'I've experienced a similar pain to Cheryl and Bear - here's how I helped my daughters grieve'

When I heard the news about Liam Payne's tragic death, my heart immediately went out to his family - including his ex-partner Cheryl and his seven-year-old son Bear.

My thoughts naturally turned to the death of my daughters' dad, Ross Blair, who passed away from a rare brain tumour in 2017, when our girls were just aged four and six.

Telling them that their wonderful, funny, brilliant dad Ross, my soulmate husband, had died was one of the hardest moments of my life, and the pain was unbearable.

Cradling my youngest daughter Texas in my arms as she sobbed uncontrollably, I watched on as Brooke threw her toys around the room in anger. I choked back my own tears to be as supportive as possible to my two heartbroken girls.

After their tiny bodies had succumbed to sleep, I pulled on my trainers - leaving the girls in the safe hands of my mother-in-law Dionne.

READ MORE:

I knew the fresh air on a long walk would comfort me and soothe my heart and allow me time alone with my thoughts to process my own emotions. When I walked alone, it was never about keeping fit. I very literally took each day one step at a time and on these walks my mind processed the grief that engulfed me.

Ross and I met in our early 20s and fell in love immediately. If someone had told me before meeting Ross that you could connect like that with someone I would have cringed, but we did.

At the time I was a TV actress having appeared in shows such as Waterloo Road, Byker Grove and ’s Casualty, and Ross was a property developer.

By the time we were 28, we had Brooke and Texas. Ross was a great dad, hands-on and helpful. He cooked, cleaned, did the shopping and thought nothing of organising a pirate treasure hunt or letting the girls do his make-up.

In 2014, Ross began to get and was experiencing changes in his mood. Initially we put this down to the busy life of being parents, but in February that year we got the news that would change our lives: they had found an egg-sized tumour in Ross’s brain.

This was cancer, a primary central nervous system tumour, grade 4, rare, normally found in children and at the back of the head (whereas his was at the front) and Ross had a 50/50 chance of surviving five years.

And in August 2016 we were told that he didn’t have long left to live. And after more than three years of living with this cancer, Ross died in Myton Hospice in Warwick, on July 29, 2017.

Trying to navigate the death of a loved one can feel completely overwhelming, and finding tools to help us through this is essential.

By the time Ross died, I was running my own self-development business - I’m now a qualified self-development coach - and so I was lucky enough to understand how our minds work and have some ideas to get me started (although even with this knowledge, the reality of grief and loss can mean everything gets thrown out of the window).

One of the earliest mindset shifts I made was to focus on acceptance and gratitude. I had to accept that Ross had died and to drag my mind towards finding anything good on the outskirts of that pain. I understood I was going to have to dig deep to support my daughters through this time and totally shake up my idea of how my life was going to look.

We had an incredible family and group of friends supporting us but I knew that I would have to create routines, rituals and take practical steps to help me and my daughters through the swamp that is early grief. Walking became my saviour - it allowed me to get out of my house and out of my head.

I also took my daughters for “gratitude walks” where we would say what we felt grateful for as we hit the pavement. We then incorporated “scavenger hunts” into these walks where I would write a list of things that we could spot. The girls ticked off “red car”, “insect” or “yellow flower” and laughed with glee and I was gifted a moment of respite from grief.

There were times when, as I walked through Coventry’s War Memorial park, tears streamed down my face and I took a seat to acknowledge how hard my new was.

In those early years after Ross’s death my little trio faced a world of pain. Plus, everyone’s emotions would come at different times and in different forms. The fresh air on a long walk would comfort me and soothe my heart.

I also found support in:

Writing: I wrote a lot (I still do). I “journal” out my pain, I share my story online and in my books. I write down the things that have been great about my day and I write poetry to make sense of my feelings.

Creativity: I like to draw, sketch, paint and make. Thankfully my daughters enjoy this too, meaning this is a tool we have been able to do together. Sometimes that creativity will have a point, like creating a vision board for how we want our year to look. Music relates heavily in this area and I have no doubt that fans, family and loved ones will take comfort in Liam’s music in supporting them.

Finding purpose: Finding a point to your pain can be the most wonderful tool whilst helping you to see the good that has transpired alongside the grief. I found my purpose in my business The Happy Me Project, helping other people to feel “more happy and less crappy” through their grief or just the difficulties of being an adult human.

My focus was always my daughters in the forefront and finding ways to support them, looked like;

“Get it out” books

I bought little books that they were told they could write whatever they wanted in.

My youngest could draw the things she couldn’t write. I promised I wouldn’t look in them unless they wanted me to.

All questions were allowed

The girls could ask me any questions and I would answer it honestly. I made a box they could put questions in (if they didn’t want to say it to me), and they could even do a video for me on their iPad or whisper the questions to me.

Dad talk

Ross is not a taboo subject, and I will reference him regularly, such as, “Dad would have loved that” or “Dad used to do this!” I never want the girls to think they can’t talk about him or that they are making me sad by bringing him up. He is with us and part of all we do. Liam’s Legacy will live on forever in the brilliant work he did and the memories people have of him, that in time will no doubt soothe those closest.

I showed them emotion

I never wanted the girls to feel they couldn’t show their emotions. I believe we need to feel our feelings to let them pass. I tried to let them see mine and will always mention if I have had a “grief moment” so they feel safe to have their own.

We let laughter be part of our story

Some parts of grief are funny, and we have the darkest gallows humour in my home. Yes, some of this is a way to get through our sadness but it’s also a way to process our pain. Don’t be scared to laugh through the grief too.

I’m now 40 and the girls (now 11 and 13) are all doing really well. I remind them that Ross is in them, and he still influences every decision I make in some way because of the impact he made on me.

There will be certain dates where the grieving process is harder and on certain milestones the tears will come. Texas has started secondary school and seeing her finish primary school, knowing that Ross didn’t see any of it, makes me feel very sad.

I now know there is no one singular way to get through grief - some will find solace in walking in nature, others by surrounding themselves with community, or some unusual new hobby.

It is early doors for Liam’s family, and I hope they feel the wave of love and support surrounding them right now and that people give them space to process this.

You can’t pass or fail working through your grief, you just have to take your time and find your route.

Find Your Confidence: The No-Nonsense Guide To Self-Belief by Holly Matthews, £15 (Bloomsbury) is available for pre-order now. For more information, visit

READ MORE: