#29 SIX things I stopped caring about after losing someone I love (or at least I’m trying to)

The surprising freedoms I found in the wake of grief

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Photo by Nadine E on Unsplash

Losing my dad was the wake-up call I never saw coming. One moment, life was full of plans and possibilities. The next, everything I thought I cared about was called into question.

I’ve come to discover that grief isn’t just sorrow — it’s also clarity. It opens your eyes and forces you to re-evaluate your whole life.

Since he died, I’ve been unlearning what I thought I had to care about, and relearning what truly makes life worth living. It’s a slow, ever-evolving, and sometimes uncomfortable process; but one that has been surprisingly liberating.

🧐 What other people think of me

Losing someone you love makes you realise life’s too short to live for other people’s opinions.

That’s not to say we should disregard others completely. It’s not about being rude or selfish, but about staying true to your own values — even when they might not align with the crowd.

I’ve learnt not to sideline my priorities or forget what’s important to me

because of how other people might feel or react.

Do what lights you up, and let go of fear of judgment.

🗣️ Small talk

When you’re going through something huge and life-altering, it’s hard to pretend everything’s normal when it’s not. It can feel incredibly isolating when people around you don’t acknowledge what you're going through, continuing with surface-level conversations as if you’re just fine.

I’m not saying small talk doesn’t have its place. But I’ve learned that life’s too short for this to be the extent of our interactions with people around us. The real connections — the ones that make us feel seen and heard — come when we step beyond the surface.

Everyone has a story. Be curious. Be genuine. Ask better questions. Don’t be afraid to have deeper conversations. You might be amazed what you discover or the meaningful connections you make.

🧍🏽‍♀️ What my body looks like

This one’s personal, and frankly not easy to talk about. After three pregnancies, three caesareans, chronic sleep deprivation, and now heading into my late thirties, my physical appearance has changed A LOT over the years. It’s hard not to feel insecure about it when all around us we are inundated with messages and images about ageing and beauty standards.

But watching ALS take everything from my dad — his ability to move, to speak, to live independently — changed my perspective. I saw up close what it means to lose all control over something we take for granted every day.

I stopped caring so much about what I look like on the outside, and started appreciating what my body can do — how it functions, how it moves me through life, how it supports me in doing the things I want to do.

It’s so easy to focus on external appearances, but after everything I witnessed with my dad, I see now our bodies are miracles worthy of appreciating.

😇 What society expects of me

Society has a way of putting us into boxes. We’re often defined by what people see on the outside — our age, gender, appearance, skin colour, and more. These assumptions can create invisible constraints, shaping how we show up in the world.

As a short, brown, millennial female doctor, I’ve felt the weight of those assumptions. For years, I let them define me, convincing myself that I had to fit a certain mould. It’s one of the reasons I hesitated to share my creative side publicly. I told myself I wasn’t a writer, that I didn’t belong in that space, and that I should just stick to the path I thought was expected of me.

But grief shattered that mindset. It made me realise: none of us is ever just one thing. We are multi-dimensional and worthy of embracing all parts of ourselves.

I’ve stopped shrinking to meet society’s expectations, but I won’t lie — the people-pleasing side of me still struggles with it. It’s a work in progress, but one I’m committed to.

💪🏽 Being right in an argument

Those who know me well would tell you I’ve always had a bit of a stubborn streak. If I think I’m right (which, let’s be real, is often), I’m not afraid to stand my ground. (Taurus energy, I guess.)

While I still speak up when it matters, losing someone I love made me reassess my priorities. I no longer chase the win simply for the sake of winning.

Most disagreements are small in the grand scheme of life. And the energy spent on being “right” is just not worth it most of the time. It takes away from energy we could be spending on what really matters.

These days, when conflict comes up, I ask myself: “Do I want to be right, or do I want peace and connection?”

I try to let go of petty arguments, never go to bed angry, leave no words unsaid, and make sure that whenever I walk away from someone I care about, it’s always with love.

😡 Minor inconveniences

In a similar vein, grief has shifted my entire perspective on the everyday frustrations that used to feel so significant.

Watching my dad’s harrowing struggle with ALS, to then die at the age of just sixty, was a stark reminder of just how fragile and fleeting our time really is.

So now, when someone cuts me off in traffic or if my coffee order gets messed up, it suddenly feels so trivial in comparison. Sure, those things still irritate me in the moment, but they no longer hold the weight they once did.

What grief has taught me is this:

Life is too short to let petty annoyances take up space in our hearts. Our time here isn’t guaranteed, and it’s far too precious to waste on the small stuff.

Instead, focus on what truly matters:

Say what you mean, without hesitation.

Do what makes you feel alive.

Laugh without abandon.

Love deeply and unapologetically.

Be kind to others.

Embrace life fully, knowing that each moment is a gift.

Losing my dad made me see how heartbreakingly easy it is to get caught up in things that don’t truly serve us. But it also showed me how much peace and freedom come from letting those things go.

So I invite you now to ask yourself:

• What are you holding onto that’s keeping you from living fully?

• What could you release to make space for what truly matters?

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