Episode 173: The Purpose Series, part 4 of 5
7/22/26
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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 to episode 173 of Life Reconstructed: a widowed way forward. This is part 4 of
our July series on meaning and purpose after loss.
Last week, we talked about living the question.
About releasing the pressure to immediately know your purpose, your future, or exactly who
you're becoming.
We talked about how uncertainty is not an emergency, even though your primitive brain often
treats it like one.
And today, I want to build on that idea.
Because if we're not forcing answers, what do we do instead?
We get curious.
We explore.
We experiment.
We become willing to be beginners again.
And I know that sounds simple.
But after loss, it can feel surprisingly difficult.
Because grief changes us.
And one of the things grief often changes is our willingness to take risks.
Not necessarily huge risks.
But emotional risks.
Social risks.
Identity risks.
The risk of trying something and not liking it.
The risk of being uncomfortable.
The risk of looking inexperienced.
The risk of not being good at something right away.
The primitive brain loves familiarity.
Familiar feels safe.
Predictable feels safe.
Known feels safe.
And after you've experienced one of the biggest losses a human being can experience, your brain
often becomes even more attached to safety and certainty.
Which means it may resist new experiences.
Not because they're dangerous.
But because they're unfamiliar.
And that's important to understand.
Many widowed people assume that because something feels uncomfortable, it must be wrong.
But uncomfortable and unsafe are not the same thing.
In fact, some of the most meaningful experiences of my life have started with discomfort.
Including after Ted died.
There was a period of time when I desperately needed people who knew him.
People who remembered him.
People who could tell stories about him.
People who understood the life we had built together.
That was important.
It was comforting.
It helped me feel connected.
But there was another experience that surprised me.
Years later, I started taking Krav Maga classes.
And one of the things I unexpectedly enjoyed was that nobody there knew my story.
Nobody knew I was widowed.
Nobody knew what I had been through.
Nobody knew Ted.
They just knew me.
The person standing in front of them.
And there was something incredibly freeing about that.
It wasn't better than being with people who knew him.
And it wasn't worse.
It was simply different.
Both experiences served me.
Both helped me.
Both taught me something.
And I think that's an important lesson.
Sometimes we think we have to choose.
Old friends or new friends.
People who knew our spouse or people who didn't.
The old version of ourselves or the new version.
But often the answer is both.
You can deeply value people who knew your spouse and still enjoy building new relationships.
You can honor your past while remaining open to your future.
You can carry your love with you while still allowing yourself new experiences.
These things are not mutually exclusive.
And that's where curiosity becomes so powerful.
Curiosity doesn't demand certainty.
Curiosity doesn't require a guarantee.
Curiosity simply asks:
"I wonder."
I wonder if I'd enjoy that class.
I wonder if I'd like volunteering there.
I wonder if I'd enjoy traveling there.
I wonder what would happen if I said yes.
I wonder what else is possible.
Notice how different that feels from:
"What if I hate it?"
"What if I fail?"
"What if it's a waste of time?"
"What if people judge me?"
One opens.
One closes.
One creates possibility.
One creates paralysis.
Now, let's be clear.
I'm not suggesting that every widowed person needs to reinvent themselves.
You do not need to take up pickleball.
Or painting.
Or salsa dancing.
Or backpack across Europe.
You don't need to create some dramatic transformation story.
That's not what this is about.
This is about giving yourself permission to notice what genuinely interests you.
Because many grieving people become so focused on surviving that they stop paying attention to
their own curiosity.
And curiosity matters.
It teaches us things.
It reveals things.
It helps us discover parts of ourselves that may have been dormant.
It helps us learn who we are now.
Remember where we started this series.
Who was she then?
Who am I now?
Well, one way to answer that question is through experience.
Through trying.
Through exploring.
Through participation.
Not through sitting on the couch demanding that your brain produce all the answers in advance.
And here's something else I want you to consider.
What if you're allowed to be bad at things?
I know.
For many high-achieving people, that's almost offensive.
But truly.
What if you're allowed to be a beginner?
What if your worth isn't determined by how quickly you master something?
What if trying is enough?
Because every beginner feels awkward.
Every beginner feels uncertain.
Every beginner makes mistakes.
And none of that means they're doing it wrong.
It means they're learning.
And grieving people are already learning so much.
You're learning how to live in a world that looks different than you expected.
You're learning how to carry love and grief at the same time.
You're learning who you are now.
Maybe part of that learning involves allowing yourself to try things without demanding
perfection.
Without demanding certainty.
Without demanding guarantees.
Just curiosity.
Just willingness.
Just openness.
Because purpose often reveals itself through participation.
Not prediction.
Many people sit around waiting to discover their purpose.
But purpose frequently emerges because they got curious.
Because they said yes.
Because they tried.
Because they explored.
Because they were willing to become beginners.
And perhaps that's your invitation this week.
Not to figure out your entire future.
Not to discover your life's purpose by Friday.
Just to notice.
What keeps catching your attention?
What have you always wanted to try?
What idea keeps resurfacing?
What possibility keeps tapping you on the shoulder?
You don't have to commit forever.
You don't have to know where it leads.
You only have to be willing to take one small step.
Because often, that's how meaningful lives are rebuilt.
One curious step at a time.
And before you go, don't forget to download the journal prompts for this episode.
I've created them to help you move beyond simply listening and into reflection and action. You
don't need to answer every question. Just choose the ones that resonate most and allow yourself
to get curious about what comes up.
Sometimes a single honest answer can teach us more than pages and pages of writing.
And next week, in the final episode of this series, we're going to talk about abundance.
Why the grieving brain naturally defaults to scarcity, limitation, and fear, and how to
intentionally direct your mind toward possibility instead.
Until then, be gentle with yourself.
Stay curious.
Grieving is learning.
And learning takes time.
If this episode was helpful, please share it with a widowed friend. And remember that I believe in you, and I’m here for you. Take care.
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If you’ve found this podcast helpful, check out my newest book, Time Doesn’t Heal, Why High Achieving Widowed People Feel Stuck, and How to Rebuild a Meaningful Life. It’s now available on Audible, in paperback and Kindle, plus there’s an accompanying journal to help you apply what you learn. And, join the free course so I can help you even more. Links are in the show notes.
