When A Widow Feels Left Out

A widow can feel small and lost in the great big world, all alone.

After Eric died, I started noticing something that no one warned me about—the quiet ache of being left out. It didn’t happen all at once. At first, people showed up with meals, texts, and kindness. But as time passed, things shifted.

Invitations slowed. Group texts went silent. Families gathered without us.

And I felt the hurt of that. Deeply.

But here’s the truth: I said no to a lot of invitations too, because I felt so conspicuous showing up alone. I hated being the third wheel.

Here’s what I’ve learned:Widows often feel left out because everything about our lives has changed, including the way we fit into other people’s.

Sometimes it’s because:

• We’re not part of a couple anymore.

• Friends feel awkward and don’t know what to say.

• We say no a lot at first so eventually, people stop asking.

• Others think we need space, but don’t realize we also need connection.

And the perception is real:

• “They don’t want me anymore.”

• “I’m too much. Too sad. Too different.”

• “They moved on. I’m still stuck.”

But here’s the truth, and it’s complicated:People aren’t always trying to hurt us. They’re unsure. They’re afraid. And sometimes they’re just not paying attention.

Recently, I listened to Mel Robbins’ book, “The Let Them Theory.” I had so many ah-ha moments. I am excited to share one with you!

Her message is simple:If they want to go without you—let them.If they leave you out—let them.If they drift away—let them.

I know that sounds scary, but do you have any power over them anyway? Hang in there with me.

But what really moved me was what I call the second half of her theory: 

Let me.

Let me grieve.Let me rest.Let me rediscover joy on my own timeline.Let me protect my peace.Let me find new places to belong.

Let me reach back out—if part of the silence was an echo of my own silence.

I think about what happened one Sunday after church.

We’d just walked out—me, my kids, and a family we used to be close with back when our families matched: Dad, mom, two kids. Right in front of me, they began discussing their dinner plans with another family from church. There was no invitation for us.

It stung.

But later that week, I remembered Mel’s words. 

Let them.

Let them have their BBQ.Let them gather the way they want. Because I can do nothing to stop it.

And then I said something else to myself:

Let me. Because I can control me.

Let me honor how much it hurt.Let me remember how often I pulled away.Let me forgive them for not knowing what I needed.Let me decide if I want that relationship still. (I realized I didn’t want it at the same depth anymore.)Let me create new connections—ones that fit who I’m becoming.

If you’ve felt left out lately, you’re not alone. And you’re not powerless.

Let them. Let you. 

That’s how healing begins.

Grief changes us. It changes our relationships. But that doesn’t mean we’re unlovable or forgotten. It means we’re in transition. And even that space—in between who we were and who we’re becoming—can still be full of hope.

If this topic speaks to you and you'd like to consider it more, check out the worksheet I made for you to think about the Let Them Theory.