Enjoying Life in the "And" - Christina Sgambato

Dearest readers–

Just kidding. I’m no Lady Whistledown. She’s great about committing to a weekly release. I did just finish Season 3 of Bridgerton so it felt timely. It has been quite a while since my last blog post– a post that was strangely challenging to write and since then, I’ve had a hard time getting back to the keyboard for one reason or another. If you’re on my email list, you already know that it’s partly due to some anxiety and fear around sharing this next chapter with all of you.

Change is scary.

I’ve shared so much over these past four years, specifically about my grief as a young, widowed mom and solo parent. It became so much a part of my identity, that when things shifted a bit for me, it suddenly felt scary to write about. It’s funny– when I first began writing about grief and loss and hard things, I wasn’t sure I could do it. But, true to my IDGAF era as a new widow, I quickly got over that. For my long-time blog followers, you know that before I wrote about “the hard,” I had my pregnancy series. And before that, my healthy living series. Regardless of what “era” I’m in, I have always committed to being authentic. I write, selfishly, for my catharsis, but also with the hope that to some small degree, I can connect, comfort, and help other people searching for someone who “gets it.” My brain had a lot to say about what other people may think as I write about this next chapter:

“Would people think I don’t love Matt anymore?”
“Will this turn people away or make other people feel bad?
“Do people care about the next chapter?”
“Do people think I’m not grieving?”

And the thing is, I have no control over what other people think or believe– I will always love Matt. I will always grieve losing Matt. It’s part of who I am and that will never change. But I am more than that– and as we all saw at the tail end of my writing before my long hiatus, I committed to truly moving forward in whatever shape that took. By opening myself up to possibilities in this next chapter, by enlisting the help I really needed (shout out to my therapist Steve), I clawed my way to believing my identity was more than a solo parent and widow– and that led me to be in a better place, a place where I was truly ready for new possibilities when I met Paul. And since then, Paul and I have built our own love story– one that is so uniquely our own.

No longer a widow?

And here we are, two years later– and I no longer check the widow box. When I became a widow, I detested that term. It felt so wrong– I was 33 years old. Widows are NOT supposed to be 33. Then I met a tribe of other young widows and I didn’t feel so alone. That term became a part of my identity. So now, to not be a widow (or am I still Matt’s widow?), it feels a little strange. I’m still trying to grapple with that– and maybe that’s another lesson in the power of “and.” More on that later. On May 25, 2024, in front of our closest family and friends, Paul and I got married. The day was amazing, emotional, quirky, and perfect. It was everything that embodied who we are as a couple, and every aspect of the day had some sort of meaning; every person there played an intricate role in making this day special. From our giant crossword puzzle to our very personal and emotional vows, every detail reflected a component of who we are as a couple. I could write a whole blog post about our wedding, the details, my wedding dream team, and all that went into making this day so special. Perhaps I will…but for now, I am just truly grateful to have these memories to look back on.

What I’ve learned most from this journey is to, truly, lean into these happy moments– to find gratitude in the carefree and light-hearted. Because life will present more challenges– and there will be dark days that feel impossible to survive. And it’s these moments and memories that get us through– that remind us that life is wild, unpredictable, hard, but also beautiful. It’s these moments we live for. Loving again comes with baggage– an internal anxiety that everything can be taken away at a moment’s notice; a harsh reality check that all of this…is fleeting. But, there’s also a gratitude for the day– a gratitude for the moment– that can’t easily be defined and hard to understand unless you’ve had it all taken away.

Photo Credit: Brittany Dunbar Photography

The Sgambato-Goldsholl chapter has commenced.

This leads me to now– to this next chapter as a Sgambato and a Goldsholl (and yes Dad, I’ll always be a Brissette at my core). In this chapter, I am still learning how to see things in the gray– or the wildly colorful– and balance all these parts of my ever-evolving identity. Our capacity as humans to love is so powerful. In taking a lesson from my five-year-old who always reminds me that he has two “daddies,” one in heaven and one on earth, there is power in the “and.” I can love Matt AND Paul. I can be a Sgambato AND a Goldsholl. If you find yourself fighting the and– I can assure you, it is possible and there is a lot of relief when you realize, it’s ok.

While Paul and I sat on the balcony of our hotel room on our honeymoon, he encouraged me to start writing again. Perhaps, to even write a book– I can hear my father-in-law reminding me right now that he said the same thing four years ago. And maybe one day I will. For now, we’ll keep this blog going, and you, my dearest readers, will be my guide. I’d love to know what questions you may have for me, about this next chapter, about the “and,” and about all that goes along with loving again. I’m still trying to convince Paul to do a guest blog post with me– and if you read his vows, you’d know his writing talent.

I’ll leave you all with a snippet of my vows:

“ Over the past two years, you have given me one of the greatest gifts as I’ve watched our family become a formidable unit, a wolfpack, as you and Bryson remind me…I promise to be your light when life darkens, your stillness through storms, your lifeline when we are tested, and your shoulder to lean on when burdens feel impossible to bear. I am confident that powers we can’t explain, souls we can’t see but feel, brought us here, to this place, in front of our family, all of whom have witnessed our journeys here. And as I look into your eyes and see your happy smile, I promise to spend the rest of our time here with you.”