Living After Loss with Sarah

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Living After Loss with Sarah

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Helping people recover from loss using tried and tested tools which you can use for any type of loss again and again.

I work one to one and in groups

Download my free guide to coping with loss here
https://subscribepage.io/5S5dGv Hi there, and thank you for checking out my Bio. I'm Sarah, a mum and a gran, originally from Belfast but been living near Glasgow for over 20 years. In 2023 I lost my husband very suddenly and then a year later my mum died. I was left with the usual feelings of grief - numb, exhausted, stunned, weepy, angry etc and that lasted for such a long time. I think when mum died I hadn't even started to get over the death of my husband so I had to do something. A friend put me in touch with her friend who was a Grief Recovery Specialist. By week 3 I knew that this was what I needed and wanted to do. Not only has it helped me but it has given me a new direction that feeds the part of me that wants to help others. Please get in touch if you have any questions, I'm happy to have a chat at any time.

07/09/2026

The quiet after your husband dies can be bloody loud, and it isn’t always the moments you expect.

It’s walking through the door and nobody being there. Making one cup of tea instead of two. Watching something on TV and automatically thinking, I must tell him about that, or getting to the end of the day and realising there’s nobody there to tell all the completely boring little things to.

I hear this from widows all the time, and it’s one of the reasons I created 'When The House Feels Too Quiet.'

It’s a gentle 15-page workbook with reflections and practical exercises for those everyday moments when the silence feels particularly hard.

It’s not about moving on. It’s not about fixing grief. It’s simply something to reach for when the house feels a bit too quiet.

It’s £14.99 and you can download it straight away.

❤️ I’ll pop the link in the comments.

03/09/2026

I don't normally post on a Thursday, but f**k it. I need to say this.

I woke up this morning to discover that nearly 190,000 people have now seen my post, and I genuinely don't quite know what to do with that. 🤣

But what has got me isn't the number.

It's you lot.

The comments. The stories you've shared. The messages. The women telling me about the things they've achieved since their husband died, even when getting out of bed some days felt like an achievement in itself.
You've made me laugh. You've made me cry. And you've reminded me why I keep doing this.

I'll tell you something else.

There are days when I feel down too. Days when I wonder if what I'm doing is making any bloody difference. Days when running a business, talking about grief, living with my own grief and trying to build something from the absolute s**t show that changed my life feels like a lot.

And then something like yesterday happens. You reminded me that this matters. Not because a Facebook post got a ridiculous number of views, but because behind every one of those comments is a real person who has loved someone, lost someone, survived things they never thought they'd survive, and somehow kept bloody going.

So today, I just want to say THANK YOU.

Thank you for trusting me with your stories.
Thank you for supporting this slightly sweary Belfast widow who decided grief needed a bit less bulls**t and a lot more honesty. 🤣
Thank you for helping me through my own s**t show, probably more than you realise, and thank you for reminding me, on the days when I question myself, to keep bloody going.

Turns out we're helping each other. ❤️

Sarah xx

02/09/2026

One of the strangest things about widowhood is how many completely ordinary things suddenly become difficult.

Not the things you expect. Stupid little things. Cooking for one. Deciding what to watch on the telly when there’s nobody else there to argue with about it. Going somewhere on your own for the first time. Filling in a form and having to tick a different box. Realising you’ve got nobody to tell the completely pointless thing that happened in Tesco, and sometimes you manage something you’ve been putting off for ages and think...

Bloody hell. I actually did it.

It might not look like much to anyone else, but you know what it took.

So tell me, what’s one ordinary thing you’ve done since losing your husband that you’re actually quite bloody proud of? ❤️

31/08/2026

I asked a question recently about what you find hardest about being on your own after losing your husband, and one thing came up again and again.

The quiet.

I completely get it.

It's not necessarily that you want someone talking to you every minute of the day (God, no 😂).

It's just that the house feels different when there's nobody else in it.

No one pottering about in another room. No "do you want a cuppa?" No one to tell something completely pointless to, and I think it's often those ordinary everyday things we miss far more than we ever expected.

So I'm interested...

What do you miss hearing in your house?

It could be his voice, his key in the door, the TV programme he always watched, him making a cup of tea...

Or even some bloody annoying habit you would give anything to hear again. ❤️

24/08/2026

Well... I asked and you bloody well answered. 😂❤️

Yesterday I asked whether you'd be interested in things like an online grief café, day retreats, a membership community or residential retreats, and I've been reading through your comments. One thing has come through loud and clear.

You want connection. Not necessarily another course. Not someone lecturing you about the “stages of grief”. Not somebody telling you what you should be doing by now. Just somewhere you can be with people who get it, and I've noticed how many of you mentioned online.

Some of you live too far away. Some are in other countries. Some don't drive, and for some, particularly in the earlier days of grief, the thought of walking into a room full of strangers might just feel like too bloody much.

I get that.

One of you wrote something yesterday that really stayed with me:

“There is great comfort in others.”

There really bloody is, because sometimes the thing you need most isn't advice, it's sitting with someone and saying:

“Is this normal?”

And hearing:

“Yep. Me too.”

That can be incredibly powerful, so thank you for all your comments. I'm not going to rush off and create seventeen different things at once, because knowing me, that's exactly the sort of ridiculous idea I'd have. 😂

But I AM listening.

And I think there might be something really lovely we can create here.

Something safe, something uncomplicated., something where you don't have to explain why you're fine one minute and crying because you saw his favourite biscuits in Tesco the next. A place where people just get it.

I'll keep you posted. ❤️

Sarah x

21/08/2026

Well... there are rather a lot of new faces around here this week. 👋💜

One little post about the ridiculous things people say to widows has now been seen more than 60,000 times.

Which is slightly bloody bonkers. So if Facebook has thrown me onto your feed this week and you're wondering:

“Who the hell is this woman?”

I'm Sarah, and unfortunately, I know rather more about grief than I ever wanted to.

I'm widowed myself. I'm also an Advanced Grief Recovery Specialist and the founder of Living After Loss, but I'm not here to tell you how you should grieve.

I'm not going to tell you to move on. I'm not going to tell you everything happens for a reason, and I'm definitely not going to tell you that time magically heals everything if you just wait long enough.

Bo****ks to that.

What I WILL talk about is the stuff that comes with losing your person that nobody really prepares you for, and how different losing your person is from every other type of grief.

The silence, the loneliness, losing your best friend, other people's awkwardness, the anniversaries and bloody triggers that appear from nowhere, the guilt when you find yourself laughing again, the strange experience of trying to work out who YOU are when the life you thought you were going to have has disappeared.

And eventually...

how you begin living again without feeling as though you're leaving them behind.

Sometimes we'll talk about the really hard stuff, sometimes we'll laugh at the absolute absurdity of it all, and sometimes we'll probably swear, because that's real life, and that's what I want this page to be.

A place where you don't have to pretend you're fine when you're bloody well not.

So if you're new here — hello. 💜

I'm sorry for the reason you may have found me, but I'm very glad you're here.

And if you've been here for ages...

thank you for being part of this little corner of the internet.

Sarah x

14/08/2026

This Week, I Learned Something...

Last week I asked one simple question:
"What's been the hardest part of widowhood for you?"

The replies have touched me deeply. Many of you spoke about loneliness. Others wrote about silence. Some shared the guilt they carry. Others described missing the future they thought they'd have, but one thing united every single reply...

You wanted someone to understand.

Thank you for trusting me with your stories. Every answer reminded me why this community matters so much. If today is a difficult day, I hope you'll remember this:

You don't have to explain your grief here.

You are seen.

You are heard.

And you're not walking this path alone.

12/08/2026

You Don't Miss "A Husband"...

You miss...
..your best friend.

The one person who knew how your day had been without you having to explain, the one who understood the look on your face, the one who remembered the stories nobody else knew, the one who was simply...

there.

That isn't something you replace, and it certainly isn't something you "get over."

It's something you learn to carry with you. You build your new normal around it, but it will always be there.

If this resonates with you, please know you're not alone.

❤️ Sending love to everyone missing their person today.

10/08/2026

Nobody Warns You About This...
People often think the hardest part of widowhood is the funeral, or the paperwork, or the anniversaries, but over the last week, I've been reading emails from widows, and do you know what keeps coming up?

It's the ordinary moments.

☕ The empty chair at breakfast.
🚪 Walking into a quiet house.
📞 Wanting to tell him something and remembering you can't.
💔 Waking up for a split second thinking he's still here.

Those are the moments that seem to catch us when we least expect it.

If you're reading this today, I want you to know something...

If you've cried over something that seems "small" to everyone else, you're not grieving the object.

You're grieving the life it represents.

❤️ Be gentle with yourself today.

07/08/2026

💔 "You seem to be doing so well..."

Have you ever had someone say this to you?
Maybe you've gone back to work. You've started going out again. You laugh occasionally. You get dressed, answer messages and do all the things you're supposed to do.

From the outside, it can look as though you're "doing well", but what people don't always see is what happens when you close the front door.

The silence. The exhaustion. The decisions you now make alone. The moments when something happens and he's still the first person you want to tell.

You can be functioning and still be grieving.
You can laugh and still miss him desperately.
You can have a good day and still wish he was here to share it with you.

Grief isn't always visible.

❤️ Sarah

What's one thing you wish other people understood about being widowed

Address

37A Paisley Road
Renfrew
PA48LG

Website

https://livingafterloss.net/widowed-the-real-roadmap-to-grief-recovery, https://www.griefrecoverymethod.com/grms/sarah-m

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