My Heart and the Birthday

Last night, I had to navigate one of those quietly painful moments that can catch you off guard, even years after loss.
I was driving to a family birthday, and though I adore my family, my heart was heavy. John—my beloved—was always the joy, the laughter, the spark at these gatherings. His absence felt immense.
I found myself wondering if I could even stay long enough to see the cake cut.
I could feel the grief pressing down, making it hard to breathe, hard to smile. I didn’t want to bring that weight into the room. I didn’t want to dim anyone’s joy. But more than that—I didn’t want to miss the celebration. I wanted to be there.
So I turned to the tool I’ve leaned on many times before.
I closed my eyes and opened my heart. What I saw was black goo—thick and overwhelming—pouring out like a river. And I let it.
In my mind’s eye, I imagined it flowing into a box. No reason, just what appeared. And then, to speed things up, I added a vacuum hose—drawing the blackness out from every corner of my heart. Until all that was left was my strong, red heart, clear and ready.
I handed that box off to the invisible, agreeing hands I’ve come to trust. And with that, I arrived at the party.
And yes—I laughed. I connected. I stayed till the end. I was there.
What a miraculous instrument the imagination is. Einstein called it more important than knowledge—and I’ve found it to be one of the most powerful tools for emotional healing.
I’ve used techniques like this many, many times.
They work.
They lift the weight.
They change the energy—fast.To anyone else who walks with grief or heavy emotion: you are not alone.
And yes, it is possible to feel deeply and still shine.With love and light,
JudyIf this story speaks to your heart, please share it. Let’s grow more calm and Light in the world—together.