by Ligia Houben | Jun 29, 2026 | Blog US
There are moments that change our lives forever.
A natural disaster, such as an earthquake, can transform life in a matter of seconds. What felt safe just moments before suddenly no longer does. Homes change. Plans change. And for many families, life is forever divided into a before and an after.
Today, my heart is with Venezuela.
It is with those who are grieving the loss of a loved one. With those still waiting for news of a family member or friend. With those who have lost their homes, their treasured memories, or the sense of safety. It is also with those living in other countries who are spending these difficult hours anxiously waiting for a phone call or a message telling them their loved ones are safe or have their hearts broken after seeing all those images of destruction and pain.
When I learned about this earthquake, I couldn’t help but remember the devastating earthquake that destroyed Managua, the capital of my beloved homeland, Nicaragua in 1972. I was 13 years old, yet I still remember the fear, the uncertainty, and how, in just a few seconds, our lives changed. In that tragedy thousands of lives were lost. This is the reason why today I write to you not only as a thanatologist, but also as someone whose own life was touched by an earthquake.
Today, my thoughts are with every family in Venezuela living through that same fear.
Because an earthquake does not end when the ground stops shaking. For many people, the real journey begins afterward.
The questions begin.
The fear begins.
The uncertainty begins.
Perhaps today you are afraid to walk back into your home. Every aftershock may make your heart race again. You may find it difficult to sleep, and every unexpected sound may make you wonder if it is happening all over again.
And if today you are grieving the loss of someone you love, I wish I could simply give you a hug. There are no words that can take away such profound pain. Sometimes what we need most is not an answer, but someone willing to sit beside us in the silence.
Throughout the many years I have spent accompanying people through grief, I have learned that a tragedy like this brings much more than the loss of human lives.
It also brings the loss of peace.
The loss of safety.
The loss of treasured family memories.
The loss of future plans.
The loss of the confidence that tomorrow will be like yesterday.
These are losses we don’t often talk about, but they deserve our attention too.
Perhaps today you are crying.
Perhaps you cannot cry.
Perhaps you feel angry.
Or frightened.
Or maybe you feel as though you are living in a nightmare from which you have not yet awakened.
Every heart responds differently.
And every one of those reactions is deeply human.
I also think of those living outside Venezuela.
I know distance has its own kind of pain.
Perhaps you have spent hours trying to reach your family. Maybe you are waiting for a message that has not yet arrived. Perhaps you would give anything just to be there, holding the people you love. Maybe you are feeling guilty for what your fellow venezuelan are experiencing.
I also think of everyone who, after watching this tragedy unfold, finds themselves feeling afraid. Natural disasters remind us how fragile life really is. They make us think about the people we love and confront us with the reality that so much in life is beyond our control.
Many people have asked me over the past few days,
“How can I help?”
The truth is, helping doesn’t always require extraordinary things.
Sometimes it is a phone call.
A message.
Listening without rushing to give advice.
Simply asking,
“How are you?”
“What do you need today?”
If you are able, you can also help by providing food, clean water, medicine, shelter, or financial support through trusted organizations.
But there is one thing I hope we never forget.
Our support should not end when the television cameras leave.
Very often, the weeks and months that follow become the hardest part. That is when many people begin to feel forgotten.
Keep calling.
Keep checking in.
Keep showing up.
When tragedy strikes, our differences become smaller than our shared humanity.
A tragedy like this reminds us just how precious and fragile life truly is.
Love matters.
Compassion matters.
Kindness matters.
Being there for one another matters.
In these moments we want to bring hope and presence. I believe in our human capacity to lift one another when we need it most.
If today your heart is trembling, be compassionate with yourself.
Allow yourself to grieve.
Allow yourself to receive help.
And when you are ready, allow yourself to become a source of hope for someone else.
We cannot change what has happened.
But we can choose how we care for one another from this day forward.
Perhaps…
that is where hope begins.
With all my heart,
Ligia M. Houben
by Ligia Houben | May 15, 2026 | Blog US
Sometimes grief appears in the places we least expect.
Not in the cemetery.
Not during the funeral.
Not during the anniversary.
Sometimes grief appears in the grocery store.
You are standing there looking at the puddings… and suddenly you remember how much your mother loved vanilla pudding.
It happened to me the first time I went grocery shopping after my mother died. I stood there staring at the puddings while tears quietly filled my eyes.
And deep inside, I knew this was natural.
It was grief.
Or you walk past your husband’s favorite ice cream and your chest tightens without warning.
Or you hear a song softly playing in the background and, for a moment, your whole body remembers.
That is one of the things people often misunderstand about grief:
Grief does not only live in the big moments.
It lives in the ordinary, everyday moments.
And sometimes those moments can feel incredibly lonely because people don’t “get it.”
Over the years, through my work in grief support and the 11 Principles of Transformation®, I have seen how many grieving individuals question themselves during these experiences.
“Why am I crying here?”
“Why is this still affecting me?”
“Shouldn’t I be doing better by now?”
Yet perhaps one of the most healing things we can understand is this:
There is nothing wrong with you. This is part of the grieving process.
As grief expert Megan Devine beautifully writes in It’s OK That You’re Not OK:
“Some things cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.”
Grief is one of those things.
Not because healing is impossible.
Not because life cannot hold meaning again.
But because grief is not simply something we “solve.”
Grief is love.
Love remembering.
Love longing.
Love trying to express itself after loss.
The grocery store was never just the grocery store. It was a place that held special memories and now…it’s just different.
That is why everyday places can suddenly become sacred spaces of remembrance.
One of the principles I often teach is that grief needs validation, not judgment.
When we stop criticizing our emotions and begin listening to them with compassion, something within us slowly softens.
Not because the pain disappears.
But because we stop abandoning ourselves inside the pain.
And little by little, we begin learning how to carry love differently.
Perhaps today your grief appeared unexpectedly in an ordinary moment.
If it did, I hope you remember this:
You are not regressing.
You are human.
And love continues to live in the smallest moments of life.
My reflection for you today:
What ordinary moment unexpectedly connects you to someone you love?
From my heart to yours,
Ligia M. Houben
by Ligia Houben | May 8, 2026 | Blog US
An orchid recently caught my attention.
At first glance, it did not appear to be thriving.
Its leaves were worn. Some roots looked dry and exposed. Parts of the plant carried visible signs of difficult seasons. It was not flawless. It showed evidence of struggle.
Yet something extraordinary was happening.
It was blooming.
Bright, vibrant flowers were emerging from a plant that had clearly endured hardship.
My husband cultivated this orchid. He cared for it patiently. He nurtured it consistently. He paid attention to it.
And as I looked at it, I realized how deeply it reflected the grief experience.
Because grief often feels the same way.
When we are grieving, we tend to focus on the parts of ourselves that feel broken, exhausted, changed, or fragile. Loss leaves marks. Whether we are grieving the death of a loved one, a divorce, caregiving responsibilities, aging, illness, or another painful life transition, grief changes us.
Life does not remain untouched after heartbreak.
And yet, just like the orchid, human beings are capable of continuing to grow when they are nurtured with care, support, and compassion.
Healing does not happen in isolation.
That is one of the reasons grief support, grief counseling, grief coaching, and transformational grief programs can be so meaningful. We are not meant to carry pain alone.
We need spaces where grief can be honored without judgment.
We need people who sit beside us without rushing our process.
We need support systems that help us understand what we are experiencing emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually.
We need reminders that grieving is not weakness. It is a natural response to loss.
Over the years, through my work in grief support, grief education, and the 11 Principles of Transformation®, I have seen how people begin to heal when they feel validated, understood, and accompanied.
Not because the loss disappears.
But because support changes the way we carry it.
At The Center for Transforming Lives, as well as through online programs and personalized support, I guide individuals through grief using the 11 Principles of Transformation® — a structured and meaningful framework designed to help people move from suffering to honoring with love.
The principles are not about “getting over” grief.
They are about learning how to live with loss in a healthier, more compassionate, and meaningful way.
They help individuals:
Understand grief
Process emotions
Reconnect with themselves
Discover meaning after loss
Support personal growth
Rebuild hope gradually and authentically
Because grief, while painful, can also become an invitation toward deeper understanding, healing, and transformation.
The orchid reminded me that blooming is not about perfection.
It is about care.
It is about what happens when something fragile is nurtured instead of neglected.
The same is true for us.
When we allow ourselves to receive support, when we engage in grief counseling, grief coaching, transformational grief programs, support groups, or compassionate guidance, something within us begins to soften.
Healing becomes possible little by little.
Not because life returns to what it once was.
But because we slowly learn how to move forward carrying love differently.
The orchid did not bloom despite being cared for.
It bloomed because it was cared for.
And perhaps that is one of the deepest lessons grief teaches us:
Even after difficult seasons, with nurturing, support, meaning, and compassion, we can continue to grow.
We can continue to heal.
And like the orchid, we can continue to bloom.
From my heart to yours,
Ligia M. Houben
by Ligia Houben | Mar 13, 2026 | Blog US
There are moments in life when an unexpected event interrupts everything.
Recently, I broke my left wrist. Being lefty, it’s my dominant hand. What followed was reconstructive surgery, immobilization, and the sudden realization that even simple daily tasks would now require help, patience, and adaptation.
Physically, it was a fracture.
Emotionally, it was something more.
When Injury Becomes Loss
We often associate grief with the death of a loved one.
But grief is the natural response to any significant loss.
Injury can be a loss.
The loss of independence.
The loss of normal routine.
The loss of strength.
The loss of the body we rely on without thinking.
When my wrist was immobilized, I felt something deeper than discomfort. I felt vulnerability. I felt limitation. I felt the frustration of not being able to do what I normally do with ease.
And that, too, is grief.
Disenfranchised Grief After Surgery
Many people minimize this kind of experience.
“It’s just a broken bone.”
“At least it’s not worse.”
“You’ll recover.”
And while all of that may be true, it does not erase the emotional impact.
This is what we call disenfranchised grief — grief that is real but often not validated by others.
When we do not recognize it, we may push it aside. We may expect ourselves to be “strong.” But unrecognized grief does not disappear. It goes inward.
Healing from the Inside Out
As someone who teaches the 11 Principles of Transformation®, I was reminded that healing is never only physical.
Recovery asks for:
• Patience
• Humility
• Acceptance
• Trust
• Self-compassion
It asks us to slow down.
It asks us to allow support.
It asks us to acknowledge that something changed.
And when we validate that change — rather than dismiss it — healing becomes deeper.
What This Experience Taught Me
This broken wrist reminded me that:
• Our bodies carry stories.
• Loss is not always dramatic to be meaningful.
• Vulnerability is not weakness.
• And healing, even when uncomfortable, can be transformative.
If you are recovering from surgery, injury, or any unexpected change, allow yourself to recognize the loss within it.
Validation is the first step toward transformation.
Healing happens from the inside out.
From my heart to yours,
Ligia M. Houben
by Ligia Houben | Feb 26, 2026 | Blog US
When we think about grief, we often think about the death of a loved one.
But there is another kind of grief that many people carry quietly:
the grief of no longer having the life we once had.
We may grieve a lifestyle.
Friendships that changed.
Activities that once defined our days.
A sense of identity that no longer fits.
Sometimes nothing “dramatic” happened.
Or perhaps everything did.
A move.
A divorce.
A health change.
A career shift.
A loss that altered the structure of life itself.
And yet, this grief often goes unspoken and it is not validated. We try to ignore it.
What makes us do this?
We may feel it is… frivolous.
People may make comments such as:
“You should be grateful.”
“At least you still have…”
“It could be worse.”
This kind of grief is what we call disenfranchised grief — grief that is real but not always acknowledged or validated by others.
And when grief is not validated, it doesn’t disappear.
It goes inward. It gets suppressed.
You Are Not Weak for Missing Your Old Life
It is natural and human to miss what once gave you meaning.
You are not shallow for missing:
the way your days used to flow
the social circle you once had
the version of yourself that felt familiar
the identity that made sense
You are grieving continuity.
You are grieving the life that felt known.
And that grief deserves space.
What Makes This Type of Grief So Difficult
This grief is challenging because:
There is no funeral
No ritual
No public acknowledgment
No one asking how you’re doing
So you carry it quietly.
You may even judge yourself:
“Why am I so affected?”
“Others have it worse.”
“I should be over this.”
But grief is not a competition.
Loss is loss.
When a life chapter ends, something inside us must reorganize.
That takes time. That takes adaptation. That takes acceptance.
How to Cope with the Grief of a Lost Life
1. Name It
Simply acknowledging:
“I miss my old life”
is powerful.
Naming grief gives it dignity.
2. Allow Both Gratitude and Sadness
You can be grateful for what you have
and still mourn what changed.
Both can exist.
3. Honor What Was
What you had was important to you.
It was part of your identity.
It was part of your worldview.
It gave you joy.
You are allowed to honor that chapter.
4. Redefine Identity from The Inside Out
Instead of asking:
“Who am I now?”
ask:
“What parts of me remain?”
You are not starting from zero.
You are evolving.
5. Create Small Continuity
Even one familiar activity, habit, or connection can help rebuild a sense of stability.
Grief softens when life regains rhythm.
You Are Not Alone in This Quiet Grief
Many people grieve silently for the life they once knew.
You may not see it on social media.
You may not hear it in conversations.
But it exists in many hearts.
If this resonates with you, know this:
Your grief is understandable.
You are being human.
And…you can still make the choice of who you are becoming.
Remember, your life has meaning!
Ligia M. Houben
