When Grief Meets Purpose: What Losing My Best Friend to Domestic Violence Taught Me During Grad School

There are moments in life that split your story in two… before and after.

Losing my best friend to domestic violence was one of those moments.

I don’t share this part of my journey often or with everyone, not because I’m ashamed, but because the grief is layered, complicated, and sacred. It happened during one of the most demanding seasons of my graduate program, the semester right before I was supposed to start interning and being responsible for the mental health of others… then, suddenly, I got a phone call that I never in my life thought I would receive. 

I walked on the earth living in a haze, completely disconnected from my body, watching everyone live their normal life while mine was completely shattered. The life I once knew was gone and somehow I was supposed to keep going, but how?

I almost quit grad school when she was murdered. Not only did not I not give a shit about school, but I also didn’t know I would ever be capable of supporting someone through a difficult time.  

What if I met someone like her?

Death is never easy, but nothing could prepare you for a loss like that.  Nobody could ever accurately explain the shock, the anger, the disbelief, and the questions you’ll never get answers to. 

I remember being in the airport days later looking at every man that walked by me thinking, “he could be a murderer…he could be a murderer…he could be a murderer…”.  I didn’t feel the kind of fear that crippled me with anxiety, but the kind of fear that crippled me with confusion. Nothing made sense and who could I trust?

Domestic violence is a reality many people suffer through in silence. And yet, when it touched my life so closely, it brought me to my knees. I didn’t feel strong. I didn’t feel capable. 

But in that darkness, God met me. Not with answers, but with His presence even though I didn’t talk to Him for months. I was frozen, but in the quiet moments when I couldn’t hold myself together, He held me. When the grief felt unbearable, He reminded me that He mourned with me. And slowly, through the heaviness, I began to understand something I never expected:

Purpose and pain can coexist.

My friend’s death didn’t derail my calling; it deepened it.

I realized that what the enemy meant to break me, God used to strengthen the therapist and woman I’m becoming. And after I passed my graduate exam, especially after failing the first time, all of these thoughts came rushing back on my drive home. The grief, the purpose, the reason I kept going… it all hit me at once. Passing wasn’t just relief; it was emotional. It reminded me why I stayed, why I kept moving, and how much my friend played a role in completing my program.

Her story fuels my purpose.  

Not from a place of trauma, but from a place of deep love, remembrance, and commitment to holding space for others who have been silenced or hurt. Every client who finds their voice, every woman who discovers her strength, every breakthrough I witness, it feels like honoring my friend’s life in a way that words never could.

Grief didn’t take away my calling. It proved it.

And as I continue this journey, I carry both the ache and the purpose, trusting that God can bring meaning even from the most devastating parts of our stories.