The Story I did not want to tell (Surviving the Foggy road home)

When everything you knew is gone there is a fog that settles in that is hard to explain. I can tell you now, You are not crazy and you will heal.

Have you ever tried to drive in fog, that heavy kind that you can barely see the road in front of you? The road you have driven a million times and was so familiar you felt you could drive it with your eyes closed, now feels scary and unfamiliar.

Other times fog is spotty. You are driving and seeing fine, turn a curve and all at once visibility is near zero. It can make you come to a complete stop until you get your bearings again.

The temperature changes, rain falls, and the atmosphere shifts—so much happens that unless you study it, you can’t really explain it. But then comes the fog. At night, it’s even worse. Headlights bounce off it, making it impossible for your eyes to focus. You have no choice but to slow down or stop completely. Driving like this for long is exhausting—straining to see, tense and on high alert for any movement or danger that could be ahead.

Grief can feel overwhelming at times, and brain fog is a very real part of it. At first, it felt I was losing my mind. I could sit for hours without moving. I’d turn on the TV but have no idea what I watched. I would have conversations I couldn’t remember just minutes later. Making decisions felt impossible. Everything that once seemed normal now felt distant and unsettling. I couldn’t see my way forward. I felt lost in a world that used to be familiar. I could still get up, move, and function—but it was all hard, all pushed through the weight of the fog.

Then I read an article about Widows brain. And I studied the nervous system. And I realized my body was doing exactly what it was meant to do to protect me. And I would heal. I would like to say that revelation made it better. It was more like taking your lights of high beam and putting them on dim so you can at least see the next three feet ahead of you. You can still drive but you are going to slow down and not need to see so far ahead.

Eventually the fog became spotty. I had moments of clear driving. This was a new kind of stress too because you never knew then the fog would show up. Driving along fine then a wall of fog you can't see through. Celebrating a little bit of life feeling normal, then a dead stop and back to feeling disoriented and scared. Nothing easy ever anymore.

This is hard—there’s no other way to say it. It’s scary and tough, but you keep going because you have to. You trust that the road ahead is still there, that the fog will lift—and it does. I’ve run into the ditch a few times and needed help. I’ve hit potholes I didn’t see coming. I’ve even pulled over and sat on my couch for days until I could see clearly again. But I learned. And I am healing.

It’s been a while since I’ve had those foggy days. I’ve faced hard times, but things feel different now. My mind has had time to heal, my heart has found peace, and my body is doing what it was made to do. Spiritually, the Word of God is accomplishing its purpose. Life is returning. God has been so faithful, showing up in countless ways during this season and bringing healing to so many areas where I needed it most.

I may have some foggy days ahead. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline—it can run wild at times. It’s always there, and sometimes, when the conditions are just right, it’s the only thing you can see. But now I know to slow down or pause, and I know it will pass.

I’m grateful to be where I am right now. It hasn’t been easy—it still isn’t—but I’m learning, growing, and feeling hope again. I’m truly thankful.