When Love Becomes Loss

At the age of 26, I had no real memory of grief.

Most people would probably say I was fortunate — blessed, even — to have gone that long without experiencing a significant loss in my close family. The last person in my family to pass away was my great-grandmother, and that was over 20 years ago.

So when I lost my beloved cat Oreo, my entire world began to unravel. She was taken far too soon — barely four years old — and the way it happened still haunts me to this day.

But Oreo was not just a pet. Not even just a cat. I have met many animals in my life, but none like her. She chose me during one of the darkest periods I have ever been through, and stayed by my side until a little over a year into my Maltese adventure.

There was something about her — a presence that could disarm anyone. Even people who claimed they hated cats would find themselves enchanted.

Her way of communicating was unlike anything I had seen — as if she were a soul far older than her tiny body… like a human spirit wearing whiskers and fur.

I still cannot explain it properly. She was magical.

The Pain That Changed Everything

And then, in a heartbeat, she was gone.

One moment, I saw her full of life, chasing butterflies in the sunshine. Twenty minutes later, she was lying lifeless. I had been dressed up, just about to leave for a company summer party — and in an instant, I was consumed by a pain unlike anything I had ever known.

Back then, I had no idea how this kind of sorrow could ever become strength. The meaning of turning pain into power was completely lost on me.

But this is the story of how I began to try.

When the World Doesn’t Understand Your Grief

Losing her felt like losing a part of myself. I was trapped in a nightmare — a never-ending one. I remember telling myself it was not real, that she would come back again. Denial held me tightly, clinging to an irrational hope because the alternative was unbearable.

The pain was impossible to bear, and I had never cried so much in my entire life. From the moment it happened until the end of 2024, I cried almost every day. Even now, I still get teary-eyed whenever I think about her.

One thing is dealing with your own emotions around loss — which is already overwhelming enough. But another thing you are forced to deal with is how other people respond to that grief. 

For a long time, I felt deeply guilty for feeling the way I did, especially when people said things like, “Oh, it is just a pet,” or “It is not a human, so it should not hurt that much.”

That kind of judgment made me question myself. Eventually, I started to feel like I was wrong for grieving my cat the way I was.

That guilt weighed heavily, and it took me a long time to meet myself with compassion instead of blame. I opened up about that journey in The Guilt We Carry – Finding Compassion After Pet Loss.

Thankfully, I had amazing emotional support from Andy, a few close friends, and my mum. That helped a lot. 

If you’ve ever felt that same invisibility in your own grief, I’ve written more openly about it in The Silent Grief — because that pain deserves to be recognized, too.

There Is No Right Way to Grieve

Somewhere along the way, I began to understand something important: we all respond to loss differently — and that is completely normal.

Grief is processed in our own unique ways. My loss might not have felt significant to someone else, but that does not make it any less real or valid. It is valid. In the same way, someone else’s pain might not affect me the way it affects them — but that does not make their pain any less either.

A connection is a connection. And those bonds are not limited to just human-to-human relationships. They can be just as deep — sometimes even deeper — between humans and animals.

For a long time, I felt powerless. The pain pushed me into seeking anything that would numb it. Substances dulled the sharpness of my grief for a while. I did not want to feel, and I did not want to face reality.

In hindsight, it was not the best solution — because once I chose to stop numbing myself, I had to feel everything I had tried to avoid.

The Promise That Helped Me Reclaim My Power

I have always been the type of person who can fall deep and spiral down a dark road. It is like I stop taking care of myself and forget everything I was working toward — my goals, my health, my identity.

But somewhere during those first few months after it happened, we moved away from the apartment and the place where it all unfolded. In that shift, something inside me changed.

Since I could no longer take care of Oreo, I realized I had to take care of myself.

I kept thinking back to how proud I used to feel every time we went to the vet and they commented on how beautiful, strong, and intelligent she was.

They always said I had done such an amazing job transforming the destiny of this stray cat — yes, I adopted her from a shelter — and giving her the most beautiful life.

From Caring for Her to Caring for Me

My promise to Oreo, when I got her, was simple: I would take care of her and never neglect her — not for a single day, until the day she was not here anymore.

So, when she was gone, I made a new promise — to both her and myself: that I would take care of myself the way I used to take care of her.

I would not deal with pain the same way anymore — no binge eating, no numbing my emotions, no neglecting myself: my health, my appearance, or the things that make me feel good.

It was hard in the beginning. Insanely hard. But that promise kept me accountable.

Once I made it, I knew I could never look back. Looking back would feel like failing her — and failing myself, too.

Turning Pain Into Power by Letting Go

Somewhere along the way, I accepted that she was not coming back.

But even so, I began to feel like she was still around — not in a physical sense but in spirit. And that brought me comfort.

Even if I could not see her or hold her anymore, I knew she was still there in some way. Watching over me. And knowing that made me feel like I had to make her proud. Like I had to show her I was doing my best — for both of us.

That is when I began turning pain into power, reclaiming my strength and reconnecting with things I used to love.

As a teenager, I was really into kickboxing and at the time, I found myself drawn to boxing instead. It helped me immensely during my healing process, and it still does.

I started training just a couple of times a week. But then I got hooked.

Fully Embracing Turning Pain Into Power

Eventually, I was boxing five to six times a week, and it became one of the best gifts I gave myself at that time.

Around that same period, I also drastically reduced how much alcohol I drank. I realized that alcohol and partying just were not making me happy.

Honestly, I have always hated loud and crowded places — so letting go of that part of my life felt like reclaiming something real.

These days, I still enjoy the occasional house party or smaller gathering, but I no longer force myself to be part of that lifestyle.

The Shift That Brought Me Back to Life

When I changed my mindset, more good things started flowing into my life.

It was like I became obsessed — in the best possible way — with the idea of becoming the best version of myself. I reevaluated my values, shifted my priorities, and started eating healthier.

That is when I began asking myself:

• How would this phenomenal version of me act?
• How would she respond in this situation?

And so, I began embodying her. I chose to become the best person I could be — for me.

The changes did not stop there. Now? I’ve never been in better shape. Well, except for after the holidays, haha. But truly, I have never felt as strong as I do now. 

Because taking responsibility for my destiny changed everything.

Learning to Move Forward, Even When It Hurts

Undoubtedly, I have had to make peace with a hard truth since losing Oreo.

And please do not misunderstand me when I say this — but I believe I had to lose her in order to find my way back to myself. It is a painful realization. However, it is also one that shaped everything that followed.

Part of healing is learning to speak kindly to yourself — if that is something you want to explore, I warmly invite you to try my Inner Kindness Pact, a gentle 7-day challenge to speak to yourself like someone you love.

That belief — that everything happens for a reason — still lives in me.

We may not always see it when we are in pain. In fact, we might never fully understand or accept the reason at all. But the truth is, things happen. And somewhere within those moments, there are always lessons waiting to be uncovered.

When Oreo passed, everything in me stood still. I had lost my spark, my passion. I did not know who I was anymore — and I had nothing that truly lit me up.

During that time, I was just drifting… passively floating through life without purpose or direction. Not stepping into my power—merely existing.

And the truth is, I would still give anything to hold her again. To walk through the door and see her waiting for me. To be greeted by her like I used to.

But if she were still here… who knows what my life would look like now?

How Turning Pain Into Power Sparked My Growth After Grief

Today, two years later, I have never felt more stable. I am learning to accept who I am, working with my emotions, and finally starting to heal — not just from losing her, but from other parts of my life I had never faced before.

It still hurts to know that I had to lose her to find my way back to myself. That conflict still lives in me — the ache of her absence, mixed with the growth that followed.

But over time, I have learned to accept that duality. Because even though she was only with me for a short time, she gave me so much in those years.

I discovered parts of myself I never knew. She entered my life at my lowest point and made me feel safe again. And when I stopped growing, when I stood still, she let go — and gave me the spark I needed to move forward and become unstoppable.

So yes — I still believe everything happens for a reason.

Thank you, Oreo, for inspiring me to keep turning pain into power every day — and for allowing me to share this vulnerable story in your honor, in case someone out there needs to hear it.

You Have the Strength to Keep Turning Pain Into Power

Dear soul who might have read this, I hope my story can inspire you. Maybe you’ve lost a family member or a pet you truly loved.

Just know — no matter how dark things seem, it will get better. Because nothing truly lasts forever.

Maybe, just maybe, the thought of someone you’ve lost watching over you might help you feel a sense of accountability too. I’m sure they did everything they could to make you feel your best while they were here. That kind of love doesn’t just fade — and I know you feel their absence deeply.

But please remember this: You already have everything you need within yourself — including the ability to embrace turning pain into power.

Sit with it. Let it fuel your path toward growth. You can, and you will heal.

If you feel like sharing your own story of healing or a moment when you turned pain into power, I would love to hear it — sometimes your words are exactly what someone else needs. You can share in the comments or tag me on Instagram @longbluofficial, so we can keep inspiring each other.

Elevate your healing. Empower your growth. Evolve into your power.

Dearest,
Mikki

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Explore the Pet Loss Series

This article is part of a compassionate guide created to help you navigate the layers of grief. You can return to our Anchor Post: Coping With Pet Loss at any time to find the full roadmap.

🫂Part 1: The Silent Grief: Why Pet Loss Hurts So Deeply

🤍Part 2: The Guilt We Carry: Finding Compassion After Pet Loss

🌿Part 3: Healing After Pet Loss: Gentle Rituals to Support Your Heart

✨Part 4: Turning Pain Into Power: How Losing My Cat Changed My Life