When Life Goes On, and Yours Feels Unrecognizable

There is a unique, bone-deep loneliness that comes when your world has been shattered, and yet everything around you carries on as if nothing happened. The feeling is haunting—watching others move about their lives, oblivious to the fact that your own has been turned upside down. You want to scream, to stop time, to demand that the world acknowledge your pain. But instead, you move forward, because what other choice do you have?

I remember the moment so vividly. Sitting in Dallas Love Field airport, waiting to board my flight back home, when I got the call. The doctor’s words to my sister confirmed the unimaginable: my mom had died. My world crumbled right there in that terminal. But as my heart shattered into pieces, the people around me continued their conversations, grabbed snacks, and laughed with their loved ones. Unbeknownst to them, I was falling apart. I wanted to scream. I wanted to demand the world stop. Instead, I boarded my flight, numb, heading home to a life that would never be the same.

I share this because so many of us have experienced that moment—the moment when life becomes unrecognizable, and yet the world continues to spin. And right now, across Los Angeles, so many people are living that reality. Whether it’s the devastating fires that have taken homes, or the loss of a loved one, grief is weighing heavily on our city.

As an alum of Pacific Palisades High School, my heart aches for the community. Families have lost everything—their homes, their memories, their sense of stability. The grief is overwhelming. I think about my family home, Casa de Lyons, which holds the legacy of my parents. I can’t imagine the pain of losing it. Lord, protect us. These are the kinds of losses that leave you gasping for air, searching for anything that feels solid, anything that feels real.

This stress, this grief, this overwhelming sense of helplessness—it’s our new normal here in Los Angeles. And it’s a nightmare.

But I want you to know this: I hold space for you. For anyone feeling like the weight of the world is too heavy to bear. For those who’ve lost everything and don’t know where to begin. For those who feel like the loneliness of grief will swallow them whole. I see you. I hold space for you.

We need a big group effin hug. We need to collectively acknowledge the pain we’re all feeling and let each other know that it’s okay to not be okay. This is hard. Life is hard. But you don’t have to go through it alone.

Take a moment to pause. To grieve. To scream if you need to. And know that even if the world seems to carry on as if nothing has changed, there are people who see you, who understand your pain, and who are holding space for you.