Thursday, January 15, 2026

Why Grief Is So Hard to Hold - and Why We Need Guides (or coaches)

 

Grief is one of the most universal human experiences - and one of the least well held.

It arrives whether we are ready or not. It comes with death, yes, but also with endings: the loss of a relationship, a dream, a role, a body that once felt familiar, a future that quietly disappeared. Grief moves through our lives whether we have language for it or not. And yet, most of us are left to carry it alone.

We live in a culture that does not know what to do with grief.

We are taught to be strong, resilient, productive. We are praised for “moving on” and “looking forward.” We are given timelines - spoken or unspoken - for when grief should soften, quiet down, or resolve. And when it doesn’t, when it lingers in the body and resurfaces in unexpected ways, people often feel something is wrong with them.

But grief is not a problem to fix. It is a process to be accompanied.

Why Grief Support Is Hard to Find

One reason grief coaching and grief-centered support are so difficult to find is because grief itself makes people uncomfortable. It slows things down. It disrupts efficiency. It resists neat solutions. Even helpers - therapists, coaches, faith leaders, friends - can feel pressure to do something rather than to be with.

Many support systems are built around diagnosis, goals, and outcomes. Grief doesn’t follow those rules. It is nonlinear. It shows up in waves. It lives in the nervous system and the body as much as in thoughts and emotions. You can be “doing everything right” and still feel undone.

Because grief doesn’t fit easily into productivity-driven models of care, it often gets minimized, spiritualized away, or pathologized. People are told to be grateful, to find the lesson, to focus on what remains. While these responses are often well-intended, they can leave grievers feeling unseen and misunderstood.

Another reason grief coaching is rare is that it requires the guide to be willing to stay present with pain - without rushing it, fixing it, or turning away. That kind of presence takes training, practice, and humility. It asks the guide to have a relationship with their own grief, their own losses, their own tenderness. Not everyone is supported or encouraged to do that work.

What Grief Actually Needs

Grief needs time.
Grief needs space.
Grief needs permission.

It needs someone who understands that grief is not just emotional—it is embodied. It shows up as tightness in the chest, heaviness in the limbs, exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, a nervous system that feels perpetually on edge or shut down. Grief changes how we breathe, how we move, how we orient to the world.

Grief also needs language that does not rush toward meaning too quickly. Before “making sense” of loss, we need help staying with the sense of it - what it feels like, where it lives, how it moves.

This is where grief coaching becomes essential.

What Grief Coaching Offers

Grief coaching is not about giving advice or prescribing a way through loss. It is about companionship and capacity. It offers a steady, attuned presence that helps people learn how to be with what hurts without being overwhelmed by it.

A grief coach helps create safety for grief to be expressed honestly - without timelines, without comparison, without pressure to perform healing. Grief coaching honors that each grief is unique because each love is unique.

Through gentle practices, reflection, and embodied awareness, grief coaching helps people:

  • Understand what their grief is asking of them

  • Learn how to listen to their bodies with compassion

  • Build nervous system capacity to stay present with pain

  • Integrate loss into life without erasing it

  • Find meaning that emerges organically, not prematurely

Grief coaching does not take grief away. Instead, it helps grief become something that can be carried—woven into life rather than fought against.

Why We Need It Now

We are living in a time of collective grief - grief layered upon grief. Loss has become both personal and communal, visible and invisible. Many people are grieving without naming it, wondering why they feel so tired, disconnected, angry, or fragile.

We need spaces where grief is not treated as an interruption to life, but as part of it.

With the work of EMBody Wisdom, grief is approached as a teacher - not because it is easy or good, but because it reveals what matters most. We believe grief deserves patience, reverence, and skilled accompaniment. We believe people heal not by bypassing pain, but by being met within it.

If you are grieving and have felt alone, behind, or “too much,” know this: nothing is wrong with you. Your grief makes sense. And you do not have to carry it by yourself.

Grief was never meant to be rushed.
It was meant to be witnessed.

And sometimes, the most healing thing is simply having someone walk beside you and say, I see this. I’m here. We can go at the pace your body needs.

That is the quiet, essential work of grief coaching.



Tuesday, January 6, 2026

New Year - Grief edition

 Does January feel heavier than it's supposed to?

We're a week into the new year and I need you to hear this: you are not behind.

There's no award for bouncing back on schedule. No gold star for having your vision board ready or your word of the year picked out. Some people hold it all together with coffee and sheer stubbornness, wondering how everyone else seems to have moved on while others are still trying to remember what day it is.

That's not weakness. That's grief doing exactly what grief does.

January has a cruel talent for amplifying absence. The holiday distractions are gone. The house is too quiet. And you're left staring at a whole year stretched out in front of you - 365 days of figuring out how to do life without them.

Everyone else is posting about fresh starts and new beginnings. Setting goals. Making plans. Talking about their best year yet.

And you're over here thinking, "I just need to make it through February."

Here's what no one says out loud enough: you can be grateful for a new year and also dread it. You can want to move forward and still feel stuck. You can show up for your life and simultaneously wonder how you're supposed to do this for another twelve months.

None of that means you're doing it wrong.

It just means you loved deeply. And that love doesn't disappear just because the calendar flipped.

Grief is not a sign you're failing at life or that you need to try harder. It's evidence that someone mattered. That something real existed. And the sacred is not standing there with a stopwatch, waiting for you to hurry up and heal already.

Some years, the fresh start is not about reinvention. It's about survival. About waking up and choosing to keep going even when you're not sure why. About doing the next thing because it's the next thing, not because you have some grand plan.

That's not settling. That's courage.

You are allowed to ignore the productivity posts. You are allowed to skip goal-setting if it feels pointless right now. You're allowed to have zero vision for the year ahead except "try not to cry at work." That is completely acceptable human behavior.

And listen...if all you managed this week was getting out of bed and making it through the days, even if half of them were fueled by spite and chocolate, you can still count that as a win.

Progress doesn't always look like forward momentum. Sometimes it looks like staying upright. Sometimes it looks like still being here.

So take January at your own pace. Log off if the fresh-start energy feels exhausting. Say no to things that feel too hard. Let yourself miss them without apologizing for it.

You don't have to carry this year perfectly. You just have to carry it honestly.

And if you find yourself having a good moment and then feeling guilty about it? You don't need to. Joy isn't betrayal. It's proof that love is still doing its work in you, even in the middle of loss.

If you're navigating this new year with grief that won't quit, you don't have to do it alone.

I have space for 2 new clients this month. After that, I'll be taking a break through Lent (February 17 - April 6) for my own time of reflection and renewal.

EMBody Wisdom holds space for you in the messy middle - where you don't have to explain yourself or pretend you're more okay than you are.

If you need support, reach out.

www.embodywisdomca.com


Thursday, January 1, 2026

9:29 AM JANUARY 1, 2026 Title: Welcome to the Other Side


Well, you made it.

You crossed the threshold from one year into the next - at least according to the Gregorian calendar. And if you're anything like me, you woke up this morning feeling... exactly the same as yesterday?

That's the thing about New Year's Day - we expect some grand transformation, some cosmic shift, a feeling of newness washing over us. But mostly it just feels like Wednesday. (Or Thursday as is happens this time)

Of course, this is just one new year. The lunar new year won't arrive until late January. The Jewish new year happened back in the fall. Different cultures, different rhythms, different doorways into what's next. Time is more fluid than our calendars suggest.

And yet.

Something did shift today. You stepped through a doorway. This particular calendar flipped. A chapter began, even if it doesn't feel dramatic yet.

Think of it like planting a seed. On January 1st, nothing looks different on the surface. But underground, something is stirring. Roots are beginning to reach. The conditions for growth are being set.

So today, you don't have to have it all figured out. You don't have to be a new person or make sweeping declarations. You just have to show up and take one small step in the direction you want to go.

The in-between is over. Now comes the becoming.

What's one small step you can take today?

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

DECEMBER 31, 2025 Title: Living in the In-Between


You know that slightly disorienting feeling you've had all week? Like time doesn't quite make sense and you're not sure what day it is or what you're supposed to be doing?

Welcome to the in-between.

This stretch between Christmas and New Year is one of those rare pockets where the normal rules don't quite apply. Work is quiet (or closed). Obligations have lifted. The holiday is over but the new year hasn't started. You're floating in this liminal space where past and future meet, and honestly? It feels a little trippy.

And that's exactly as it should be.

Transition times are supposed to feel disorienting. You're leaving something behind and you haven't fully arrived at what's next. You're between stories - the old one is ending, the new one hasn't been written yet.

Your body knows this. That's why you might feel restless, sleepy, contemplative, or all three at once. That's why time feels elastic and strange.

So instead of fighting it,…

What if you leaned in? 

What if you let yourself drift a little, daydream, wonder?

What if you gave yourself permission to exist in the in-between without needing to have it all figured out?

The answers will come. (If you are earnestly searching) But not today. Today is for the pause, the breath, the space between.

Happy in-between day.

Wednesday, December 24, 2025

The Weight of an Empty Chair

 

There's something about Christmas that makes absence feel like a presence all its own.

The stocking that shouldn't be there but is. The recipe you can't bring yourself to make. The song that ambushes you in the cereal aisle and leaves you gripping your cart like it's the only thing keeping you upright.

If you're navigating this season with a hole where someone used to be, let me say it plainly: 

you are not broken because this is hard.

Grief Doesn't Follow the Calendar

We live in a culture that wants grief to have an expiration date. Six months, maybe a year if it was really significant. Then you're supposed to be "better." Ready to participate fully in joy again, no lingering sadness allowed.

But grief isn't linear. It doesn't care that it's the most wonderful time of the year. It shows up uninvited, sits down at your holiday table, and refuses to leave just because everyone else is singing carols.

And here's what no one warns you about: some years are harder than the one before. You think you've found your footing, that you've learned how to do holidays without them, and then this Christmas arrives and it's somehow worse than last year. That's not regression. That's not "going backward." That's just how grief works—it doesn't follow a predictable path or get consistently lighter with time.

Some days you're fine. Some days you're holding it together with dental floss and sheer determination. Some days you do both before breakfast.

All of it is valid.

The Truth About Joy and Sorrow

Here's what they don't tell you: you can hold both at the same time.

You can feel grateful for the people gathered around you and simultaneously ache for the one who isn't. You can laugh at your niece's terrible joke and then retreat to the bathroom to cry five minutes later. You can love the traditions and also feel crushed by them.

This isn't contradiction. It's wholeness.

It's what it means to be human—to carry love so deep that its absence creates its own kind of gravity.

What the Season Actually Asks of You

Nothing.

Christmas asks nothing of you except to show up as you are.

Not the polished version. Not the "I'm fine, really" version you trot out for concerned relatives. The actual you—the one who's tired, the one who's still figuring out how to exist in a world where they aren't, the one who ate cookies for dinner because cooking felt impossible.

That version is welcome here.

The sacred doesn't require your performance. It never has. The first Christmas itself was a mess - Joseph and Mary far from home and family, scrambling to find shelter, giving birth in a barn surrounded by animals and chaos. No one had it figured out. No one was doing it "right." They were exhausted, displaced, and making it work with what they had.

Divinity entered through that mess, not despite it.

They were just doing it. And so are you.


Permission to Protect Your Peace

You don't have to attend every gathering. You don't have to explain why certain things are too much this year. You don't have to force cheer or fake enthusiasm or pretend the hole isn't there.

You can say no. You can leave early. You can change traditions or abandon them entirely.

You can also keep the ones that feel like lifelines, even if they hurt. Even if everyone else thinks it would be "easier" if you just let them go.

This is your grief. You get to decide how to carry it.


The Unexpected Moments

And you know the weird, uncomfortable truth: sometimes, in the middle of the heaviness, joy will sneak up on you.

A memory that makes you laugh instead of cry. A moment of connection that doesn't feel like obligation. A sudden, surprising sense of them being near - not in a haunting way, but in a way that feels like love persisting beyond what should be possible.

These moments don't mean you're "over it." They don't mean you're betraying their memory by feeling something other than sadness.

They mean love is still alive in you. Still doing its work. Still insisting on its own existence, even in the spaces where loss lives.

You Don't Have to Do This Perfectly

There is no correct way to grieve during the holidays. No rubric. No scorecard. No invisible judge tallying up whether you're handling it with grace.

All you have to do is breathe. Show up. Feel what you feel without apologizing for it.

If that means crying through Christmas dinner, so be it. If that means skipping it entirely and watching old movies in your pajamas, equally valid. If that means doing everything exactly as you always have because routine is the only thing keeping you steady right now - that's okay too.

You are allowed to survive this season however you need to.


The Space I Hold

At EMBody Wisdom, I understand that the holidays can illuminate everything you're carrying - the love, the loss, the unbearable weight of both existing simultaneously.

I hold space for you in the messy middle, the uncomfortable in-between where grief and gratitude coexist. Where you don't have to explain yourself or apologize for not being "over it yet."

This isn't about fixing you or making the pain go away. It's about being present in it with you-  so you don't have to navigate the hard parts alone.

If you need support this season - or any season - reach out.

Because here's what I know: the fact that it still hurts means the love was real.

And that love? It doesn't end just because they're not physically here.

It transforms. It persists. It shows up in unexpected moments and reminds you that connection doesn't require presence.

It just requires truth.

So be truthful this season. With yourself. With your grief. With your moments of unexpected joy.

That's not failing at the holidays.

That's living fully in them.


When Life unravels...
know that you're not alone.
EMBody Wisdom holds space for you in the messy middle - the uncomfortable in-between
as you come Home... to Yourself.

Tuesday, December 23, 2025

You Don't Have to Have It All Figured Out

 

Monday Maps

The holidays bring warmth, connection, and inevitably, the questions.

"So, what's next for you?"


"Any big plans for the new year?"

"Have you figured out what you're doing yet?"

Well-meaning relatives and friends lean in over appetizers, genuinely curious about your life. And if you're in the middle of a transition—still figuring things out, still in the in-between—those questions can land with unexpected weight.

Here's Your Permission Slip

"I'm still exploring" is a complete answer.

You don't owe anyone a polished five-year plan over holiday hors d'oeuvres. You don't have to defend being in process. You're allowed to be in a season of discernment without having it all mapped out yet.

Real growth doesn't follow a calendar. Transitions don't wrap up neatly with a bow by year's end just because it would make for tidy dinner conversation.

The Wisdom of Bamboo

The bamboo doesn't rush. It grows roots in the dark, quietly, patiently, building a foundation no one can see. For years, sometimes. And then, when it's ready, it breaks through and shoots up with remarkable speed.

But that dramatic growth? It's only possible because of all that invisible work happening beneath the surface.

You might be in your root-growing season right now. That's not stagnation. That's preparation.

Give Yourself Permission

This week, as you navigate holiday gatherings and well-intentioned questions, give yourself permission to be exactly where you are - even if you can't explain it in a soundbite at the dessert table.

The map will reveal itself. You don't have to force it.

You are not behind. You're not lost. You're in the messy middle, and that's exactly where transformation happens.


If this resonates and you'd like support as you navigate what's next, reach out. I'd love to help you find clarity in the in-between.

Monday, December 15, 2025

Slowing Into the Season

 


The holidays arrive with bright lights and quiet pressure.
Days fill quickly.
Breath shortens without asking permission.

The way to EMBody Wisdom begins right here - 
in noticing the speed of your life
and listening for what your body is asking.

Often, it is asking to slow.

The Body Knows

The body keeps time differently.
It speaks in sensations, in tension and release,
in the subtle way the breath forgets itself
when we are doing too much.

Slowing down is not stepping away from the season.
It is stepping back into yourself.

This is the practice of EMBody Wisdom:
letting the body lead
and trusting its pace.

Breathing as Remembering

Before the stories.
Before the expectations.
There was breath.

Each inhale gathers you home.
Each exhale loosens the grip of urgency.

Pause now.
Let your shoulders soften.
Feel the weight of your body being held.
Breathe in gently through the nose.
Breathe out as if nothing needs to happen next.

This is not a technique.
It is a remembering.

Moving at the Speed of Presence

The body does not rush to arrive.

It arrives by being felt.

Slowing might look like:
 - A breath before entering a room
 - Feet sensing the floor while waiting
 - Space between a feeling and a response

These moments are small,
but they change the tone of everything.

EMBody Wisdom lives in these pauses -

where nervous systems settle
and presence becomes possible.

A Different Kind of Gift

When we slow our breath, we soften our edges.
When we soften, we meet each other more honestly.

This season does not need more effort.
It needs more room.

May you let the holidays unfold at the pace of your body.
May your breath be a place you can return to—
again and again.

This is EMBody Wisdom:
slowing, sensing, breathing,
and allowing that to be enough.