Finding Your Tribe Part 1: When You Don't Fit the "Widow Mold"

Finding Your Tribe: A Special 5-Part Series on Saturdays

Join us for "Finding Your Tribe," a powerful 5-part series exploring the journey from isolation to community in widowhood. Each Saturday throughout May- Mental Health Awareness Month, for Widow Life™ subscribers.

A new installment of Carolyn Moor's personal story and learn more details around the birth of Widow Life™, Modern Widows Club® and The Movement for Widow Care™ (MWC).

“Discover how one widow's search for understanding became a movement that has transformed thousands of lives. This intimate narrative reveals the challenges, triumphs, and unexpected turns that led to creating a community where no widow walks alone.”

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At 37, I found myself suddenly widowed in a town I'd moved to for work—a place where I had few personal connections. It was the year 2000. Like many women my age, being a wife, mother, and professional had consumed every moment of my days. There was little time for building a network outside those roles.

My late husband and I shared a spiritual foundation, though not a traditional one. I grew up Southern Baptist in small-town Arkansas, while he gravitated toward Unity teachings and finding the divine in nature. We both believed in something greater, but we found it on bike trails, sculpting sand on beaches, and hiking the Rocky Mountains—not sitting in pews.

When widowhood crashed into my life, that spiritual connection shattered and challenged. I found myself at a furious crossroads with whatever higher power existed. I had many names for God in those days—none appropriate to repeat here. The rage that consumed me was primal: how dare the soulmate and father of my daughters be taken? The loss changed me at a molecular level.

For nearly a year, I wandered through grief's wilderness alone, dwelling in a private abyss so dark and consuming that eventually, I knew I couldn't survive there. I needed connection. Relief. A lifeline. When a friend invited me to her church, I accepted out of desperation.

I sat. Listened. Analyzed. Something in me was searching.

While flipping through the bulletin, three words caught my eye: "Widows Luncheon—June 15th." My heart skipped. Other women like me? People who understood? I marked my calendar immediately, clinging to the possibility of finding guides through this unwanted journey.

The day arrived, and anxiety pinned me to my car seat. What awaited inside? Would I belong? Would anyone understand? I checked my phone one last time—the babysitter I'd hired knew to call if my daughters needed me. No childcare offered at this "Widows Luncheon." In retrospect, that should have been my first clue.

Summoning courage I didn't know I had, I approached the registration table.

"Oh hi, are you here to volunteer?" the greeter asked brightly.

"No," I replied, my voice steady despite the blow. "I'm a widow."