Creating Hope

𝓖𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓯: the lead weight that tugs down at our skin. Our response to the sudden emptiness, the loss of something we treasured. 

‘It’s normal,’ people will tell you. ‘𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮’𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓻 𝔀𝓻𝓸𝓫𝓰 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓰𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮.’

I lost my brother when I was 29 years old. It was unexpected and, ultimately, unexplained. He was my best friend. My parents and I always had a tumultuous relationship and after my brother’s death they were completely inconsolable. Our dysfunctional relationship meant turning to them for support was impossible. Needless to say, when I lost him, my world shattered. A part of myself died alongside him. 

Being so young, I had no idea how to live with this grey cocoon closing in around me. My career was just taking off – I’d been awarded a working scholarship in my dream industry and had begun to climb the steady incline to success. Everything was building up for me. Then, without warning, it was all dismantled. 

I slid through the months following my brother’s death in a dreamlike state, plastering a smile and trying to act like everything was normal. I didn’t tell people about my loss. I didn’t know how to put it into words. Grief stung every fibre of my being, and before long it began to impact my everyday life. I missed shifts at work. I had blackouts where I lost control of my actions. My partner told me he couldn’t handle my fragile state, and he left me. I lost my scholarship and my job. Friends didn’t return my calls. Once such an energetic and successful woman, I was now sleeping in my car, empty, homeless and alone. 

I’m not sharing this story for sympathy. I just want you to understand how grief tore the rug from under me and sent me reeling off course.

Time passed, and I finally let myself slow down. I quietly opened myself to the waves of emotion I’d held back for so long. Silence fell, and I realised then I could never return to my old life. When I lost my brother, I lost everything I had known. The path I pictured so clearly in my mind ended abruptly and gave way to a deserted and lifeless expanse. 

But in that silence I realised something else: hope can be created. 

In those moments when you feel entirely empty, you have the power to create hope. 

Slowly, I placed one foot in front of the other and began to pave my own path. There was no magical turning point, no knight in shining armour who lifted me out of my pain. It gradually dawned on me that even though I couldn’t return to my previous life, I had the power to build a new one.

My grief was for the loss of my brother. But death isn’t the only cause of grief – it’s our response to the loss of something we treasure. I’m talking about the hundreds of thousands of people who lost their jobs during the COVID-19 pandemic. All the people who have lost their homes, experienced divorce, or suffered at the hands of any curveball life has thrown their way. The reality is: loss is a normal part of life. And do you want to know the best way to cope when you’re facing that lifeless expanse? Create hope.

So, how do we create hope? Isn’t hope an innate feeling, intangible and out of our control?

Sometimes. Other times, it can be created.

Creating hope means being proactive. Find something positive that attracts you and focus on it. For me, this meant sprucing up my dingy 1-bedroom apartment and leasing it out as holiday accommodation. Before I knew it, I had started a business that grew into a successful franchise model. That wasn’t luck – it was proactivity and placing one foot in front of the other.

Everyone experiences loss. It is a heartbreaking reality that these losses can throw you completely off course. But you can also use that loss to find a new trajectory, channel the energy into a momentum that drives you forward. Ask yourself: what have you learned that you can share with others? Turn your pain into perseverance. Move forward with hope, even if you don’t feel hope. Remember, when that grey cocoon closes in on you, it doesn’t mean suffocation. 

It means transformation.