How Are You Doing?
It takes time to truly arrive at a full and truthful answer
A really smart woman asked me this perfectly innocent question the other day.
It’s a simple question, really.
And I responded with a formula answer—”I’m good, all’s good”
The truth of the matter was —it didn’t begin to scratch the surface of how I was doing.
I had spent the last 4 years caring for my husband who had Alzheimers.
It had become a deeply painful time in my life.
Daily, I felt a mix of grief. Loss of self. Possibly relief as he was transitioning.
But, for now, “I’m good” was all I could muster in response to “How are you doing?”
For now - Survive. Manage. Reach Out. Cry.
It takes time to truly arrive at a full and truthful answer, having processed all the feelings.
It came gradually ——and surprisingly.
But that doesn’t mean the discussion can’t happen.
That’s where community I built around me became key. Counselors, friends, family—they all played a part in helping me access, express, and release my strong emotions.
A Better Conversation
Be approachable (Gustavo Razetti) I am using my friends as sounding boards, testing my feelings and emotions for reaction and completeness. I realize this puts a burden on the listener, as there is no playbook for this conversation. Gustavo Razetti writes the best feedback givers aren’t the bluntest. They’re the most trusted. That trust is built before the conversation even starts:
They show up as someone who is already safe to be with.
I am asking them to give genuine feedback, and respect if they don’t feel qualified.
I already know there will be no judgment.
And finally, what do I need from this person right now? Perhaps lingering over coffee or a glass of wine, relaxing and talking, the words finally find their way.
When my friend asked me “how are you doing?” she was really encouraging me to pursue a completion of this thought.
She wanted me to deeply consider, “How does it feel to be losing your husband?”
My husband is now at the end of his days. He will be at peace, finally, very soon.
Images of the last several years are flowing through me like a reel on Facebook. Images of his decline into Alzheimer’s and his struggles to navigate life. Images of the happier times when he could still connect with me and other people.
Can We Talk About Anger?
How am I doing? —the short answer is I made peace with this journey a while ago. Today, however, as I am by his side during these last hours and days…
I am really quite angry. Angry that the disease affected him. Angry that we didn’t get to live out our years together. Angry that I have to learn to live a life without him.
Heck, I’m pretty pissed off.
But anger only goes so far.
What am I going to do with it?
My plan:
Survive. Get through the next several days. One foot in front of the other.
Manage the business of death. Notify Social Security, the banks, the attorney. Notify family and friends. Plan the celebration of life back in our home state. Tie up the loose ends.
Reach out to my community. The conversation about how we really are happens when we have time to communicate, to be together, to “hang out.” We need time to feel safe that the conversation is—and will stay—in a supportive place. We all need time to share our real “how are we doing” story.
Keep up with my current schedule. Life goes on. I will go on. Time with friends, clients, travel. It all continues. That is how I will celebrate my husband’s life—by living a good one. Continuing to work, travel, and spend time with friends provides structure, social connection, and meaning—three factors that research consistently links with resilience after loss.
Research suggests that maintaining a schedule while grieving provides crucial structure, cognitive anchors, and physical stability to a brain overwhelmed by loss. Scientifically, routines reduce cognitive load, helping manage the “80 units” of energy loss often demands, while supporting essential sleep and nutritional needs. The Energy Equation: Understanding Grief’s Impact on Daily Life.
Cry. Whenever I feel like it. Crying is an emotional release we all need, like releasing steam from a valve. Heck, I might scream and yell, too. It’s OK. I earned it.
Postscript: This newsletter was originally written on March 10. My husband, Lee Tull, passed away on March 12, 2026. I believe his spirit, restored to his complete self, is reunited with those who went before him—his parents, Carlton and Elva, and his lifelong friends. He’s hitting golf shots that are only long and straight with Art. He’s throwing a football with Michael. He’s sitting on a porch, remembering old times and sharing a beer with Alex.
Find peace and rest, my love.
I write about ways I processed this anger and grief (constructively) in my weekly newsletter “The Tender Warrior.” Because— I truly had to be a warrior most days, but for the man who was the absolute love of my life. If this would be of value to you, sign up for my newsletter here:
As my gift to you, you’ll receive my free checklist, “What Joy Looks Like,” because I promise you, there are still moments of joy to be found.
I was a caregiver of a husband with Alzheimers for 4 years and lost sense of who I was along the way. I write to help others who feel isolated in losing the love of their life To find a sense of belonging after.