Episode 132: Blooming Again (When You’re Ready)
10/8/25
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You are listening to the Life Reconstructed podcast with me, Teresa Amaral Beshwate—grief
expert, best-selling author, and widow. I’m so glad you’re here, because in this and every
episode, I shine a light on the widowed way forward.
Hello and welcome back. If you’ve ever felt like you’re still here but not really blooming, this
episode for you. After my husband died, I felt like the orchid on my windowsill—alive, but
flowerless. I was functioning on the outside and hurting on the inside, while believable
thoughts—my “weeds”—quietly choked out anything beautiful. In today’s episode, I’ll share how I
began questioning those stories with kindness, the small practices that created space for new
growth, and what blooming looks like when you’re honoring your person and finding yourself again
—at your own pace.
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A couple of years ago, a dear friend gave me a blooming orchid. The good news? I’ve kept it
alive. The not-so-good news? It hasn’t bloomed again. For a long time, that orchid reminded me
of me after my husband died—still standing, but not blooming. I was going through the motions,
functioning on the outside, but inside I felt flat, foggy, and very far from who I used to be.
The Garden in Your Mind
When I looked closer—at myself, not just the plant—I noticed my mind felt like a neglected
garden. It was full of weeds: old thoughts, inherited beliefs, and stories I repeated because
they sounded true. Thoughts like:
“I should be further along.”
“If I feel joy, I’m disrespecting him.”
“It will always hurt like this.”
“Other people know how to do this better than I do.”
No one hands us an owner’s manual for grief, so we default to whatever grows easily. And in an
untended garden, weeds do very well.
What changed everything for me was learning to question my thoughts. Not with self-criticism,
but with curiosity:
Is this thought absolutely, factually true?
How do I feel and act when I think it?
Who might I be—just for a moment—without it?
Is there another, still-honest thought I could try on?
I didn’t rip out every weed in a day. I just started noticing, one thought at a time, and asking
simple questions. Little by little, that created space for new growth.
What Blooming Looked Like for Me
As I questioned my stories, a few important shifts happened:
I learned how to honor him while also finding myself again.
I discovered a fresh sense of meaning and purpose.
I traded guilt and regret for genuine, version-2.0 happiness.
I learned how to love—and be loved—again.
I built a full, beautiful life.
And eventually, I began helping others who were hurting.
That’s what blooming looks like for me. Your bloom may look different—and that’s exactly right
for you. There’s no finish line and no single flower we’re all trying to become.
Here’s something a Life Reconstructed client said that I love:
“I’m living again, fully, and I feel more confident about my ability to face upcoming challenges
without letting them overwhelm me.”
That’s blooming. Not “fixed,” not “done,” but steady confidence that you can meet what comes
next.
If You’re Not Blooming Yet
If you’re listening and thinking, “I’m barely surviving,” please hear this: Staying alive is not
nothing—it’s everything. Plants without flowers are still life. Orchids have long, quiet seasons
of root and leaf growth. If you’re in that season, you’re not behind; you’re building capacity.
A Simple Framework: Weed • Water • Light • Support
If you’re ready for a gentle nudge forward, here’s a small, repeatable practice I recommend.
Weed (one thought):
Notice one recurring painful thought. Write it down. Ask the four questions I suggested: Is this
thought absolutely, factually true?
How do I feel and act when I think it?
Who might I be—just for a moment—without it?
Is there another, still-honest thought I could try on?
Then try a kinder, still-true alternative.
“I should be further along” → “I’m moving at a human pace, and that’s allowed.”
2) Water (one feeling):
Set a two-minute timer. Breathe with one feeling you’ve been avoiding. Name where it lives in
your body. Let it rise and fall like a wave. You’re building tolerance—not performing
perfection.
3) Light (one tiny action):
Choose a 60-second action that points toward life: step outside, drink water, text a grief-savvy
friend, put one song on. Tiny actions add up.
4) Support (stake the stem):
Plants sometimes need a stake to grow upright. What’s your stake this week? A support group, a
coaching call, a therapist, a trusted friend, a routine you can lean on? Put it on your
calendar.
Repeat this sequence as often as needed. Healing is a practice, not a pass/fail test.
Journal Prompts for Your Week
What “weed thought” has been the loudest lately? What might a kinder, still-honest version sound
like?
Where in your body do you feel today’s dominant emotion? How does it shift when you breathe with
it for two minutes?
What does blooming mean for you at this stage—three words is enough.
What is one “stake” you can add for support this week?
A Word on Honoring and Living
Some of our most painful weeds grow from love: “If I’m okay, it means I’ve moved on.” Here’s the
reframe I offer my clients: Love isn’t a tether to the past; it’s a bridge to your future. Your
blooming doesn’t erase what was. It’s one of the many ways you continue the story you built
together.
Your Next Step
You don’t have to settle for simply existing. You don’t have to wait for time to heal. You can
begin blooming again—starting now. This week, try Weed • Water • Light • Support once. Then
notice: what changed 1%?
If this episode resonated, share it with another widowed friend who might need a gentle nudge
toward the light. And if you want personalized support for this process, you’ll find options in
the show notes.
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Thanks for listening to Life Reconstructed. I’m Teresa Amaral Beshwate, and I’ll see you next
time—same place, same purpose: to shine a light on the widowed way forward.
