broken.

You are breaking open.

You are not lost.

You are becoming.

You are not beyond healing.

You are already healing.

Let it take the time it takes.

Because your story isn’t ending here.

It’s unfolding into something more…something deeper, richer, and more beautiful than you imagined possible.

And I’ll be right here, walking with you every step of the way.

All my love,

Melissa

I’d love to keep the conversation going. Whether you’re looking for free resources, inspiration, healing tools, or want to dive deeper through my courses and podcast — there’s a space for you here:

Wherever you are on your healing journey, know that you’re not alone.

Melissa Hull
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The Best Thing You Can Do for Yourself When You’re Facing Adversity From Loss and Are Grieving