I have always been someone who speaks her truth. Ask anyone who knows me. So I didn't notice it when that started to change - at first, the way you don't notice a window slowly fogging over.
Somewhere along the way, there were more and more conversations in my life that stopped giving me back to myself. I was talking, but I wasn't being met. I wasn't catching my own reflection in the faces and words of the people around me, the way we do when we're really connected. And without deciding to, I had also stopped taking in joy. I wasn't breathing it in. I wasn't letting it land.
It was as though a darkness had formed, thin as a film, over almost everything. Like I was becoming translucent. I had a harder time letting the words move past my lips, afraid that they would just drop in front of me.
It seems almost too much, but I think I want to call this what it is: grief. Nobody died. But something I love, a self that moves freely and connects and receives, couldn't stay as it was.
The grief nobody names
There are no casseroles for this kind of loss. No cards, no funeral, no one asking how you're holding up. It is not no way as immediately life altering and I don’t want to compare it to the deep grief we feel with the loss of life. And yet... we grieve the person we can't be in a room, the dream that quietly ended, the role that stopped fitting, the friendship that thinned, the version of ourselves we put away to get through a hard season.
If that's you, I want to say this plainly: your grief counts. You don't need a death to qualify.
Where we've been
If you're new here, or just need a refresher, here's the ground we've covered together.
- Grief is love with nowhere to go.
- Breath is the one body function we can leave alone (it is automatic) and also steer and strengthen.
- The four bodies, physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual, are the four places grief sits and the four doors through which healing can enter.
Why I'm starting with the body
For years I've sat with people in grief, I have had the honor to be present in it with others. And as I have observed and learned through other avenues about what is “normal” is that grief shows up in the body before it shows up in the story. The tight chest. The held breath. The jaw that never unclenches. The shoulders that forgot how to drop.
When we can't be ourselves, or can't be received as ourselves, we often stop breathing fully. We manage how we appear. We take in less. And we start to disappear, one shallow breath at a time.
While that sounds dire - it is also the good news. The body is where we can be empowered to begin to find a little ease again. Not a fix, just a little room.
Where we're headed
Over the next several weeks, we'll walk through each of the four bodies together, with a simple practice every week. In late November we'll make room for joy and gratitude beside grief. Then, through Advent, we'll practice waiting in the dark, and on the longest night of the year, we'll sit with those for whom the holidays are heavy.
Come as you are. Dip in and out. You can't do this wrong.
A practice: Wiping the Window
This takes about two minutes.
- Find a position that feels supported: sitting, lying down, or leaning against a wall.
- Place one hand on your chest, where you hold yourself in.
- Breathe in slowly through your nose, as if you're drawing in one small thing that nourishes you: a face you love, a sound, a patch of light.
- Pause for a moment at the top.
- Exhale slowly through your mouth, longer than the inhale, as if you're gently clearing a little of the fog.
- Repeat three times. Then notice what changed, even slightly. Nothing needs to. Noticing is enough.
If any breathing practice feels uncomfortable, return to your natural breath, open your eyes, and notice the feel your feet on the floor and your hand on your chest. That's a perfectly good practice too.
This week
Notice what you're taking in, and what you've stopped taking in.
Then ask yourself: who or what could reflect me back to myself this week? You don't need a grand gesture. One conversation. One walk with a friend. One small moment of joy, actually let in. You don’t even need to try to manufacture it - just be ready to notice when it happens.
And if you'd like to share, I'd love to hear: where in your body do you hold back the most?
Breathing in, I make room. Breathing out, I clear the glass.
If any of this sounds like you, if you’re feeling translucent, muted, or cut off from joy, you don’t have to work it out alone. I’d be honored to walk with you.
Through EMBody Wisdom, I offer grief coaching, life and transition coaching, spiritual direction, end-of-life coaching, and Healing Touch. Each begins in the same place this series does: with the body, the breath, and what’s true for you right now.
If you’re ready to talk, schedule a free conversation here or reply to this post, and we’ll find a gentle first step together.
No comments:
Post a Comment