EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT: Move Forward Stronger: A Dynamic Framework to Process Change, Loss, and Grief by Julia A. Nicholson

Whether you’re looking to be inspired by the courageous and candid personal story of someone who has endured more than her fair share of adversity and loss, or you open the pages of Move Forward Stronger seeking help in coping with your own unwanted change, loss, or grief, Julia’s stories and insights will leave you believing in the strength of the human spirit.

You’ll emerge believing in the power within yourself to move forward stronger instead of getting stuck in what happened — confident knowing that you can process change, loss, and grief in a positive and productive way, and that you can learn to live with your losses instead of living in them.

If you are stuck in feelings and emotions of grief and the conventional wisdom isn’t helping you, you’re not losing your mind (though sometimes it might feel that way). What happened to you cannot be undone or bargained away. You are not a failure. There is nothing wrong with you, and you are not alone.

“For people like me, who have been ready to give up on life more than once, how do we find momentum, a purpose, or a reason to go on living in the face of our feelings and emotions? It’s not about being knocked down and getting back up one more time. Yes, getting up is important, but how you get back up — ideally more confident, determined, resilient, stronger — is what truly makes the difference.”
— Julia A. Nicholson, Author of Move Forward Stronger

The Universal Human Equalizer

An Excerpt from Move Forward Stronger: A Dynamic Framework to Process Change, Loss and Grief by Julia A. Nicholson

You may have heard at some point in time, “The only sure things in life are death and taxes.” Not true. There is another guaranteed sure thing that impacts every single living human being: something that is unavoidable. No matter what stage of life you are in now, exactly 100 percent of us have experienced one. In fact, most of us have already experienced more than one, some of which are significantly more impactful than others. No matter who you are, you will continue to experience them throughout your life across multiple dimensions: personal, professional, emotional, psychological, and financial. I call this something an “it,” and they happen in life regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, religion, political affiliation, economic status, or age. 

What Is an “It”? 

An “it” is any unwanted change or loss in your life. Its are the humbling, all-inclusive equalizer because experiencing them is universal. Regardless of the specific nature or impact of an it, unwanted change and loss are inescapable, and some degree of grief usually follows. 

An “ it” is any unwanted change or loss in your life. 

The words “loss” and “grief” are most commonly associated with death. However, there are many other types of its that can have just as much impact on your life, leading to the same feelings of grief and the same risk of getting stuck in those feelings. An it can be the death of someone you love, and it can also be a divorce, the loss of a close relationship, pet, or job. It can be a negative change in your financial picture, a medical diagnosis, a physical or emotional injury, or a global pandemic. An it is something you didn’t want or expect to happen and maybe even tried really hard to make sure didn’t happen, but it happened anyway. Whatever your it is, it changes you and your life in subtle (and sometimes, not so subtle) ways for a period of time, maybe even forever. 

The loss of someone or something you love or value and the aftermath of that loss is one of the hardest experiences in life, and the multidimensional feelings of grief that result are impossible to adequately describe in a few words. Even though loss and grief are universal experiences, they are also uniquely individual. People who have experienced the same it feel grief in different ways and to varying degrees of intensity and duration. 

Maybe your it changed your routines and behaviors or caused you to feel afraid, worried, stressed, deeply sad, depressed, discouraged, drained, helpless, and/or hopeless. Maybe you’ve felt this way for so long you don’t remember feeling any other way. You think this is how you will always feel. You can’t get a break. The its just keep on coming. You are exhausted and depleted. Maybe you feel like your life is over, ruined beyond repair. The obstacles are too many and too big to overcome. What’s the use of trying to feel better or of going on? 

I know these feelings because I’ve been there. In the wake of one of the most devastating its I’ve ever experienced, I distinctly remember sitting in an oversized tan leather chair in my family room, surrounded by family and friends, people I love who dropped everything and rushed from all over the country to be with me. I was there, but I wasn’t really there. It was as if my life had been washed over by static. I couldn’t think clearly. There was just . . . nothing. 

I was utterly stuck, convinced I would never “feel better.” My life was over. The pain was so great; I vacillated between wanting to die so the pain would end and desperately wanting my life before it back. There were periods of time when I had no energy, no passion, no purpose, no direction—when I could not find a single reason to get out of bed, or off the floor, in the morning. My mind churned, “Why me? This is so unfair. What did I do wrong? I’m a good person. I don’t deserve this.” 

If you’re reading this book, there’s a good chance that you or someone you know has experienced similar feelings as the result of an unwanted change or loss in life. You may be stuck in feelings of grief or still trying to process and make sense of what happened. No matter what your it is or how long ago it happened, opening this book is a good first step. This means you have a glimmer of hope that there may be a way to process your it in a way that makes sense for you, a way that gets you unstuck. You are right! There is a way! But how? 

Accidental Expert 

Over the years, family members, friends, and others have asked me how I’ve gotten through the many its I’ve experienced from a near fatal car accident to the unexpected death of my husband. “How are you still standing after all the loss you’ve had in your life? How were you able to raise two amazing children? How did you have an immensely successful career? How do you look forward to the future after everything you’ve been through? How can you be happy and feel joy?” 

I recognized the sad, empty look in the eyes of many people who asked me one of these questions—the way their head and shoulders slumped slightly forward and the worn-out tone of their voice. Every single one of them had experienced an impactful it, some more recently than others. What they were mentally and emotionally carrying was heavy. They were unable to see past where they were at that moment. And yet, they hadn’t totally given up. They were still looking, some perhaps half-heartedly, for something that might help them live as a part of life instead of apart from life. At some point in time, with each of my its, I came to want that too. Talking with every one of these people was like looking in a mirror; I was them. 

They were unable to see past where they were at that moment. And yet, they hadn’t totally given up. They were still looking, some perhaps half-heartedly, for something that might help them live as a part of life instead of apart from life. 

The best response I could muster then was always something weak and useless. I muttered words along the lines of, “I’m just like everyone else. Everyone has their stuff. We’ve all had things happen in our life that we didn’t want to happen.” They would come back with, “No, Julia, you don’t understand. You’ve had more than most.” Maybe so, but my its aren’t any worse than anyone else’s, and this is not a competition anyone wants to win. They wanted more than those responses. They needed more. They were looking for a way to move from where they were. They wanted hope. 

After hearing about some of my experiences, I remember someone once told me the biggest setback in her entire life, so far, was that she didn’t make the high school cheerleading squad. She brushed it off with, “Oh, I know it’s a small little thing compared to you. It’s not a big deal.” If not making the cheerleading squad was still affecting her mentally or emotionally in a negative way, and impacting her life because she hadn’t yet processed those feelings and emotions, then it is a big deal: an unprocessed, unresolved it. The severity of a person’s it cannot be compared to another’s because its aren’t relative. I can promise you, the worst thing that’s ever happened in your life feels just as bad, and can be just as impactful, as the worst thing that’s ever happened in mine. 

The severity of a person’s it cannot be compared to another’s because its aren’t relative. 

I didn’t intentionally set out to become an expert in processing unwanted change, loss, and grief. I’m just an average, ordinary person who earned expert status, literally and figuratively, by accident—purely by experiencing a lot of its and choosing not to let them dictate how I felt for the rest of my life. There are no prestigious letters after my name. I don’t have any licenses, formal training, education, or credentials in medicine, psychology, sociology, or any other related field. Without any of these recognized credentials, I struggled with impostor syndrome when I was encouraged to share how I have been able to do what I have done: Is there anything I can share, based on my many experiences with so many different its, that might be of use to anyone else? 

It is my deepest hope and prayer that sharing what I learned along the path of processing and dealing with my life’s its will be of value to those who are in the throes of their own. Please be aware, what follows is not about being knocked down and getting back up one more time. Yes, getting up is important, but how you get back up—ideally more confident, determined, resilient, stronger—is what truly makes the dif- ference. Sharing this information is my life’s purpose, and without being aware of it at the time, the seeds of that purpose were planted a long time ago. 

Basic Training 

My two sisters, brother, and I were raised in a military family. Our dad was in the Marine Corps. He was deployed on two different tours of duty in Vietnam before I turned nine years old. Having someone you love deployed overseas was very different in the 1960s than it is today. There were no phone calls, emails, or text messages to let us know Dad was still alive, unlike decades later when my brother, also a Marine, was deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq. In the ’60s, we checked the mailbox multiple times a day and waited for weeks in between snail mail letters from Dad. While we waited, we were glued to the TV, hoping for a rare chance to see him or anyone else from our Marine Corps base during one of the war reports on the nightly news. 

Being in a Marine Corps family meant that we were part of a large, close-knit community that supported each other through thick and thin. There was an understanding amongst the military families that helping each other was part of an unspoken code that came with the territory. 

I remember many times, when Dad was deployed and Mom was home with the four of us, hearing a knock on the door. On the other side of that door was usually another mom with her kids and a huge bowl of steaming hot spaghetti. That mom’s husband and those kids’ dad was also deployed. Soon enough, there would be another knock, and another mom and her kids would come streaming in with something to contribute to dinner. Everyone brought whatever they could, and there was always enough food to go around. Some nights, we had twenty extra people crammed into the kitchen and filling up every inch of the house. When the husbands/dads were away, the wives and kids at home banded together into one huge pack. As bad or as scary as things were with the war, we always knew we were not alone. Life was better together. 

We always knew we were not alone. Life was better together. 

Despite the closeness of our military community, there was always an undercurrent of fear in my family that Dad might not make it home. That fear became a short-lived reality during his second tour of duty in Vietnam. It manifested itself in the form of a dark green military vehicle that pulled up to our house on three separate occasions. 

The first time the dark green car pulled up, it had no real meaning to me. I’d never experienced the car’s arrival before, but I did have an innate sense that something wasn’t right. At that time, we lived off base in a regular civilian neighbor- hood. A military car pulling up to the front of your house was not a common or normal sight. When the car door opened, a Marine Corps officer in a starched khaki uniform got out of the vehicle. He approached the house with determination. The officer wasn’t there with a bowl of steaming hot spaghetti and some boisterous kids. He was there to tell my mom that the Marine Corps believed my dad had been killed in action. 

Even though we knew this was a possibility, hearing the news felt utterly surreal and completely impossible. I heard what the officer said but thought, “This can’t be true.” There was shock. And denial. My dad was not coming home? I didn’t want to believe it. We were all crying inconsolably. An instant heavy darkness enveloped our house. 

I don’t remember much between the first day the dark green vehicle showed up and the next time it pulled up a few days later. I felt sick to my stomach. Now I knew this was a car no one wanted to see at their house. The knock on the front door could change your life forever. I didn’t want to see that car or anyone from it coming to the door again. I was sure that whatever they were there to say wasn’t going to be good. This time a different Marine Corps officer announced that my dad’s status had changed from “killed in action” to “missing in action.” I didn’t really know what “missing in action” meant, but I could tell by my mom’s reaction that it was better news than the first visit. The status change gave us some hope, but it didn’t bring us any relief. The shock and denial were replaced with worry, questions about the unknown, and lots of prayers. 

The green car pulled up to the house a third time within a seven-day period. The feelings of dread it elicited were familiar but no less fear inducing. I braced for what was coming. But this time, the officer told us that my dad had been located. He was alive. All of our prayers had been answered! 

Dad was in a hospital in Germany. He was being treated for critical injuries he sustained during the intense chaos of the rapid evacuation of Vietnamese women and children from a small village in a warzone to a safe location. It would be months before we would be able to talk to him or he would be able to fly home. Though we all longed to speak to and see him, we understood it wasn’t possible. We had to accept that he would come home as soon as he was able to travel. This time, instead of tears of sadness and despair, there were tears of relief and happiness. 

We were some of the lucky ones. Our dad made it home alive. Later, he was awarded a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star with a combat “V” in recognition of his injuries, bravery, and heroic actions that day. 

I was almost nine years old when I watched the car pull up to our house three different times. The emotional roller coaster of that week and its aftermath would not be forgotten. To this day, seeing a green military-colored car or anything else that color takes me instantly back to that time, that street, and that house in Oceanside, California, over fifty years ago. Looking back, the experience as a young child of being told and believing that my dad was dead or missing is my first memory of a major it. This it would be far from my last. 

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Julia A. Nicholson is a former CEO, executive leadership expert, business consultant, and adjunct professor of business who has excelled for decades as an industry-leading visionary on governance, strategic planning, team building, and executive performance. But she has also faced an inordinate amount of adversity in her life.

In the span of 15 years, she went from a near-fatal head-on collision and a challenging role as single mother of two young children after leaving an abusive marriage, to being the CEO of a $450 million company. She now brings her expertise and passion to organizations and conferences across the country.

The transformations that led to her successes are central to her upcoming book Move Forward Stronger. Julia has been featured in Forbes.com and her TEDx Talk “The Way We Think About Loss and Grief is Dead Wrong” was featured on the TEDx Talks YouTube Channel with 36 million subscribers.

Official Site: https://julianicholsonpresents.com/

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Category: On Writing