Grief Lives in the Body: An Embodied Somatic Journey Through Loss.
Returning to the body, mind and honouring the heart.
Grief is not simply an emotion to be processed or a chapter of life to be closed. It is an experience that moves through the whole of us. It lives in the tightening of the chest, the heaviness of our limbs, the hollow feeling in the belly, the trembling of our hands, and the tears that arrive before we have words to explain them.
Grief can leave us feeling disconnected from ourselves, from others, and from the world as we once knew it. It can alter our relationship with time, our sense of safety, and even our perception of who we are.
Yet across cultures and throughout history, grief has been understood as something far more profound than a psychological response to loss. It has been held as a sacred passage: an embodied experience that calls for presence, community, ritual, and time.
Through the lens of somatic awareness and ancient practices, we can begin to explore a different relationship with grief. Rather than trying to overcome it, suppress it, or hurry ourselves towards acceptance, we can learn to listen to what our bodies are communicating and discover ways to make space for the experience of loss.
Grief Is Not Just in the Mind.
In modern Western culture, grief is often approached through language, thought, and psychological understanding. These are valuable aspects of healing, but grief does not always respond to words alone.
Sometimes, we can understand our loss intellectually while still feeling frozen, anxious, numb, or overwhelmed in our bodies.
We may know that someone has died, that a relationship has ended, or that a significant chapter of our lives has changed, yet our nervous system may continue to respond as though the loss is still unfolding.
We might experience a tight throat, shallow breathing, a restless mind, fatigue, digestive changes, or a deep desire to withdraw from the world. We may find ourselves unable to cry, even when we feel devastated, or crying unexpectedly when something small touches a place of tenderness within us.
From a somatic perspective, grief is experienced through the interplay of body, emotion, memory, and our sense of connection.
Our physiological responses, habits of protection, emotional memories, and nervous system patterns can all become part of how we experience loss.
When someone or something deeply important to us disappears, our familiar world changes. The nervous system must adapt to a reality that may feel impossible to comprehend.
The body may reach for what is no longer there. We may instinctively turn to share something with a person who has died, expect to hear their footsteps, or feel their absence in the ordinary rhythms of daily life.
These experiences reflect the depth of our attachment. They remind us that grief is not a failure to let go. It is, in part, the body and heart learning how to live in a world transformed by loss.
The Nervous System and the Waves of Grief.
Grief rarely moves in a straight line. It can arrive in waves, sometimes gentle and sometimes so powerful that we struggle to find our footing.
There may be moments of profound sadness, followed by unexpected laughter. We may feel calm in the morning and overwhelmed by the afternoon. Certain places, sounds, scents, anniversaries, or songs may bring us suddenly into contact with the enormity of what has changed.
From a nervous system perspective, these shifts can be understood as changing responses to emotional intensity, memory, and perceived safety.
Some people experience agitation, restlessness, or a persistent need to do something. Others feel slowed down, exhausted, withdrawn, or emotionally numb. Many move between these states.
There is no single correct bodily response to grief.
A body that feels frozen is not necessarily refusing to heal. A body that cannot stop moving is not necessarily avoiding its feelings. These responses may be ways of adapting to an experience that exceeds what feels manageable in the moment.
Somatic awareness invites us to approach these responses with curiosity rather than judgement.
Instead of asking, What is wrong with me?, we might gently ask:
What is happening in my body right now?
What feels difficult to bear?
What would help me feel a little more supported in this moment?
The intention is not to force the nervous system into calmness. It is to develop a compassionate relationship with our changing internal experience, allowing feelings to emerge without demanding that we feel everything at once.
Sometimes healing begins not with a breakthrough, but with the smallest experience of safety: a warm hand around a cup of tea, feet resting against the ground, the presence of someone who does not need us to explain ourselves.
The Wisdom of Pendulation: Moving Between Pain and Support
One useful concept in that i use within 1:1 spaces with clients and in Grief tending is pendulation: the gentle movement of attention between an experience of difficulty and an experience of relative ease or support.
Grief can sometimes feel like an ocean that threatens to pull us under. When we focus exclusively on the pain, we may become overwhelmed. When we turn away from it entirely, we may feel disconnected or alone.
Pendulation offers another possibility.
We can acknowledge the ache in our chest and then notice the chair supporting our back. We can feel the sadness of missing someone and then look out of the window at the changing light. We can allow a tear to fall and then notice the warmth of a blanket around our shoulders.
We do not need to abandon grief to experience a moment of relief.
Nor does a moment of relief diminish the depth of our love.
These small movements of attention can help us discover that sorrow and support may coexist. We can touch the pain without remaining immersed in it indefinitely.
A gentle practice might look like this:
Arrive. Notice where your body meets the ground, chair, or bed. Allow your eyes to look around the room if that feels comfortable.
Notice. Bring gentle attention to one sensation associated with your grief. Perhaps there is heaviness in the chest, tension in the jaw, or a sense of emptiness in the belly.
Stay within what feels manageable. You do not need to intensify the feeling or search for a memory. A few moments of noticing may be enough.
Return to support. Notice your feet, the temperature of the room, a comforting object, or the sound of a familiar voice.
Move at your own pace. You may return to the sensation if you wish, or remain with the support around you.
There is no need to complete a cycle or reach a particular emotional state. If the practice increases distress, stop and orient to your surroundings or seek support from someone you trust.
The purpose is not to regulate grief out of existence. It is to help us remain in relationship with ourselves while we encounter it.
Gentle Somatic Practices for Grief
The smallest acts of care can help us reconnect with ourselves.
1. Returning to the Ground
Find a position that feels reasonably comfortable, whether sitting, standing or lying down.
Notice where your body meets the ground, chair or bed.
You do not need to change your breathing. Simply notice the support already present.
If it feels comfortable, allow your hands to rest on your thighs or place one hand gently over your chest.
You might say quietly to yourself:
I am here.
This is difficult.
I do not have to solve everything in this moment.
Stay for a few breaths, or for less time if that feels better.
This is not an attempt to make the pain disappear. It is a small invitation to notice that support may still be available, even when life feels profoundly changed.
Giving Grief a Voice
Sometimes our feelings become clearer when we allow ourselves to put them into words.
Take a notebook and begin with one of these prompts:
What do I miss most?
What feels unfinished?
What do I wish someone understood about my grief?
What am I angry about?
What has changed in the way I see myself?
What would I like to carry forward from this relationship?
Write without worrying about making sense or finding a positive conclusion.
You do not need to reach forgiveness, gratitude or acceptance.
The page can hold what you are not yet ready to share with another person.
If writing becomes overwhelming, pause. You can return another day, or choose not to continue.
Grief Is Not a Linear Journey Towards Closure
We often encounter the idea that grief follows a series of stages, eventually leading us towards acceptance.
Such frameworks may help some people make sense of their experience, but grief does not reliably unfold in a fixed order.
We may revisit feelings we thought had passed. A birthday or anniversary may bring a fresh wave of sadness. A new relationship, a significant achievement or an ordinary family gathering may remind us of who is missing.
Healing does not necessarily mean that grief becomes smaller in every respect.
Sometimes it means that our capacity to live alongside it changes.
We may discover that we can laugh without betraying our sadness, make plans without abandoning our memories, or experience joy without needing to explain it.
We may learn to carry love differently.
For some people, grief becomes less consuming over time. For others, it continues to return in meaningful waves. There is no universal timetable against which our experience must be measured.
And while grief itself is not an illness, persistent or overwhelming distress deserves compassionate support. A grief-informed counsellor or qualified therapist can help when loss makes everyday life difficult to navigate.
We do not have to choose between personal practices, community support and professional care. They can complement one another.
Learning to love ourselves through the pain.
Perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of grief is that it asks us to continue living in a world that has changed without our consent.
We cannot always restore what was lost. We cannot undo the conversation, recover the missed opportunity or return to the life we once imagined.
But we can develop a different relationship with what has happened.
We can allow our bodies to rest when exhaustion arrives. We can seek companionship when isolation becomes too heavy. We can make room for anger without allowing it to define us. We can remember the person we loved without insisting that every memory must bring comfort.
We can also allow life to surprise us.
A moment of laughter does not erase sorrow. A new beginning does not make the past less meaningful. Feeling better does not mean that we loved less.
Love and grief are not opposing forces. Often, they are deeply intertwined.
The invitation is not to become untouched by loss. It is to discover that we can remain human, connected and capable of tenderness in its aftermath.
Through embodied awareness, we can begin to meet grief with less judgement and greater curiosity. We can learn to respect our limits, recognise moments of support and allow ourselves to move through loss at our own pace.
A Closing Reflection
If you feel comfortable, take a moment now.
Let your eyes rest on something in front of you. Notice the surface beneath your body. Allow your hands to settle wherever they feel most at ease.
Bring to mind someone or something you have lost, only if that feels manageable.
You do not need to summon a particular memory or feel anything special.
Simply acknowledge, in your own way, that this loss is part of your story.
You might offer yourself these words:
I honour what I have loved.
I honour what I have lost.
I do not need to rush my grief.
I can seek support when the weight feels too heavy.
I am allowed to live, even as I remember.
Stay for a moment, or let the words pass without holding on to them.
Then gently return your attention to the room around you.
There is no perfect ending to grief, no single practice that resolves it and no universal wisdom that removes its pain.
There is only the ongoing human work of loving, losing, remembering and learning how to live with what remains.
May we meet ourselves with tenderness along the way.
May we remember that we do not have to walk through the darkness alone.
With compassion for all that has been loved and lost.
A Space to Be Held in Grief
Grief asks us to slow down, to listen more deeply, and to make space for what has been lost.
As a somatic therapist and grief tender, I feel called to create spaces where grief can be met with compassion, presence and tenderness. Spaces where we do not need to fix, rush or make sense of our pain, but where we can begin to reconnect with ourselves and honour the experiences we carry.
Through my 1:1 somatic therapy, I offer individual space to gently explore your experience of grief, listen to the wisdom of your body, and meet what is present with greater compassion and care.
I will also be offering The Sacred Waters of Grief Immersion in January — an invitation to enter a deeper, embodied space of grief, remembrance and connection.
Whether you feel drawn to individual support or to the shared journey of an immersion, there is space for you to meet your grief in your own way and in your own time.
If something in these words resonates with you, you are warmly invited to reach out and discover more.
You do not have to walk through grief alone.
For more information on tending to grief, you can find my offerings below.