Amanda's Journey: How I Found Joy After Loss

Nov 15

"The wound is the place where the light enters you.” — Rumi

These words by Rumi hold a truth I didn’t fully understand until my life was turned upside down. This is the story of how I found light in my darkest moments and learned that healing often begins where we break.

The Breaking Point

When I was eight years old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. At that age, I had no concept of what cancer really meant. In my eyes, my parents were invincible. Mom made cancer look effortless—she was brave, composed, and endlessly strong. I never realized the battle she was fighting beneath her calm exterior. Her courage and strength still leave me in awe.

Over the years, she endured chemo, radiation, surgeries, and even natural treatments—igniting my passion for holistic approaches to healing. Finally, the cancer went into remission. We thought we were in the clear—until it came back, this time in her backbone.

At 17, my life revolved around sports, friends, and the small joys of being a teenager. I never imagined life could be flipped upside down so suddenly. But on February 6, 2006, it was.

That night, my mom kissed my twin sister Nicole and me goodnight, telling us to rest up for our swim meet the next day. Hours later, I woke up to Nicole screaming, “Mom isn’t breathing!” I rushed out of my room to see my dad giving her CPR. I can still hear the frantic sounds of the machines and the desperate attempts to bring her back. I remember staring out the window, waiting for the ambulance, completely numb to what was unfolding.

At the hospital, I saw her connected to wires and tubes, unresponsive. I squeezed her hand and spoke to her, praying she would wake up, but she didn’t react. The brain scan confirmed my greatest fear—she was brain dead. At 17, I couldn’t process the realization that the person I loved most, the person who loved me unconditionally, was gone. I needed her—she couldn’t be gone. How is this fair?

The hardest decision my family had to make was to take her off life support. She passed surrounded by her loved ones. I’ll never forget how her hand felt in mine as it went cold. I kept repeating to myself, There has to be a reason for this. That belief—that there was a purpose behind the pain—was the only thing that kept me moving forward some days.

Her funeral was on Valentine’s Day. Now, I smile at the synchronicity, knowing that someone so full of love left this world on a day meant for love.

Searching for Happiness in All the Wrong Places

The days, weeks, and months after her passing were a blur of trying to adjust to a new “normal.” I refused to cry in front of anyone, refused to talk about the pain, and worked tirelessly to numb my feelings. If I didn’t acknowledge the grief, maybe I wouldn’t feel it—I thought I could outrun it all. It wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but at 17, I did the best I could with what I had.

I felt an enormous void without her love, and I desperately tried to fill it. I convinced myself that if I could find a boyfriend, get married, and have a baby, everything would be okay. A baby would love me unconditionally, and I could pour my love into them. It seems irrational now, but when you’re young and desperate to fill the void left by a missing love, it makes sense.

After graduating from nursing school, I got engaged, bought a house with my fiancé, and checked all the boxes I thought would lead to happiness. But deep down, my heart whispered that this wasn’t right. I ignored the warning signs until I couldn’t anymore. Calling off the wedding three months before the date was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But I told myself, If I made it through losing my mom, I can get through this.

Hitting Rock Bottom

Still searching for happiness, I moved to a new town and became an ER nurse. The job was humbling, filled with both the highest highs and the lowest lows. On the outside, my life looked perfect—I owned a home, had a successful career, and was surrounded by friends and family. But inside, I felt hollow. It was like living in a beautiful house with nothing but empty walls inside.

Somewhere along the way—desperately trying to outrun the emotions and pain—I developed an eating disorder. It became a silent battle I hid from everyone around me. I was too proud to ask for help, too afraid to admit I was struggling. In my mind, weakness equated to failure, and failure was simply not an option. So, I buried my pain and let the disorder take root, convincing myself I could handle it alone. But the truth was, I was crumbling inside, trapped in an unrelenting cycle of shame and isolation.

At my lowest, I vividly remember screaming at my mom, begging her to take me with her—I didn’t want to be here anymore. I prayed for a miracle because I couldn’t go on.

Then rock bottom truly hit—the day my best friends confronted me about the eating disorder. I felt completely exposed, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of shame. I wanted to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness, so I wouldn’t have to face the truth—or their concern.

I curled up in a ball, tears streaming down my face, my hands clenched so tightly they trembled. Embarrassment and guilt consumed me, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. In that moment, I felt both utterly broken and deeply seen—a raw vulnerability I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. I couldn’t run any longer.

Messages from Beyond

My miracle showed up. I decided to do a spiritual mediumship reading. I walked into the session with no expectations, just a desperate heart searching for anything that could help me make sense of my pain. What happened in that room changed everything.

I’ll never forget when the medium said, “Your mom communicates with you through butterflies, and she knows that you know…” I instantly started crying. For years, I had believed my mom was sending me messages through butterflies, but I never dared to tell anyone. I was afraid people would think I’d lost my mind. Hearing those words felt like a door to another world had opened.

In that moment, a piece of me that had been lost since her passing came back. It was as though the unseen world was reaching out to remind me that I wasn’t alone, that my mom was still with me, and that love transcends the boundaries of this physical life.

Later that year, I made a bold decision to move to Pittsburgh—a city where I knew only one person. This fresh start was about more than just a change of scenery; it was an opportunity to finally focus on myself.

In Pittsburgh, I began studying holistic nursing and nurse coaching, diving deeper into the connections between the mind, body, and soul. These studies opened my eyes to the incredible healing power of energy work and the importance of addressing emotional and spiritual well-being in health. I worked with many talented healers who guided me in peeling back the layers of pain, fear, and conditioning that had kept me stuck for so long.

From Darkness to Rapture

Fast forward to today, nearly 18 years since my mom’s passing, and I can honestly say I’ve found rapture—the kind that fills your heart and soul with joy, peace, and purpose.

I believe my soul chose this path. I believe I agreed to have my mom parent me from the spirit world, guiding and teaching me in ways I could never have experienced otherwise. Her love and wisdom from beyond have helped me to grow, evolve, and trust in the divine orchestration of my life.

Now, it’s my mission to help others find their light, just as I found mine. I know what it feels like to be lost, to feel broken, and to search endlessly for healing. That’s why I’m so passionate about creating safe, compassionate spaces for others to begin their journeys.

My mom’s love and lessons live on in the work I do every day. Through every session, every person I guide, and every life I touch, I honor her legacy and the light she gave me. I am endlessly grateful for the way her love transcends time and space, continuing to guide me and shape the work I do today.

When we heal ourselves, we heal the world. Every ripple of healing, self-love, and compassion spreads outward, raising the vibration of the collective. This is what drives me: the opportunity to make even the smallest difference in someone’s life and to help them remember the truth—that they are whole, they are worthy, and they are deeply loved.

Your story matters too. If you’ve ever felt lost, broken, or unsure of how to move forward, I want you to know: you’re not alone. Take one small step today—whether it’s reaching out for help, journaling your feelings, or simply taking a moment to breathe deeply and reconnect with yourself. Healing is possible, and I’m here to walk alongside you.

Thank you for listening to my story. I look forward to hearing yours.

Amanda Oechler