The happy project that started from grief

Becoming a widow in her early 30s was a shattering blow but as actress Holly Matthews tells Gabrielle Fagan, she has found a new purpose through her family’s heartbreak

When Holly Matthews’ husband, Ross Blair, died from a brain tumour two years ago, she was determined about the path she’d take. “Losing my best friend, soulmate and dad to my kids is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” says the 34-yearold actor and mum-of-two. “But instead of focusing on what I’ve lost, I’ve chosen to be happy,” adds Holly, who is now pouring her energy into helping others dealing with bereavement and other life challenges.

Geordie-born Holly began her career aged 11, in children’s drama Byker Grove, later landing roles in Waterloo Road, The Bill, Doctors and Casualty. Everything changed in 2014 though, when her husband received the shattering diagnosis of a rare grade-four primitive neuroectodermal tumour (PNET).

Ross, the son of ex-Aston Villa and Coventry City footballer Andy Blair, underwent two surgeries, chemotherapy and radiotherapy in his four-year battle with the illness, but died aged 32 on July 29, 2017.

“Ross was such an extraordinary, big, quirky character.

I miss him every single day and so do our girls,” says Holly, speaking from her home in Coventry, where she lives with her daughters, Brooke, eight, and Texas, six.

“It was love at first sight for both of us and I moved in with him within a day of our meeting. We were together 10 years and rarely spent a day apart. I never expected to be a widow at 32, bringing up two little girls on my own, but there are some people who have never had that love and connection, so I feel grateful I had it for as long as I did.”

When her husband was diagnosed, Holly shelved her showbiz career to devote herself to her family, and eventually focused on what had been a long-term interest in wellbeing and selfdevelopment coaching.

“Acting’s a tough profession and I’d always been interested in learning strategies to give me resilience to cope with the inevitable rejections and knock-backs,” she says with a smile. “Before Ross became ill, I’d already realised those [things] could help other people deal with life in general, and I found a passion for teaching and coaching.”

While Ross was ill, Holly shared her emotional experience via writing and video blogs, which helped her in some ways during his traumatic final weeks in a hospice. “Talking about what I was thinking and feeling was an outlet,” she says.

After he died, her honest and soul-baring descriptions of her grief and how she was coping had such an overwhelming public response that she decided to set up positive mindset workshops, as part of The Happy Me Project she founded.

Her practical advice, empathy and straight-talking have won her a big following.

“I vowed I couldn’t let this tragedy break me,” she recalls. “I was determined to work hard to seek a positive in this awful negative, for my sake and for the girls’. It doesn’t mean I pretend the tough stuff isn’t happening. It means looking the tiger in the eye, facing life head-on, and choosing happiness regardless. When Ross was ill, we focused on living in the now, not thinking about what might happen in the future, which is a very healthy way to be.”

She doesn’t disguise how hard the past two years have been. “The first year was a blur but in the second, the reality that the person really isn’t coming back really hits you,” she says. “Of course, I cry sometimes. It’s particularly hard for me not being able to share with Ross the girls’ milestones.”

Unhelpful, she believes, are perceptions of “how you should be” when you’re bereaved.

“All I could find online in my searches on grief and bereavement was the prospect of being broken and crushed by it,” she says. “It’s as though you should only wear black and cry all the time. I opened up about my journey to show we all grieve in our own very different ways, and that’s OK. You can be happy, but being happy doesn’t mean you’re fine. You can be devastated and happy at the same time. That’s grief. “

Her inspiration is her late-husband’s lack of self-pity and his courage in the face of his illness, she explains. “We were determined not to feel sorry for ourselves while he was ill, and I don’t feel sorry for myself now. I know Ross wouldn’t have wanted us to stop living. Loving him helps me cope with the pain and carry on living life to the full, as he would have wanted.” The couple were always completely honest with each other. “He was only given a 50/50 chance of surviving more than five years, so we knew what we were facing, and Ross was realistic that the cancer would kill him,” Holly adds. “We talked everything through, so I have no need to look back and think: ‘I wish I’d said that,’ or: ‘What would he say or think about that?’.”

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