Why grief is powerful

Grief. We don't talk about it much. And when we do, there is often a lot of discomfort in the room. The definition: “Very great sadness, especially at the death of someone” and I would add “or something”.

I believe, if we dare to look closely, we go through cycles of grief all the time. We might grieve an opportunity that passed us by. A memory we could've had, but didn't. A friendship that was once close but has grown apart. A version of ourselves that is no longer there.

Grief is everywhere, and we would all see it, were we not so busy stuffing it away.

I'm here to tell you about my own process with grief. How it has shaped me in my younger years, how I've run away from it, how it found me again and how I've come to feel so much love for it.

Grief has value, at least for me it does. And I believe it holds value for us all. If we learn to hold grief close to our hearts, we'll be more capable of supporting the sadness AND the joy of the world and ourselves.

But I'll let you decide..

My 3 stories of grief and what they taught me:

Story 1

I was 17 years old and lost my dearest friend to suicide. Looking back, I realise I also lost my safest place for emotional support. Often it felt like I was drowning in my grief, and the person who I would've gone to for support, was the reason I was grieving. It was such a disorienting place to be in. My surroundings were often uncomfortable with my sadness. They would offer me one-liners like 'it takes time' without offering much presence or support. I felt alone. 

The lesson I took: It's better to just depend on myself. From now on I will not lean on someone for emotional support, because if I lose them, I will be lost again. 

Story 2

I was 25 years old and found myself crying on the kitchen floor after receiving disturbing news. However, it wasn't proportional to the mental breakdown I was having. I realised I had been looking away from feelings that were now asking for attention. I found a therapist and started uncovering grief that had been sitting in my body, unattended to, for years. 

Turns out, that grief had turned into heavy blanket, covering over much of my inner world. I burnt out at work in the process. Grieving washed me clean. I cried all the tears I hadn't cried in the past, and the ones I felt at losing a version of me that was endlessly productive and extraverted. And because I grieved, I was able to meet a new version of me. 

The one that started writing again, the one that embraced her imperfection and the one that was brave enough to leave a job that wasn't for her. Also the one that could be present with deep sorrow passing through her body and know she would be okay. 

The lesson I took: Grief needs to be felt and preferably shared. Not everyone has the capacity to be present with grief, and that's okay. Just find the people who can. It is not to be fixed or reasoned away. It is to be heard and held. Despite what I told myself 8 years ago, it's okay to lean on people for support. Just look for the right people, they will be there. There will always be parts of me that need letting go of, which immediately invites in the opportunity to embrace something new. Also, heavy emotions hold as much importance as light ones.

Story 3

I was 32 years old and travelled to Scotland to work with sheep. I signed up to help with the lambing season, which means supporting while the sheep give birth to their lambs. I was prepared for the beauty of it, but knew I also signed up for misfortune that might happen. During one of my shifts, I saw one of the sheep unwell, breathing heavily. I instantly recognised she was in deep struggle. 

I tried to give her water and reached out for help, but within 10 minutes, her spirit was gone. A neighbor had come to help. A practical man. He was very matter of fact. Focused on 'these things happen'. Took her body and dragged her toward a shadowy part. Then he walked off expecting I would follow, because the way he saw things, we were 'done with our job'. But I wasn't done. There hadn't been space for grief. 

Against the social conditions screaming: 'it's just an animal, these things happen, let's shrug it off and move on'. I followed my heart. Walked back to her body and sat with her. I cried at her leaving this earth. I felt my helplessness at it having been so quick. And to my surprise, I felt gratitude coming up from a well deep within me. Gratitude for her letting me be there during her last moments. Having been able to sit with her and talk to her. Also gratitude that she had lived. I was changed.

The lesson I took: Grief is honest and powerful. It deserves my attention and my care. It asks of me to face the heavier parts of life. And in that heaviness lies connection. If I don't take time to face what is dying, I only have my eyes opened to half of reality, to half of Mother earth. Grief gets easier to hold, the more I learn to love myself. There is a way of practicing holding it in my body and I know how. More importantly, I know how to ask for support. Grief is a portal to transformation and love. It is ruthlessly honest. It is a bringer of connection and of gratefulness. It is a beautiful part of being alive.  

Those are my 3 stories. I wonder what yours is.  I hope you have people in your life that are curious about your grief. And that one of those people is you, yourself. 

If you wish to share a story about your grief, feel free. My inbox is open. Either way, I am sending you love, resilience and softness in whichever grief is alive in you right now. Would you like to create space for your grief or sorrow? One of the three pillars of my breath and emotional bodywork focuses on grief.

In a gentle way, I'll guide you in connecting to the sorrow that you have been carrying for a long time. We give your body and nervous system the opportunity to process it and allowing relaxation to arise from within. It will create space so you can ask the right people for support and so love or gratitude for what was lost, can rise once again.

I look forward to meeting you.

This wasn't a coincidence - or was it?

Over the past six years, I’ve been on a deep dive into the wisdom of the body. It did not start because I thought 'Gosh, sounds fun!!' — but because I had no other choice.

At the time, I was in the fast lane of a promising career. Everything was moving forward 'succesfully' — until one day, it wasn’t. My energy dropped. The endless stream of ideas dried up. And whenever I tried to rest, I felt an overwhelming sense that something terrible was about to happen.

Eventually, I burned out. And strangely enough, that turned out to be a gift.The only thing that helped me find my way through was learning to listen to my body. What is it trying to tell me? What does it need? What do I actually want when I am not basing it on what I think I should do, but from how I feel inside?

“No, what you’re feeling right now isn’t convenient.”

That was the message I’d been giving myself for years. And through this process, I realized how unpracticed I was at listening — how easily I dismissed my own signals in favor of logic or loyalty to others. I was so used to overriding what I felt, to telling myself it wasn’t the right time to rest, cry, or say no.

But when you do that for long enough, it’s like stretching an elastic band — you can keep going for a while, but eventually, it snaps. And when it does, there’s not much left to hold everything together.

In recovery, I learned a lot. About the emotions I had pushed aside. About the exhaustion I’d ignored. About how my nervous system only felt safe under pressure.

I had to learn how to rest. I had to learn to trust myself again. And slowly, I began to rediscover my playfulness and joy. I started asking, “What if every choice I made came from genuine curiosity and enthusiasm?” And suddenly, I wanted something entirely different from life.

That shiny career path? I walked away from it. I retrained. I became better friends with myself. I learned to be alone — and to realize that was good company.

Now, six years later, I have my own practice, where I offer massage and body-oriented guidance.I’ve accepted that a 9-to-5 job simply doesn’t nourish me. I celebrate my connection with nature and see my body as a gateway to that connection. I take breaks. I make mistakes. I trust my intuition. And I try to stay true to myself.

Returning to that foundation — one that holds both gentleness and strength.

That’s also what I help others with: coming back into contact with their bodies. Returning to that foundation that offers both softness and strength.

I love working with people who are curious about themselves — people who believe that feeling our feelings is gold, even if it’s not always easy. People who are ready to trust the process, themselves, and my guidance. And those who appreciate a touch of playfulness and joy along the way.

If that resonates with you, I’d love to work with you.

Rest is like magic: the self-healing capacity of the body

Sounds like magic right? Our body's ability to heal itself. Maybe even far fetched? However, this incredible process is actually very tangible, and I’d love to talk more about it here.

Our bodies are naturally equipped with the ability to heal and restore balance. Think about a scrape or a cut. You don’t have to give your body specific instructions or tell it what to do. Yet, somehow, the body makes sure the wound heals.

What’s important, though, is creating the right environment for your body to do its repair work. For example, keeping the wound clean and dry. As long as you do that, your body almost always knows how to heal your skin and keep harmful bacteria out.

(And just to clarify, I’m not talking about major physical trauma or injuries here. In those cases, stitches or surgeries are essential. Something we have beautifully developed as humans.)

Healing is something the body naturally seeks. Whether it’s tension, pain, or some kind of imbalance, your body is always working towards restoring harmony. But to be able to do that, it needs one key ingredient: rest.

Just like it's hard to really catch your breath while your full force into a sprint. It's hard for your body to do repair work when it's always in an active state. If you’re always in motion, be it physically or mentally, your body will struggle to focus on repair and recovery. Resting, sure, it might sound straightforward. But in our fast-paced society, it’s something we struggle to grasp—or even accept.

To me, the simplest way to describe rest is a moment in which you don’t have to do anything, but instead, you can just be. A time when you’re not trying to be productive or are striving to achieve something (again, be it physically or mentally).

But here’s the tricky part: you can’t force rest. You can only invite it in. Sometimes, our minds and bodies are so switched on that even relaxing activities don’t feel restful. Unfortunately rest also doesn’t happen when we are strict towards ourselves and say “NOW I MUST REST.” If someone else would bark an order at you, chances are, you’d feel tense, not calm.

This illustrates the importance of allowing ourselves moments where we don’t need to achieve or accomplish anything. Moments where we can be gentle with ourselves. In those instances, the body can do its subtle work, nourishing you from the inside out. By doing so giving room for you to feel energized and inspired to focus on what brings you joy.

Do you often feel stuck in a cycle where rest and relaxation seem out of reach? In a constant battling to unwind, yet you never seem to get there? If so, maybe the word soften can help.

Ask yourself: how can I be softer with myself? How do I speak to myself? What small things can I do simply because I wish for them? What activities feel gentle and nurturing? And when you notice you’re doing something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, pause. Take a moment to observe and see if you approach yourself with more kindness.

If this resonates with you, I highly recommend reading up on the Vagus Nerve. It plays a crucial role in regulating the body’s state of rest and is absolutely fascinating!