Gazing at the man sleeping next to me, my naked body lying beside his, I felt a maelstrom of emotions.Joy, guilt, relief, confusion, sadness: all these feelings swirled as I contemplated the night of intimacy we had just shared.This man was not my husband. But my turmoil was not due to being unfaithful.Instead, he was the first man I’d been intimate with since my husband of six years, Simon, had died suddenly of a cardiac arrest less than a year before, aged just 43. I was 39.At first, I’d buried my own grief as I focused on our two daughters. Yet, nine months after Simon’s death, I felt my desire for intimacy, for sex, stir again.I signed up for a dating app for the first time – which is how I’d found myself sharing a bed with this man a few months later.I’m not alone in seeking intimacy in the wake of a partner’s death. It’s a phenomenon known as ‘widow’s fire’, and many find it takes them by surprise at an already emotionally complex time. Yet it’s a very human response.Sadly, not everyone is so understanding. ‘Widow’s fire’ can be a hugely taboo and divisive topic and I’ve found the harshest judgment often comes from other widows. Karen's husband of six years died suddenly of a cardiac arrest in 2016, and nine months after his death, she desired intimacy again The couple, who met in their 20s, had two daughters together, who are now 14 and 19After meeting my current partner Andy in 2019, and becoming the UK’s first ‘widow coach’ a year later, I began sharing my widowhood journey on social media – which includes sleeping with four men since Simon, including Andy.I’ve since been told by fellow widows that I must not have loved my husband. That I’m ‘disrespecting’ his memory.For me, it was only natural not to want to be alone and celibate for the rest of my life, and many people have been supportive of that. Yet some women seemed to take pride in living in a state of perpetual sadness; in putting their own needs and wants on hold for ever. And they had no qualms about telling me I was in the wrong.But the backlash only confirmed to me why my role as a widow coach is so important, so that I can help other women through this minefield.I reassure my clients it’s perfectly natural – and acceptable – to seek out pleasure as part of the journey that begins when a partner dies.I first met Simon in 1998, when I was 21 and he was 25. We were friends for five years before feelings developed and we became a couple. We had our first daughter, now 19, before marrying in 2010 and having our second child, now 14.We had such a happy marriage, filled with plans for the future, never imagining it would be cruelly snatched away.One Sunday, in September 2016, Simon was out on a bike ride near our home in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, and suffered a cardiac arrest. Fit and healthy, it was a huge shock.In a split second, his life was over – and mine changed for ever. Learning he was gone, and that I was a widow at 39, with two little girls to raise alone, was absolutely devastating. At first, all of my energy was poured into the girls. What can be more destabilising than your father suddenly disappearing?Yet, despite my grief, I quickly became resolved that losing Simon was not going to negatively define my life.I knew he wouldn’t have wanted me, or our daughters, to become victims; we needed to be survivors of grief instead.Perhaps that determination influenced what I began to feel as the months passed: loneliness and, confusingly, a craving for sexual intimacy.When we’d married, I had happily assumed I’d never sleep with anyone else again.Yet now I wanted to feel ‘alive’, for my heart to race with excitement, to lose myself in the moment with someone. My life had gone on – and I needed to demonstrate that in the most physical of ways. I missed being someone other than a widow.So, around nine months after Simon died, I decided to put myself ‘out there’.I joined some dating apps in the summer of 2017 and over the next two years slept with three men, with whom I had short-term relationships.At that stage, I didn’t feel emotionally capable of anything more permanent. Nor, as a single mum, was I in a place to have multiple casual flings.I was upfront in my dating bio that I was a widow. It was a fine line between not wanting it to define me, but also wanting to be transparent.The truth was, it was all incredibly strange.With Simon, who knew every inch of me, I wasn’t remotely self-conscious about the stretch marks and signs of ageing that accessorised my 40-year-old mum’s body.With these new men, sex felt exposing in every sense.Being in bed with someone new was a poignant reminder of how dramatically my life had changed, but also a reason to believe there was a life still to be lived. I enjoyed feeling desired again, and I knew Simon would not have wanted me to deny myself sexual pleasure. Yet it was still hard to shake off the feeling I was somehow being unfaithful.Fortunately my friends were very supportive. They told me I was still a young woman, and I should be guided by my own feelings and not worry about whether I was being a ‘good’ widow. Karen says she had such a happy marriage with Simon, who she wed in 2010, and never assumed she'd ever sleep with anyone else again Karen was made a widow at the age of 39 with two young daughters to raise all by herself. She was worried about introducing another man to her children after their father's deathBut by early 2019 I decided to step back from dating.I realised that part of my decision to be sexually active again had been in the hope it would help heal my grief. That if I could find excitement and joy again, it would go some way towards soothing the deep pain I carried.But, really, healing needed to come from within me.I never regretted those new lovers, though. I saw them as part of my journey as I rebuilt my life and identity.Ironically, within months I met my partner Andy in May 2019 at a charity event. I felt an instant connection and couldn’t stop thinking about him.I decided it would be a mistake not to get to know him better.We began dating in June 2019 and, once again, I found myself battling worry that I wasn’t ‘widowing’ properly. I was falling for him, but still there was that sense I was betraying Simon.I also worried about introducing another man to my children.The girls were 12 and eight when I first introduced them after two months of dating, having already explained that I had met a lovely man and was spending time with him. My youngest, Ella, was simply very excited. The older, Sydney, initially more apprehensive.As they got to know Andy, Ella went through a phase of not wanting her daddy to be ‘replaced’. I reassured her Simon would always be her dad and so special to us.Sydney, older and more mature, was accepting of my relationship, and over time they both developed their own bond with Andy.Crucially, Andy didn’t feel threatened by the love I still had for Simon.That’s not to say it was easy, navigating this kind of duality –the memories of my old self, jostling for room with this new me. It takes time.In 2020, as my relationship with Andy continued to strengthen, I began a new career, having previously worked for the NHS.After undertaking training in health and life coaching, as well as grief educator programmes, I became the first ‘widow coach’ in the UK, using my experience to support others like me.I help people discover their own path through loss, and that includes seeking out new sexual partners, if that’s what will help them heal.I advise my clients to think carefully before dipping their toe back into the dating pool.You need to know what you’re looking for. Is it a casual relationship, something physical and fun without commitment? Or are they seeking a partner to begin a new chapter with? Either is fine, but be sure which is for you.We are already so vulnerable, the last thing we need is to feel disappointed, rejected or taken advantage of, particularly when the dating landscape can be so ruthless and widows often become a target for men with less-than-honourable intentions.I hear from clients how they, like me, have felt judged by other widows who have chosen to remain single and celibate, and how painful that is to bear.To anyone who would condemn a bereaved woman for wanting intimacy or a new relationship, I would ask: is this really who you are? Someone who would deny another widow happiness, comfort and a new beginning after the worst time of her life?As a community we should be respectful of each other’s choices to ‘move forward’ – or not – when it comes to relationships. Nobody is right or wrong.Andy and I moved in together in 2021. With him, I have what I also had with Simon – a sex life founded on love, an emotional bond and a feeling of complete safety and stability.I know now that this is what I was searching for when I returned to dating after being widowed.I tell clients also experiencing widow’s fire that there is no shame in wanting sex after loss.Our partners died but we did not, and we deserve a life that includes pleasure and intimacy as much as anyone else.The Widow Coach offers specialist support: karensutton.co.ukAs told to Eimear O’Hagan