The 4.5-hour drive north to Geraldton was the hardest part.

I left late, after dropping off the man I was dating at the time at Perth Airport. I call him "Grandad" in the book. You'll have to read it to find out why.

Somewhere on that long, dark highway the tears started. Then they stopped. Then they started again. I lost count of how many times I burst into tears before I got there.

Six years earlier, Monty and I had done this same drive for wildflower season. It was one of my favourite trips we ever did together. This time his spot in the car was empty.

If you've lost someone and had to go back to a place you shared, you'll know that feeling. Part of you wants to turn the car around. Part of you knows you need to go.

This is part 2 of my How I Got Here series. If you missed part 1, start with what losing Monty taught me about ADHD and grief.

Why I went back to Geraldton

I'd picked up a week of pet sitting in Geraldton. The owner was heading to Melbourne for the Grand Final with her son and needed someone to mind Snuggles the cat and Jeb, a 13-year-old kelpie.

When the sit came up, I nearly scrolled past. Geraldton was our place. Then I realised that was exactly why I should go.

Going back to places we shared

At first, it felt empty. I walked past the spots we'd been and he wasn't there. The places looked the same. I didn't.

But the longer I stayed, the more something shifted. I started to feel him there. His presence. His love. The places stopped feeling empty and started feeling full of him.

So I stopped fighting it. I let myself feel all of it.

The cat who wasn't supposed to like me

When I arrived, I was warned. Snuggles doesn't really come to new people.

Within five minutes of walking in the door, she was asking for pats and cuddles.

I'll take that as a sign.

Days for sunshine, nights for feeling

I'm a solar-charged person. Give me sunshine and I come back to life. My AuADHD brain also needs something new to look at, and Geraldton gave me both.

So I found a rhythm. Days were for working, exploring and soaking up the sun. Nights were for the grief. That's when I let it come. I felt it, I cried, and I let it be there.

Giving grief a time and a place made it easier to carry. I wasn't holding it back all day, waiting for it to ambush me. I knew it had a spot, and it knew too.

A boat built for survivors

One day I got to go sailing on the Batavia longboat. It's a life-size replica of the small boat that carried survivors of the Batavia shipwreck around 3,000 km across open ocean to find help in 1629.

I didn't think about the meaning of that until later. A little boat, built to get people through the worst thing that ever happened to them.

It was absolutely fabulous. And it woke something up in me. I sailed at school in Tasmania and hadn't been out on the water like that since. I came off that boat wanting more.

Grief takes a lot from you. Sometimes it also hands back a part of yourself you forgot was there.

The night Snuggles found me

One evening I'd had a really rough day emotionally. I was lying on the bed, chatting to "Grandad on the phone, barely holding it together.

Snuggles wandered in. She curled up beside me, exactly the way Monty used to, and started purring. Then she inched closer. And closer. Until she was curled up in my lap.

The cat who didn't like new people, sitting with me through a hard night.

Animals know.

Walking with Jeb

Jeb was my walking buddy. Every time I picked up the lead he got sooooo excited. You'd think every walk was the first walk of his life.

We walked a little further every day I was there.

He was a beautiful, soulful old dog, and he reminded me so much of Monty. Walking beside him, I realised how much love I still had to give. Grief hadn't used it up. It was just waiting for somewhere to go.

The drive home felt different

A week later I drove the same highway south.

The waves of overwhelm still came, but they were gentler. Further apart. By the end of the drive I realised I'd gone a long stretch without crying at all.

Geraldton didn't fix my grief. Nothing does. But it showed me I could carry it.

If you're facing a place full of memories

I'm not a grief counsellor. This is just what helped me.

1. Go anyway. Avoiding the place kept the grief stuck. Going let it move.

2. Expect the empty feeling first. It passed. What came after felt more like love than loss.

3. Give grief a time and place. For me it was evenings. It made the days easier to get through.

What I learned and unlearned in Geraldton

What I learned:

• Going back to a place we shared hurt at first. Then it healed.

• Grief gets easier to carry when you give it a time and a place.

• Animals know when you need them. Snuggles proved that.

• Sunshine and new places recharge my AuADHD brain.

What I unlearned:

• That avoiding painful places protects you. It just keeps you stuck.

• That I had to hold it together all day, every day.

• That I'd lost my love of sailing. It was just waiting.

If you're carrying grief through places full of memories, you don't have to do it alone. Join our supportive group of neurodivergent women who get it.

Next stop: Perth

Geraldton let me feel it all. Perth is where the words finally came.

A big blue staffy called Odie, two walks a day, and the first draft of my book.

Read part 3: pet sitting in Perth and writing my book.

About the author

Ellie Clare is an author, certified life coach and photographer based in Western Australia. She's AuADHD, navigating perimenopause, and writes from lived experience to help women understand their brains and bodies. Learned and Unlearned is her first published book.