Kapitel 1
When Grief Meets Hope: Transforming Life After Loss
Dave Goldberg was my rock. For eleven years, we built a life together-until that fateful afternoon in Mexico when I fell asleep by the pool and woke to find him gone forever. His death from a cardiac arrhythmia shattered my world and left me wondering if my children would ever be happy again. Option B has become a cultural touchstone for resilience, endorsed by everyone from Bill Gates to Oprah Winfrey, who featured it prominently in her book club. Since its 2017 publication, this collaboration between Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg and psychologist Adam Grant has sparked a global movement, with millions joining the OptionB.org community to share stories of overcoming adversity. The book's profound impact stems from its unique blend of raw personal narrative and evidence-based strategies-offering not just comfort but concrete tools for rebuilding life when Plan A is no longer an option.
Kapitel 2
Breaking Free from the Three P's of Grief
When tragedy strikes, three psychological traps can prevent recovery: personalization (blaming ourselves), pervasiveness (believing the tragedy affects everything), and permanence (thinking the pain will last forever). I fell into all three after Dave died, immediately blaming myself for his death. Even after learning he died instantly from a cardiac arrhythmia, I obsessed over whether lifestyle changes might have prevented it. I constantly apologized to everyone for the disruption his death caused, until Adam convinced me to banish the word "sorry," explaining that self-blame delayed my recovery and my children's.
Returning to work helped combat pervasiveness. Though initially everything felt unfamiliar, work gradually provided moments where I briefly forgot my grief. The kindness of colleagues showed me that not all aspects of my life were terrible. I realized how important workplace support is after tragedy-yet only 60 percent of private sector workers get paid time off after a death, usually just a few days. Companies that offer comprehensive benefits find their investment pays off in loyalty and productivity.
The hardest P to overcome was permanence. I couldn't imagine ever feeling joy again. When my children cried, I'd project forward to all the milestones Dave would miss-every game, holiday, graduation. Studies show we overestimate how long negative events will affect us, but I couldn't access my psychological immune system.
I tried eliminating words like "never" and "always" from my vocabulary, replacing them with "sometimes" and "lately." I used cognitive behavioral techniques, writing down beliefs causing me anguish followed by evidence they were false. A psychiatrist friend reminded me that humans are evolutionarily wired for both connection and grief-we naturally have tools to recover.
Rabbi Nat Ezray advised me to "lean in to the suck"-to expect grief to be awful. This helped with my "second-derivative" feelings: being upset about being upset, anxious about being anxious. Accepting my suffering lessened it, something Buddhists have known for centuries.
Our family created new rules, with "Respect our feelings" at the top. My children took cry breaks at school, and I took them too-in my car, at work, during meetings. Eventually, I noticed the fog of intense pain lifting occasionally, and when it returned, I recovered faster.
Kapitel 3
Kicking the Elephant Out of the Room
After Dave's death, I discovered how people avoid discussing painful topics-the elephant in the room. During a reunion with Dave's college roommates, I had a breakthrough conversation with Jeff King, who had multiple sclerosis. I realized I had never actually spoken with Jeff about his illness, despite discussing it often with Dave. Breaking the silence, I asked him directly how he was feeling and whether he was scared. Jeff's tearful gratitude for this simple acknowledgment revealed how rarely people engage with others' suffering.
In the early weeks after Dave died, I was shocked when friends didn't ask how I was doing. I felt invisible, as if standing before them unseen. While people immediately inquire about physical injuries, they often avoid discussing emotional devastation. Friends made small talk, ignored my new reality, or made requests without acknowledging my changed circumstances.
I realized I had been guilty of the same avoidance with Jeff-not because I didn't care, but from fear of upsetting him. Losing Dave taught me how ludicrous this was; Jeff was aware of his MS every minute of every day.
Even people who have endured terrible suffering often want to talk about it. Merle Saferstein, who worked with over five hundred Holocaust survivors, found that almost all wanted to share their experiences. Author Mitch Carmody, whose nine-year-old son died from a brain tumor, said, "Our child dies a second time when no one speaks their name."
Psychologists call this avoidance the "mum effect"-people's tendency to withhold bad news. Doctors delay sharing bleak prognoses, managers postpone firing notices, and colleagues remain silent about racial injustice. By staying silent, we isolate those who are suffering.
After nearly a month of mourning, I poured my emotions into a Facebook post describing the void of grief and how a simple greeting like "How are you?" hurt because it didn't acknowledge my situation. I suggested "How are you today?" instead, showing awareness of my daily struggle.
The impact was immediate. Friends, neighbors, and colleagues started acknowledging the elephant. Strangers worldwide shared their stories-a mother who lost one twin, a young widower on what would have been his third anniversary. People comforted each other, friends discovered others' hidden losses, and I felt less alone.
Research confirms that opening up about trauma improves mental and physical health. After my post, people began asking "How are you today?" which helped me realize my grief might not be permanent. I learned to respond more honestly when asked how I was doing, and to address the silence directly with friends who weren't asking questions.
Kapitel 4
Beyond the Golden Rule: Supporting Those in Pain
When people are in pain, they need a "button"-a sense of control that helps them endure stress. After Owen's suicide, Adam started writing his cell phone number on the board on the first day of class, letting students know they could call anytime. This simple gesture, rarely used but always available, gave students an extra sense of control.
When facing others' adversity, we experience two emotional responses: empathy (motivating help) and distress (motivating avoidance). Many people withdraw from friends in crisis, worried about saying the wrong thing or feeling helpless. They make excuses-"We're not that close" or "I don't want to bother her"-until it feels too late to reach out. This withdrawal adds to the suffering, as one widow discovered when her friend admitted, "I wanted to wait until you felt better."
Instead of following the Golden Rule (treat others as you want to be treated), those supporting someone in grief should follow the Platinum Rule: treat others as they want to be treated. Rather than vague offers like "Is there anything I can do?", specific actions help more. As time passed, I felt especially grateful to family and friends who continued checking in.
Self-compassion-offering ourselves the same kindness we'd give a friend-helps us recover from hardship faster. Unlike self-pity or self-indulgence, it acknowledges our imperfections as part of being human. Studies show self-compassion helps people cope with divorce, PTSD, and various emotional difficulties, with women often benefiting more since they tend to be harder on themselves.
Self-compassion allows us to feel guilt rather than shame. While guilt motivates us to repair wrongs and improve, shame makes us feel worthless, leading to anger or self-pity. Research shows shame-prone college students have more substance abuse problems, shame-prone prisoners reoffend more, and shame-prone children show more aggression.
Catherine Hoke's story illustrates this distinction. After building a successful prison entrepreneurship program, her personal life collapsed when her husband suddenly left. During this vulnerable time, she crossed boundaries with program graduates, losing her position and reputation. Facing suicidal thoughts, Catherine found healing through self-compassion-not excusing her actions but refusing to define herself solely by them. She wrote a remorseful letter to supporters, many of whom responded with encouragement. As Bryan Stevenson says, "We are all more than the worst thing we've ever done."
Kapitel 5
Post-Traumatic Growth: Finding Strength in Suffering
Trauma can lead not just to suffering but also to personal growth. Kevin Krim, who lost two children to murder, found gratitude in his surviving daughter and strong marriage. He and his wife Marina had more children and founded ChooseCreativity.Org to honor their lost children's love of art.
I now experience a deeper appreciation for what I once took for granted. I compare my emotional journey to my mother's physical one after hip replacement-on days when I'm emotionally okay, I appreciate "walking without pain." Though I had glimpses of this perspective after working with leprosy patients in India, that gratitude eventually faded. Now I'm determined to hold onto it.
Research shows expressing gratitude through thank-you notes significantly reduces depression, with effects lasting a month. As my friend Steven Levitt, who lost his one-year-old son, told me: "With each passing year, the balance tipped a little more toward an appreciation of what there once was and away from the horror of what was lost."
Trauma can damage one's ability to trust and form relationships, but it can also motivate people to develop deeper connections. Research shows soldiers experiencing significant losses during war often maintain lifelong friendships with fellow servicemembers, and many breast cancer survivors report greater intimacy with loved ones.
The fourth form of post-traumatic growth is finding greater meaning in life. As Viktor Frankl wrote, "suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning." Many find meaning through religion or spirituality, though faith can also be tested during hardship. Laverne Williams, a church deacon who questioned God during depression, ultimately found that faith helped her reject permanence: "Even when you are in the darkest hours you can stay hopeful."
The fifth kind of post-traumatic growth is seeing new possibilities. After trauma, some people choose entirely different life directions. Following 9/11, many Americans joined fire departments, enlisted in the military, entered medical professions, and applications to Teach for America tripled as people sought to contribute to something larger than themselves.
Kapitel 6
Taking Back Joy
After losing Dave, I struggled to experience joy without guilt. At my friend Beth's daughter's bat mitzvah, surrounded by lifelong friends who had supported me through grief, I unexpectedly found myself dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire with an old school friend. When happiness suddenly washed over me, I burst into tears-not from missing Dave, but from the shock of feeling happy followed immediately by crushing guilt.
My brother Adam pointed out that I'd stopped doing anything that brought me joy. For months after Dave's death, I'd avoided activities we'd enjoyed together-movies, dinners with friends, watching Game of Thrones, playing board games. I feared leaving my children with sitters, crying in public, or having fun experiences ruined by grief triggers.
Survivor guilt steals joy-another secondary loss from death. The thought process moves from "Why am I still alive?" to gratitude for being spared, quickly followed by shame for feeling happy while others suffer. My brother-in-law Rob gave me permission to reclaim happiness when he said, "Since the day Dave met you, all he ever wanted was to make you happy. He would want you to be happy-even now. Don't take that away from him."
For my children's sake, I decided to try having fun again. "We take it back" became our family mantra. Rather than abandoning activities that reminded us of Dave, we embraced them. We played Settlers of Catan (Dave's favorite board game), rooted for his beloved sports teams, and continued the poker lessons he'd started with the kids.
Joy requires effort-it's a discipline. Virginia Schimpf Nacy, who lost both her husband and son, insisted that "Joy is very important to me... It has to come from me." Happiness comes from frequency of positive experiences, not intensity. Studies show bereaved people who find joy again re-engage in everyday activities. I started writing down three moments of joy each night, which made me notice and appreciate these moments throughout the day.
We're wired to focus on negatives, but labeling positive emotions helps. Writing about joyful experiences improves mood months later. We can savor small moments-the comfort of a pillow, a warm breeze, delicious food. As Shannon Sedgwick Davis says, "Joy is a discipline."
I found joy in new activities-playing hearts with my kids, biking on weekends (which Dave couldn't do because of his back), and playing piano again after thirty years. These activities create "flow"-total absorption that leaves no room for other thoughts. Exercise also improves psychological well-being, sometimes as effectively as antidepressants.
Kapitel 7
Building Resilient Children
Timothy Chambers is an award-winning painter who creates exquisitely detailed portraits and landscapes despite being 70 percent deaf and legally blind. With Usher syndrome, a genetic condition that appeared early in life, Tim can't see an entire scene at once-he must scan his subject bit by bit, memorizing details and filling in from memory what his eyes can't capture.
Tim's resilience began with his parents, particularly his father who excelled at reframing painful situations. When schoolchildren stared at Tim's hearing aid, his father suggested Tim pretend it was a radio broadcasting baseball games, making the other kids envious. Tim learned to respond to embarrassment with humor and discovered that his own reaction to his disability influenced how others perceived him.
After Dave died, my greatest fear was for my children's happiness. Breaking the news to my seven and ten-year-old children that they would never see their father again was agonizing. With guidance from a social worker friend, I told them simply and directly what happened, reassured them about the constants in their lives, and promised we would get through this together.
Resilience isn't a fixed trait but a lifelong project built through relationships and opportunities. Children develop resilience through four core beliefs: having control over their lives, learning from failure, knowing they matter, and recognizing their strengths. Studies show that even children facing extreme adversity can become "competent, confident, and caring" adults when they feel a sense of control over their circumstances.
Children also need to believe they can learn from failure. Carol Dweck's research shows that kids with growth mindsets-who see abilities as skills that can be developed-respond better to adversity than those with fixed mindsets. The difference often comes down to how we praise children: praising effort ("I'm glad you tried your hardest") rather than intelligence ("Great job!") helps children see challenges as opportunities to grow.
The third belief crucial to resilience is mattering-knowing others notice you, care about you, and rely on you. Children who feel they matter show lower rates of depression, low self-esteem, and suicidal thoughts, even amid severe adversity.
The fourth belief held by resilient kids is having strengths they can rely on and share. In India's poorest areas, the Girls First program helps adolescent girls identify character strengths-from courage to creativity, justice to kindness. After just one hour weekly for six months, participants' emotional resilience improved dramatically.
To preserve Dave's memory, I recorded videos of friends and family sharing stories about him, and of my children sharing their own memories. This created a lasting record for when memories inevitably fade.
Research shows children with strong understanding of family history develop better coping skills and stronger belonging. Sharing stories about how families stick together through difficulties helps children process adversity and feel connected to something larger.
Kapitel 8
Finding Strength Together
Resilience isn't just built in individuals but among them-in our neighborhoods, schools, towns, and governments. When we build resilience together, we become stronger ourselves and form communities that can overcome obstacles and prevent adversity. Collective resilience requires shared hope, shared experiences, shared narratives, and shared power.
The 1972 Andes plane crash survivors demonstrate how people build hope together. When rescue efforts were called off, rather than hiding this devastating news, one passenger proclaimed they would escape on their own. By creating a shared identity and vision, the group maintained hope despite extreme conditions.
"Some people say, 'If there's life, there's hope,'" survivor Roberto Canessa explained. "But for us, it was the opposite: 'If there's hope, there's life.'" The survivors prayed together, planned future projects, wrote letters home, and took photographs-transforming tragedy into hope through collective action.
For my children and me, connecting with others who lost spouses or parents provided essential comfort. While initial support from friends and family was crucial, eventually we needed to find a new normal routine, which is when loneliness hit hardest.
Grief support centers like Kara helped us overcome the sense of permanence by showing we wouldn't be stuck in acute grief forever. My children attended Experience Camps, a program for children who've lost close family members. Through exercises like smearing angry words with water balloons or sharing the weight of symbolic guilt-laden bricks, the children learned their emotions were normal and shared by others.
Joining communities after tragedy often requires accepting unwelcome new identities. Writer Allen Rucker initially resisted associating with other wheelchair users after becoming paralyzed, not wanting to "join the freak fraternity." Similarly, I winced at the word "widow," but accepting this identity allowed me to form new friendships. The "club no one wants to join" creates powerful bonds precisely because membership is involuntary.
Kapitel 9
Learning from Failure and Moving Forward
In April 2016, nearly a year after Dave's death, I approached three dreaded milestones: my son's first birthday without a father, my first wedding anniversary without a spouse, and the first anniversary of Dave's death. Seeking a positive first for my children, I took them to SpaceX headquarters to witness a rocket landing attempt. After four previous failures, we watched with the SpaceX team as the rocket successfully landed at sea, prompting tears of joy throughout the room. This triumph following disappointment perfectly illustrated how failure leads to learning and eventual success.
Just as individuals need resilience, organizations do too. Resilient organizations create cultures that encourage people to acknowledge mistakes rather than hiding them. At Facebook, we embrace this philosophy with practices like "Ben Testing," named after an intern who accidentally crashed the site but taught us valuable lessons. When it's safe to discuss mistakes, people are more likely to report errors and less likely to make them.
After my Year of Firsts, I opened up about grief during our leadership day for women, which encouraged others like Caryn Marooney to share their struggles. When diagnosed with breast cancer, Caryn initially planned to decline a promotion but ultimately decided to take the role while being transparent about her condition. Her team rallied around her with support, and this vulnerability created a culture where people felt comfortable discussing both personal challenges and professional failures.
Love and laughter were always intertwined for Dave and me, from our wedding where humor played a central role to the vows we wrote together promising to love each other deliberately each day. For eleven years we lived these vows, circling each other in love and friendship, until suddenly Dave's forever was over.
After Dave died, I couldn't bear to take down our ketubah, but eventually faced the dreaded task of cleaning out his closet with my children. We laughed at his identical gray sweaters and cried over his Vikings jersey, while my daughter clutched one of his sweaters saying, "The clothes smell like Daddy."
Love became the emotionally fraught "third rail" of grief. The mere thought of dating triggered sadness followed by guilt. After losing a spouse, people pity you and want your sorrow to end, but if you start dating, they often judge you for moving on "too soon."
Laughter became another charged element of grief. Making jokes, especially about death, felt wildly inappropriate at first. Yet humor makes us more resilient. Surgery patients who watch comedies need 25% less pain medication. Soldiers who joke handle stress better. People who laugh naturally six months after losing a spouse cope better. Humor can even provide a dash of morality where wrongs are righted-as Mel Brooks said about mocking Nazis, "if you can reduce them to ridicule then you're way ahead."
Almost two years after Dave's death, grief still crashes over me like waves-at anniversaries, at small moments like receiving his junk mail, or when I briefly imagine him walking through the door. But like the tide, grief also recedes, leaving me not just standing but stronger. I've learned it's possible to grow through tragedy, though I'd trade this growth to have Dave back in an instant.
Tragedy doesn't have to be permanent, but resilience can be. We can build it and carry it throughout our lives. At Dave's funeral, I promised to raise our children to know who he was, to live a life that would make him proud, and to cherish his memory. Though we buried his body, his spirit lives on in the stories people share and in our children's resilience. The world is better for the years Dave Goldberg lived, and I am better for our time together and what he taught me-both in life and death.
