When the ground beneath you disappears

Have you ever had a season where life decided to knock you off your feet?

Maybe you lost someone you loved. Maybe before you have time to catch your breath, another problem has arrived. Then another.

You told yourself to be strong. You kept going. You were moving forward.

However, beneath the surface you felt shaky.

I know this feeling well.

In my chapter, Living on the rock of grief: I find my footing with faithwhich was published recently The Global Wellness Guide to Self-Care: 25 Tools for Navigating Loss, Grief, and TransitionI feel one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I lost my best friend, my brother-in-law and my beloved dog in the last seven and a half months. Each loss brought its own heartache. Together, they created what I’ve come to call the grief trifecta.

My heart barely had time to process one goodbye before another came. Some days it felt as if life had placed me inside a giant stone jar and started.

Do you remember those old stone jars? My brother had one when we were kids. The rough stones were put inside the house along with dirt and water and for several days the machine hummed in our laundry room. Eventually, those simple stones became smooth and polished, transformed through a process that seemed endless to my younger self.

At the time, I thought the process seemed endless.

Years later, I realized that grief can feel the same way.

It makes you sad.

It destroys your confidence.

It shakes up assumptions you didn’t even realize you had.

And it makes you look for solid ground.

As I wrote this chapter, I realized that God had prepared me for this lesson long before my grief began.

Preparation came in an unexpected form: the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake.

Like many Californians, I have experienced a small earthquake in my lifetime. They were annoying but manageable. Then came the earthquake that changed everything.

For a moment, my 11-month-old son, Max, and our dog, Rocky, were watching squirrels through the sliding glass door. Next, the glass was breaking, the ground was shifting beneath us, and I was desperately trying to protect my child, wondering if our house would survive.

What followed were hours of uncertainty as I waited to find out if my parents had survived one of California’s devastating earthquakes in their home in the Bay Area.

Years later, I realized the deeper lesson hidden within this experience.

An earthquake shakes the ground under your feet.

Grief shakes the ground under your soul.

The difference is that the earthquake lasts for minutes.

Grief can last longer.

One of the most painful losses I have experienced in this chapter is the death of my best friend. We knew each other from kindergarten.

We’ve grown up together, raised families, celebrated milestones, and shared decades of memories. He knew versions of me that almost no one else knew. His loss wasn’t just about losing a friend. It took away the shared history and the future I thought we were going to experience together.

He died of pancreatic cancer.

I survived it.

This reality added another layer to my grief: survivor’s guilt.

Questions arose that did not have easy answers.

why her

Why not me?

How do you move on when the person you love so much doesn’t give you another chance?

Then came the sudden loss of my brother-in-law.

Shortly after losing Spike, our rescue dog who faithfully walked by our side through countless seasons of life.

Many people underestimate the grief that accompanies the loss of a beloved pet. But those who love animals understand deeply. They are woven into our routines, our homes, and our hearts. Their absence leaves a void that cannot be filled.

Through all of these losses, I discovered something amazing.

Faith didn’t take away my grief, it didn’t give me all the answers, and it didn’t take away the pain. What it provided was a place to stand when everything felt shaky, a place to breathe when grief overwhelmed me, and reassurance that I wasn’t walking in the dark alone.

Although faith has always been a part of my life, the turning point came when I stopped asking God to remove the brokenness and trusted Him to keep my step within it. Instead of begging for the pain to go away, I learned to rely more on His presence and trust that He was there for me in every difficult moment.

I found myself through quiet conversations with God, through journaling of thoughts I could barely speak out loud, and through angel cards that often needed encouragement from my heart. Prayer, tears, meditation, and countless reminders of God’s love became the anchor that helped me navigate the uncertainty.

The loss remained, and so did the grief. But something else was growing along with them: a deeper trust in God’s presence and guidance. I believed that even when life felt uncertain and the ground beneath me began to shift, I would be supported, strengthened, and carried forward one step at a time.

That faith became the solid ground under my feet until I was able to stand on my feet again.

The chapter is not just a story of loss. This is a story about finding your footing when life feels uncertain. It’s about realizing that sadness and gratitude can coexist. It’s about knowing that even when your world is rocking, there is holy ground beneath your feet.

If you’ve ever experienced great loss, navigated unwanted change, struggled with survivor’s guilt, mourned a loved one, or wondered how to keep going when life feels overwhelming, I’m sure you’ll find pieces of you in these pages.

Most of all, I hope you find hope.

Because while I would never have chosen this season of grief, I have come out of it with deeper faith and trust, more compassion, and a deeper appreciation for the precious gift of life.

The problem didn’t last forever.

And if you are currently in your season, I want you to know something:

You are not alone.

There is solid ground beneath you, even if you can’t feel it yet.

Connect with Janet about The Wellness Universe and follow her Facebook and Instagram.

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Global Wellness Guide to Self-Care:
25 Tools for Navigating Loss, Grief, and Transition

Holy selfishness

It’s time to fill your cup and restore your power. You pour so much into others; now it’s your turn to accept. Self-care isn’t selfish—it’s a radical act of love and a way to honor the precious gift of your life and the sacred truth of who you are.

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