Grief, Guilt and the Quiet Strength of Starting Over

As many others here, I was raised as a jw in an environment where leaving meant losing everything - not just a belief system, but my network, my foundation, my identity. When I chose a different path, the price was high. I lost closeness with my family. I had to rebuild my life from scratch. A new city. A new culture. A new language. A new way of existing.

I got married. I moved to another country. I fought to create stability. I saved money for years, because my partner and I dream of owning a home — a place that would finally be ours. But in the middle of this new beginning, my father got sick. And I watched from afar as he declined. I had no money. No permission to travel since I was getting my permit. But I was present in the only way I could be: in calls, in his eyes, in that final goodbye.

Since then, my relationship with my mother has grown fragile. I pulled away — not out of lack of love, but because of too much pain. Video calls became too heavy to handle. And now that she’s ageing and hurt, the fear is back. The fear of losing again. The fear of being judged if I’m not there. The fear that I won’t have the strength to return to my country — and even less strength to start all over again, from scratch.

I carry guilt. I carry grief. I carry the responsibility of looking after my life here, even if that seems selfish to others. But what few people understand is that surviving was already the hardest act of courage I’ve ever had.

Does this guilty ever go away?