I see it again and again in widow forums: someone quietly posts that they just can’t go back to their old job. The spark is gone. The purpose is gone. The energy is definitely gone. And they’re left wondering: Is this normal? (Spoiler: yes.)
For many of us, the job we once loved—or at least tolerated—suddenly feels impossible. It’s not just the grief fog. It’s not just the trauma. It’s your entire nervous system screaming, “This doesn’t fit anymore.”
I’ve been there. Deeply. Messily. Emotionally charged and wildly underprepared.
I left my job within months of my husband Andy dying. Not because I had a plan. Not because I had savings stacked up or a brilliant idea ready to launch. I left because my entire body was yelling at me to get out. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t strategic. But it was loud.
And honestly, looking back? It was right.
What Happens When Grief Meets the Workplace
Everything changes. You change. The job may technically be the same—but you’re not.
Your brain isn’t firing the way it used to. Your tolerance is gone. Your ability to engage in office banter or sit through another round of spreadsheets while your heart is still in splinters? Non-existent. The things that gave you purpose may now feel empty—or worse, ridiculous.
That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re grieving. And your nervous system is busy trying to keep you alive.
Add in solo parenting, childcare logistics, maybe even the creeping discovery that you’re neurodivergent (hello, me), and it’s no wonder that clocking in feels like climbing Everest.
My Story (AKA: I Did All the “Wrong” Things)
Before Andy got sick, I was already burned out in my job. But I stayed. Because that’s what you do, right? You cling to what you know. Even if it’s making you miserable.
Then Andy died.
And the people I worked with—people I’d known for decades—responded in ways that still make me wince, even now. I won’t go into all the details, but let’s just say that kindness was not the dominant theme.
I couldn’t stomach being in that space. It felt toxic. Unsafe. My nervous system couldn’t cope. So I left.
No backup plan. No new job lined up. Just me, grief, and a very empty calendar.
I don’t recommend doing it the way I did… unless your entire being is telling you it’s more dangerous to stay than to go. Then listen. Loudly.
What Helped (Eventually)
I spent a year doing what I now call “strategic floundering.” Parenting. Crying. Staring out the window. Avoiding decisions. Doing the absolute bare minimum, and sometimes not even that.
Eventually, I started freelance work—ironically, with the same company I’d just left, but also some other work I had picked up. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. That step backwards also underlined that this was no longer for me.
When lockdown hit, I stepped fully out of my comfort zone and did my yoga teacher training. Not because I had a grand plan, but because it was the only thing that felt remotely like healing. I started volunteering with Widowed and Young, leading yoga sessions online. Just tiny, tentative steps. Some practical, some from the heart.
Then my son’s school situation imploded. His needs were enormous. Mine were hanging by a thread. So I quit again. This time for good.
And then—with no map, no mentor, and no marketing plan—I started building the life I have now.
If You’re Here, Wobbling on the Edge of Change
Let me say this: I didn’t have a grand vision. I didn’t sit down with a five-year plan. I had a gut feeling. A panicked, exhausted, deeply uncomfortable gut feeling that said: This job is hurting you more than unemployment ever could.
You may be feeling something similar.
So what can you do?
1. Listen to your nervous system
Is your job draining you? Making you feel physically ill? That’s not just grief—that’s your whole being rejecting the environment.
2. Get practical
How long can you survive financially? What’s your support network like? Can you take a leave? Switch roles? Scale back? There are options, even when it feels like there aren’t.
3. Try tiny steps
You don’t have to launch a business or retrain overnight. Just start noticing what lights you up (even a little). What soothes you. What feels like you, now.
4. Remember that grief rewires everything
You’re not going back to “normal.” But that doesn’t mean you won’t find something that fits the new you better. Something that allows for slowness, honesty, and meaning.
5. Let it be messy
Your path will not be linear. Mine wasn’t. Most aren’t. There will be trial and error. False starts. Panic. Regret. Hope. Progress. Repeat.
Final Thought
You’re allowed to change.
You’re allowed to outgrow the life you had—even if it came with a steady paycheck.
You’re allowed to prioritise peace over productivity. Healing over hustle.
This isn’t career advice. It’s permission.
To slow down. To listen in. To imagine a different life.
Even if you have no idea what that looks like yet.
You don’t have to go back to being who you were before. You’re not that person anymore.
And that’s not a failure.
It’s the beginning of something new.
You don’t need to have a plan. You don’t need to have a new dream career mapped out. You don’t even need to make any decisions today. But you do deserve work (or rest, or something in between) that doesn’t feel like it’s draining the last of your already-battered nervous system.
If you’re in the thick of this, please know: it’s okay to be unsure. It’s okay to want more. And if your body is screaming at you to leave a situation that no longer fits, listen. Your grief has already taught you how precious your energy is.
If you’d like gentle 1:1 support in navigating all this—especially if your nervous system is still stuck in panic, fog, or shutdown—I have space opening up soon – drop me an email if this is what you need (hello@orlablackburn.com).
P.S.
If you need a space to be seen and validated, please check out my Support page of various ways I can be there to listen and hold space for you.
The Widow Podcast with Karen Sutton (my Remember partner) – I am the guest on this episode. Have a listen as you are doing the boring chores.
I have other blogs that explore grief, parenting, love, and the chaos of being human. You can read more here, or if you’re looking for something gentle to hold you right now, download my free guided meditation here.
You can also sign up for my newsletter to stay connected, be aware of when my next blog drops, or check out what I’m offering at the moment that might support you in your own story of loss.
You’re not alone—even when it feels like it.