For a long time, I thought continuing meant living forward.
By living forward, I meant moving forward through life toward goals. Building something. Progressing. Advancing.
I thought if I kept going, showed up, handled what needed handling, that meant I was moving through life in a meaningful way. That motion itself counted as progress.
After loss, that assumption broke.
Continuing is what the body does when it has no other option. It is survival. Sometimes it is just breathing, even when breathing is hard.
Continuing is momentum without direction. It is putting one foot in front of the other because stopping would mean collapse.
Living forward is different.
Living forward requires orientation. It requires choice, even when the choices are small. It asks not just can I keep going, but what am I moving toward, and what am I protecting as I move.
In grief, continuing often looks impressive from the outside. You go back to work. You keep routines. You answer messages. You function.
Inside, it can feel hollow. Like motion without presence. Like endurance without meaning.
This is where confusion enters.
People praise continuing. They call it strength. Resilience. Courage. They mistake movement for healing.
But continuing is not a measure of health. It is a measure of necessity.
Living forward, on the other hand, often looks smaller. Slower. Less productive. It may involve stepping back, narrowing life, choosing fewer obligations, or refusing timelines that once felt reasonable.
Living forward asks different questions.
Not:
- How do I get back to who I was?
- How do I push through this?
- How do I make this look normal again?
But:
- What can I realistically carry now?
- What costs too much to maintain?
- What still feels true, even in a changed life?
After loss, the future does not look the way it once did. It must be approached carefully, sometimes indirectly. Living forward may mean building a life that fits grief instead of trying to outrun it.
Continuing keeps you alive.
Living forward allows you to live with what has happened.
They are not opposites. Most people move between them. Some days require pure continuation. Other days allow for intention, meaning, or even hope.
Living forward doesn’t arrive all at once. It appears in small moments, between long stretches of continuing. Often, it begins as a question rather than a plan.
The danger is confusing one for the other.
When continuing is mistaken for living forward, people exhaust themselves trying to sustain motion that has no destination. They feel ashamed for feeling empty despite “doing everything right.”
Nothing is wrong with them.
They are continuing when what they need is orientation.
Living forward does not promise relief. It does not restore what was lost. It does not close grief.
It simply acknowledges that survival alone is not a direction.
And that difference matters.
