Redefining Connection in Every Chapter of Life

There’s a rhythm to community, an ebb and flow that mirrors the seasons of our lives. I didn’t always notice it. In the early years, it felt like life just happened and the people around me were simply a part of it. But with time, and loss, I’ve come to understand how deeply we shape, and are shaped by, the communities we build.

When Steve died, I lost more than a husband. I lost my co-architect in building the life we had envisioned. Together, we had created a community that fit us perfectly for that chapter—couple friends, other parents, business colleagues. I didn’t realize how intertwined my identity and sense of safety were with the world we had built together until it fractured. Suddenly, everything felt foreign.

In those first months and years, community took on a different meaning. I had to lean in hard, to friends who brought meals, organized rides, checked in with my daughters and sat with me in the darkest hours. Some of those people were already in my life, and some showed up unexpectedly. My “Widow Board of Directors,” as I like to call them now, became lifelines. That kind of showing up—the quiet, consistent support—is something you never forget.

But community doesn’t stay the same forever. It evolves, just as we do.

Looking back, I see how this pattern has always existed. I had my childhood friends, the girls I laughed with, rode bikes with and passed notes to in school. Then came college, and everything expanded. I studied abroad in Paris, a dream, and suddenly I was surrounded by people from all walks of life. My world cracked wide open in the best possible way. I was learning who I was, and who I wanted to become. My community reflected that growth.

Meeting Steve brought a new chapter. We built our life side by side, surrounded by other couples who were also navigating young careers, starting families, figuring it out as we went. When our daughters were young, I found myself in the thick of “mom life”: playdates, birthday parties, school fundraisers, and eventually, dance recitals, soccer games and high school trials and tribulations. I had my “competitive dance mom friends,” my “travel soccer mom friends,” and of course, the sacred “mom text chain” that kept me sane during the endless logistics.

Those communities were deeply rooted in that phase of life, centered around my daughters and our shared parenting journeys. But then, as it always does, the rhythm shifted again.

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on what Mel Robbins calls “bird launching.” I love that phrase. It’s so much more tender and active than “empty nesting.” My three girls have launched, each finding their path in the world. And once again, I found myself standing in a new season, no longer part of the same school-centered orbit, no longer someone's daily ride to practice. A beautiful kind of freedom emerged, yes, but also a quiet loneliness.

That’s when I realized: it was time to rebuild again. Not just to fill a gap, but to reimagine what community looks like in this version of my life.

It’s different now. My community today includes friends I see regularly and others I reconnect with during walks or over a glass of wine. I’ve joined clubs, leaned into professional networks and created deeper bonds with fellow widows, women who understand the weight of carrying it all, and the power of being witnessed in your grief and growth. I’ve also sought out joy-filled community spaces: needlepoint meetups, wellness groups and dinners that are more about laughter than logistics.

Each time I’ve been called to rebuild, it’s brought a new layer of self-awareness. Who am I now? What kind of energy do I want around me? What am I available for, and what am I no longer willing to tolerate?

That reflection is key. Because community isn’t just about who surrounds us; it’s also about who we are becoming.

So here’s what I want you to know: your community will shift, and that’s not only okay, it’s necessary. The people who helped you survive may not be the ones who help you thrive. Some friendships fade naturally, and others deepen unexpectedly. Each version of you needs something different. That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re evolving.

This month, I invite you to pause and reflect:

• Who are your people right now?

• Are you craving more connection, or better connection?

• What kind of support do you need for this chapter of your life?

• Where might you begin to gently rebuild, reach out or rediscover?

We’re not meant to do this life alone. Whether you’re launching birds, rebuilding after loss or entering a brand new season, community is the thread that holds it all together.

Let it change. Let it surprise you. Let it sustain you.

Because just like you, it will keep evolving.