Grief and Growth: The Superpowers I Didn’t Ask For

It’s been a while since I wrote about this—and by “this,” I mean the heartbreak, the emotional bar fight, the loss that makes you forget how to breathe. Let’s be real: revisiting it isn’t exactly a soothing Sunday hobby. But every now and then, I look at the woman I’ve become and think, “Damn. I didn’t just survive—I mutated.” Into someone stronger, louder, and possibly part feral.

So let’s talk about the unexpected superpowers that came out of the rubble. The powers I never signed up for, never wanted, and yet—here they are. No cape, but a whole lot of nerve.

1. Protective Mama Mode: Activated

This one kicked in immediately. It was like my body flipped a switch that said: Guard the daughter like a dragon guards its gold. If she slept too long, I checked on her breathing. If she didn’t text back fast enough, I spiraled. Strangers walking by? They got a stare so sharp it could slice drywall.

She was struggling, too—wandering, avoiding home, drowning in her own pain—and I couldn’t lose her, too. I hovered. I fretted. I was one sideways glance from giving strangers a reason to cross the street. I knew I was on edge, but I didn’t care. She was all I had left. And for a long time, keeping her safe was the only thing that made me feel like I still had a purpose.

2. Hyper-Awareness: Or as I call it, Insomnia with Extra Features

Any noise at night? I was up. Dreams turned hostile. Sirens? Instant panic attack. A car slows near the house? I was at the window like a suspicious raccoon.

It’s like my senses cranked up to superhero levels—except there was no cool origin story, just trauma and a lot of dark circles under my eyes. Everything hurt, even the air. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t rest. I was just a bundle of raw nerves, waiting for the other shoe to drop… and assuming it would drop from space onto my head.

3. No Fear (Also Known as “Borderline Reckless”)

At some point, I stopped caring what happened to me. It wasn’t dramatic—it was numb. My internal monologue was, “Well, if something happens, I’ve got a kid on both sides of the veil. I’ll manage.”

Case in point: one night, I heard gunshots around 2 a.m. Like an idiot superhero with zero tactical training, I flew out of bed and ran outside. Spoiler: no cape, just bathrobe. And yeah… not my best moment. But I couldn’t sit still. I was jumpy, volatile, and convinced that if I didn’t act fast, someone else I loved would disappear.

4. Bullshit Detection: Leveled Up

I always had a solid radar for nonsense. But after the losses? That radar turned military grade.

I could sense lies, manipulation, emotional games—all of it. And while before I might’ve sugarcoated my reactions (or kept quiet for peace), now? Not a damn chance. My tolerance for nonsense evaporated. My filter dissolved. If you brought drama or dishonesty near me, I either said what needed saying or silently cut you off at the knees.

People thought I was blunt before. Oh honey. You had no idea.

5. Compassion… But Make It Real

I’ve always had empathy, but this changed me. What I gained was a deeper compassion—a gut-level, full-body understanding of pain. Not the kind you read about. The kind you survive.

I know what it’s like to feel completely hollowed out. And when I see that in others now, I don’t pity them—I see them. I sit with them. I get it. My sympathy became a comfort I could offer without fixing, without pushing, without pretending everything’s fine. I learned how to hold space for myself and others.

6. Self-Rediscovery: Identity Reboot Mode

Here’s the kicker: I didn’t just lose people—I lost myself.

I had been a daughter. Then a mother and daughter. And suddenly… neither. My mom passed nearly 15 years ago, and back then, I buried the grief, slapped on some responsibility, and powered through. But when I lost Dakota and my dad, it broke me in a way I couldn’t patch over.

I felt like I didn’t exist. Not as a daughter. Not fully as a mother. Just a black hole wearing sweatpants.

I couldn’t even look at my daughter in the beginning—not because I didn’t love her, but because my grief swallowed everything. I was so lost, so empty, I forgot who I was.

And that’s when something new started. I realized I had no clue who Tammy actually was without the roles, without the labels, without the people I built my world around. So, I started digging.

Through deep (and I mean deep) IFS therapy, I started peeling back the layers. I met the parts of me that had been hiding, protecting, and surviving. And for the first time, I started building a relationship with myself, not as someone’s mom or someone’s daughter, but just as me.

It might not sound like a superpower, but believe me—it is. Self-discovery after devastation? That’s the real magic. That’s the glow-up nobody sees coming.

What Now?

Now I’m still learning. Still growing. Still figuring out how to live in a world that’s changed me permanently.

But if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: sometimes, the things that break you also remake you. They sharpen your edges, clear your vision, and force you to finally meet yourself.

And no, I don’t wear a cape. But if superpowers include fierce loyalty, bullshit lasers, hyper-sensitivity, and an upgraded empathy engine… then yeah, I’ve got those.

And I earned every damn one.