I refused to be defined by my husband's death and hated the term 'widow.' But it took me some time to figure out who I am without him.

• When my husband died, I was overcome with grief and struggled to identify with the term "widow."
• I decided to undergo in vitro fertilization and give birth to my late husband's third child. 
• The creation of my third child helped me understand I was more than just a widow.

When I lost my husband, Mark, I couldn't breathe, and it was like the world stopped.

But I couldn't stop. I had two children under the age of 3, I had my own business, and I had just celebrated my 40th birthday. Life was far from over, but my entire world was upended overnight. It felt like everything was falling away. How could I move forward? 

We were right about to start our third cycle of in vitro fertilization to have another baby when my husband died. My dream was to have three children with him. Was that dream gone now, too? I wanted a third biological sibling for the two beautiful lives Mark and I had already created. I wanted to look into this baby's eyes and see the combination of us, our love, and this new spark of life.

Instead of being defined simply as my late husband's widow, I took a leap. I made the decision to move forward with my third IVF cycle and gave birth to Mirastela, my daughter.

I didn't want to be defined by my grief and loss

In those first few days after Mark died, I was trying to figure out how I was going to tell my 2 ½-year-old daughter that her dad was not coming back. I then had to sit with her huge emotions while sitting with mine.

In the nine years my husband and I had known each other, we spent maybe 45 days apart. In my mind, we were going to be married for another 80 years, so being without him made me want to throw up and shrink into myself. When he died, there was a massive void. I lost my best friend and the love of my life. I didn't want to get out of bed. 

Every time I filled out one of the endless postmortem forms and had to check the "single" or "widowed" box, my body revolted. The "widow" label was hard. It signified loss, and as soon as I said the word "widow," people rushed to say, "I'm so sorry." The weight of that label was too much. It wasn't who I wanted to be. 

A few months passed, and I started to see beyond just getting through the day. At the same time, it slowly became clear that one dream wasn't going away: having Mark's third child. 

My decision to move forward with IVF wasn't met with unanimous support, but I needed to do it

I knew I was making a decision that, to some, was wild. To others, it was a bold move. 

For the people who loved me but struggled to understand this decision, they told me they were scared it wouldn't work and that I would be devastated. They were afraid that I could give birth to a medically fragile child and that would affect my family and our future. They could not fathom how I could do this as a solo parent who already had two kids under 3. 

While I understood their fear, it hurt. I refused to take that fear on myself.

Either way, my decision was changing how the rest of the world saw me. Instead of being the woman who tragically lost her husband, I was the woman who had her third child against the odds. But the truth is, I'm both. 

One of the most powerful lessons of my life was learning how to integrate things — allowing life to not fit neatly into different boxes or under various labels. I did this with my business and being a mom. I chose to own a business so I that I wouldn't be locked into a strict 9-to-5 job away from my children. The ability to integrate parenthood and entrepreneurship was a driving force for me. 

Similarly, the ability to integrate the loss of my husband with the creation of my daughter was a driving force through my grief.

It's all helped define who I am today

The truth is that I'm still the woman who lost the love of her life — and I'm the woman who chose to create another child, a business, and a life beyond the loss. There's still a part of me that recognizes we just passed our third Christmas without Mark, but I also recognize it as Mirastela's second Christmas. It's not one or the other. It's both. The loss and the creation exist at the same time: integrated.

I am a mother, a speaker, and an entrepreneur, and I'm about to be an author. The strength I found to move forward was in owning all of who I am and not allowing my dreams to go unrealized.