Grief hurts in your body. Nobody warned me about that part.
When I was very small, something scary happened at home. I didn't understand it. A man I didn't know drove me to my grandmother's house, and I was terrified.
Gram sat with me on her big couch. She put a crocheted blanket over me and breathed with me until I stopped shaking. This is how I wrote it in my book:
"She breathes with me, in and out, sonorous and deep, like a dance of breathing."
That became our thing. I called it the breath dance. She'd put her hands on my heart and say:
"Breathe in slowly. Hold your breath in, honey. Good. Now, breathe out slowly."
When I was eight, I had my first panic attack. I thought it was a heart attack. The doctor showed me some breathing exercises, and they were the same ones Gram did with me every night. I remember thinking:
"I have more control over my body than I thought."
I've needed that breath a lot since then. My daughter Zoe was born with half a heart, and I breathed through a lot of hospital days for her. She died in 2021. I still do the breath dance.
Try it
This takes about a minute.
Sit somewhere nobody will bug you.
Put one hand on your chest.
Breathe in slowly.
Hold it for a second.
Breathe out slowly.
Do it a few more times.
It might get you through the next ten minutes. Some days that's enough.
A lot of my work with clients starts right here, with where grief is sitting in your body. If you want to talk, you can book a session with me.
Gram is the first person you meet in my book, The Heart That Healed Us All. It comes out early 2027. Get on the list and I'll let you know when it's out.