Shalanda E. Williams

There are moments in life that divide your story into two parts: before and after.

Losing my husband was that moment for me.

One day, I had plans, dreams, expectations, and a future that included the man I loved. Then, suddenly, life looked completely different. I wasn’t prepared for grief. I wasn’t prepared for the silence, the questions, or the reality of learning how to live in a world that no longer looked the way I thought it would.

But I discovered something in that painful season:

Life can break your heart without breaking your purpose.

For a while, I thought strength meant holding everything together. I learned that real strength sometimes looks completely different. Sometimes strength is crying and still getting out of bed. Sometimes it’s praying when you don’t understand what God is doing. Sometimes it’s admitting, “Today is hard,” and still believing tomorrow can be different.

I learned that grieving and growing can happen at the same time.

I can miss my husband and still move forward.

I can have tears in my eyes and still have a vision in my heart.

I can acknowledge what I’ve lost without losing sight of everything that still remains.

That’s where I’M STILL became more than a phrase for me. It became a declaration.

I’m still here.

I’m still standing.

I’m still believing.

I’m still dreaming.

I’m still becoming.

I’m still walking in purpose.

Grief didn’t erase the woman I was. In many ways, it introduced me to a strength inside myself that I didn’t know I would ever need.

My pain began changing the way I looked at my life. I started looking differently at my health, my faith, my business, my writing, and the people God was placing in my path.

I realized that maybe everything I had survived wasn’t meant to stay locked inside of me.

Maybe another woman needed to hear, “You can make it through this.”

Maybe another widow needed to see someone living again without feeling guilty for it.

Maybe another woman whose life changed unexpectedly needed permission to believe that starting over doesn’t mean forgetting where she’s been.

That realization helped turn my pain into purpose.

Today, as an author, entrepreneur, and certified grief coach, I have an opportunity to take what life has taught me and use it to encourage others. I don’t speak about grief because I read about it in a book. I speak from a place of having walked through loss while continuing to discover what healing looks like for me.

And healing doesn’t mean I stopped loving.

It doesn’t mean I stopped remembering.

It doesn’t mean every day became easy.

Healing means I decided grief would have a place in my life, but it would not have all of my life.

That’s something I want every woman going through a difficult season to understand.

Your life may look different now.

Your plans may have changed.

Something you prayed would never happen may have happened.

But different does not mean finished.

There is still life beyond this chapter.

There are still dreams you haven’t dreamed yet, people you haven’t met, rooms you haven’t walked into, and lives you haven’t touched.

You don’t have to rush your healing to get there.

Take your time.

Cry when you need to cry. Rest when you need to rest. Pray when you don’t have the words. Ask for help when you need it. But don’t mistake a painful chapter for the conclusion of your story.

You are allowed to live again.

You are allowed to laugh again.

You are allowed to build again.

You are allowed to become excited about your future again.

And none of that takes away from what—or who—you have loved.

I didn’t choose the chapter that changed my life. But every morning that I wake up, I get another opportunity to choose what I will do with the life that remains.

And I’m choosing to live it.

I’m choosing purpose.

I’m choosing faith.

I’m choosing healing.

I’m choosing to keep becoming.

Because my story didn’t end when my heart was broken.

And neither does yours.

Whatever you’re facing today, remind yourself:

I’m still here.

I’m still worthy.

I’m still becoming.

I’m still called.

I’m still carrying purpose.

And as long as I’m still here, God is still writing my story.

I’M STILL.