The “Not So” Perfect Storm: Grief, Betrayal, and the Tools That Held Me
By Temple Franklin — Mind Body Spirit Hygiene Tools
My soul’s journey through its human experience — and what I have learned. I remember standing in complete disbelief as the world started shutting down. Covid was the storm nobody saw coming — and for me, it was only the first front. Separation, after 22 years of marriage. Then the divorce began. And with it came grief — not one grief, but a stack of them. Grief of the living. Grief of community. Grief of a life once known. Grief of the family I once co-created.
Empty-nest grief, arriving early
Two daughters off to college. The youngest was still in the home while the separation and divorce unfolded around her. Empty-nest grief arriving early — before I was ready — while I watched my children being controlled and devastated by Covid right along with the rest of the world. My youngest moved in with me. I was still traveling for business — starting over, keeping us afloat — and then even that came to a halt as the world shut down completely. She moved back in with her dad. Because of her own pain and confusion, she chose not to talk to me about it. Zero conversation. Simply distance — and my growing heartache and pain underneath it. Covid closed the world. Covid closed my business. And there I was — an empty house, high rent, and a choice to make.
The signs led me to Bend
The Divine gave me way too many signs — and led me to buy a home in Bend, Oregon. I packed alone. I moved alone. (Well — I had my Divine Team.) For the next stretch of my life, I drove to and from Washington State multiple times a month, making myself available to visit my girls. Unsuccessfully. Over-extending again. Losing myself again — in an effort to please them, to show them I care and love them deeply. I was kept out of graduation plans, pictures, and celebrations. I sat in hotel rooms, waiting for the call from my daughters. If you have ever sat in a hotel room waiting for your child to call — you know. That is its own kind of grief. The grief of the living.
The van
As time and life went on, my Divine Team guided me again — this time to buy a Sprinter van. I had been in my Bend home for two years. I put it up as a short-term rental, and I began my cathartic healing journey — traveling all over the Western USA, alone, in a van. I had never done anything like this before. I was nervous. I did it anyway.
The text I never expected
I came back to Bend for a quick restock and regroup. That’s when I got a random text from my mother — the woman who adopted me and raised me. Come to find out — unbeknownst to me — my oldest daughter had been helping to care for her. And it was explained to me, through a written text, that my mother had been battling cancer for three years. It had now gone terminal. She was heading to hospice. “You have zero obligation,” she wrote. If my mother had chosen simply not to tell me, that would be one thing — her right, even. But that is not what happened. Her fear, her control, her manipulation of the narrative took over. She asked my three daughters not to tell me — to hold the lie. My ex-husband, their father figure, agreed. And together they placed our innocent daughters in the middle of manipulation and lies. Heartbreaking, twice over: I had just found out my mother was dying of cancer. And in the same breath, I discovered the betrayal — three years of it. I asked my ex-husband how long he had known. He said, “We were going to tell you when it got bad enough.” Unbelievable. Except — actually, I could believe it. Their control. Their narrative. Their fears.
She refused us both closure
I asked my mother to fix it before she crossed over. I knew why she had done it — her own fear, her lack of control, being frightened for her own life, her resentments. And I knew that after her death, she would no longer be able to repair it — and she would see all the pain she had caused. She refused us both closure. It was just a couple of days after Mother’s Day. She denied me access to her deathbed — leaving all of us hurting, traumatized, grieving. My daughters hurt, confused, and traumatized as well. I reached out to each of them with my deepest condolences and love — with zero reply. It would seem they all forgot she was my mother. (Yes — my expectation, to receive a call from them.) Another lesson learned and earned: release expectations. Of course it is crushingly painful for me. And also — as their mother, knowing that kind of grief firsthand — I hurt for them. So many bags of grief I had to release.
Estranged — and still choosing love
Currently, we are estranged. I can only speculate as to why, because none of them will respond to my requests for a conversation. Their pain. Their confusion. (I get it.) And in part, they are simply living their own lives — empty-nester grief, arriving all over again. Then there is the grief of so many unanswered questions. The avoidance of any contact. Their grief, their confusion, their pain — and all the unheard conversations. Years missed. Another grief entirely — all born from other people’s narratives.
What I have learned
Thank gawd I had the tools before the shit hit the fan. • Forgiveness is for yourself — not the other person. • Forgiveness is also giving up the hope that things could have been any better. • Forgiveness is self: now that I know better, I GET TO do better and be better. • Compassion and curiosity — for self and for others. • Boundaries are codes of conduct. • The body is always giving you signals. Always. • Surrender to the Divine — trusting that all is working out in my favor. • Meditation — Mind, Body, and Spirit — is how I reclaimed myself. • The work on self — personal development and self-awareness — reclaimed me then, and continues to reclaim me now. • Grief comes in many different forms and many different waves: per hour, per day, per month, per year. And the deepest lesson of all — my soul’s journey. Understanding that I came into this human experience with these lessons to learn, so I could expand. With that understanding came massive accountability and responsibility. I am not saying none of this hurt — it hurts deeply. And yet I GET TO live my life. I GET TO figure out what that looks and feels like — authentically, to me and for me. Which brings me back to boundaries: You are not welcome in my life after what you have shown me. Thank you for the lesson.
If you are standing in your own storm
Feel it all. The grief. The rage. The confusion. All of it counts. All of it is data. Witness it, and release it — do not let it sit in your body. Keep releasing it. It is a process that takes time. Love yourself. Honor her. It is all building You 2.0 — and You 3.0, and so on. Superpower tip: every year — each birthday, or start right now — place a period between your first and last name. First. Last. The next version of yourself, each year. And hear me on this: there is hope. There are tools. I am living proof of both. This is Big Brave work. With love — Temple.
If any of this landed — the grief of the living, the boundary that became a code of conduct, the moment you knew you had to reclaim yourself — my book was written for exactly this. Real tools, for real women, in the messy middle. This is the newest post in Temple’s Journey. The full arc walks you through what stacked grief actually looks like — and the practice that carried me through it.
More from the Blog
I Was Told Not to Air Our Dirty Laundry. Here's What I Learned Instead.
The difference between exposure and turning your pain into purpose. A tender, honest read on silence, story, accountability, and the third way — for women who were told to keep their lives folded up and hidden.
When Your Spirit Stays High and Your Heart Is Breaking
A broken heart and a lifted spirit are not enemies — they are roommates. The series finale on post-traumatic growth and the daily, unglamorous practice of staying with yourself through the hard thing.
Coming Home to Myself
I caught my reflection one ordinary afternoon and did not recognize the woman looking back. A tender read on the slow loss of self — and the small, almost silly steps that brought her home.
Want the Complete Toolkit?
This article is a free sample. The The I GET TO Book gives you the full system — printable, portable, yours to keep.
If you are standing in your own storm, dear one — you are not alone.
My free 12-Month I GET TO Calendar gives you one small reframe for every day of the year — a daily way to choose yourself, even when the grief is stacked. Plus my weekly walk-with-me emails.
Free. No spam. Unsubscribe anytime.