Grief and Stress: One Less Layer of Weight

Stress does weird things to the body. Add in menopause and grief, and suddenly you’re waking up drenched every night, wondering if this is just how things go now.

In my post A Happy Healing Thing Happened, I shared how I accidentally found a grief therapist while talking to my OB/GYN about the relentless night sweats that started soon after Eddie died.

At first, I blamed the thermostat. I haven’t slept at 68 degrees since he’s been gone. Back then, the room was freezing—but Eddie was there to warm me. I figured maybe it was the 3 degree warmer temperature shift or that this was just another chapter in the menopause saga.

Then yesterday, something changed. A major stressor lifted. And for the first time in over two months, I slept through the night. No soaked sheets. No 2 a.m. outfit change. Just rest. It caught me off guard, how healing sleep can feel. Like my body finally exhaled. Like my nervous system got the memo: peace is on the horizon.

Freedom From Manufactured Chaos

Alongside grieving Eddie, I’ve found myself tangled in dynamics that feel more like power plays than genuine care. His ex, from the beginning, seems less focused on honoring Eddie’s memory and more intent on manipulating situations. It has not been hard to miss the pattern—probate delays, sudden shifts in tone, demands that feel designed to have control over Eddie, even after his passing. But now I am the one in the crosshairs.

Eddie didn’t leave behind riches, but what he did leave behind were memories—decades of them. Photos, keepsakes, childhood treasures, things he’d saved for his children. I kept them safe in our home (now my home). I told the kids they could come over anytime to pick up anything or everything. I even offered to store everything, to hold onto things until they were ready. They agreed. Until they didn’t.

The shift came fast—suddenly I wasn’t trusted. The person who had cared for Eddie, who had safeguarded their family’s history, is now seen as a threat. That hurts. But more than anything, it opened my eyes. Eddie bent over backwards for his kids. He’d give them everything, even when it cost him peace. And now I understand how exhausting that must’ve been and would have continued to be.

So, I leaned into my own version of “Steady Eddieness,” but with firmer boundaries. I honored my original offer to his children, arranged the pickup time through our lawyers, and they picked up their personal things, along with their dad’s things. Because keeping their memories in my home – while being treated like the enemy – was draining me. And I have enough grief to carry.

As they took the last box out of my house, I shut the garage door and turned to my son with a quiet smile. There was sadness, yes. I may never hear from Eddie’s kids again. But the relief was louder. That night I slept—fully, deeply, sweat-free—for the first time in months. My body didn’t wake me. My mind didn’t race. The weight was gone. I felt Eddie’s approval of how I took control of my life in ways he could not at times.

To think, I didn’t need HRT, chamomile tea, or a mindfulness app. Just the sheer relief of no longer being held emotionally hostage by someone determined to be unnecessarily difficult was enough to crack the door open to healing.

I know the probate process isn’t over. Sadly, it hasn’t started due to manufactured delays. I can feel it—a stray shoe still dangling in the background, waiting to drop. But tonight? I’m choosing to breathe freely. No more stress-sweats and survival mode.

Just space. Just peace. Just one blessed, uneventful night of rest. Maybe two.

I’d love to hear your opinions on this post. Or if you can relate, drop a “like”.