THOSE TEARS WERE HOT... and I just let them burn... Grief, Loss, and Embodiment


THOSE TEARS WERE HOT... and I just let them burn.

Anniversaries of loss can be an absolute bitch.

Grief isn't an easy thing to *allow* ourselves to experience, and often times we want that one-day container to be enough.

It's not. It never is.

Grief lays us bare, reminds us of our vulnerability, and picks at soul scabs not yet healed... calling us into deeper work, richer embodiment, fuller living.

This past weekend marked an anniversary for me that my body remembers, even when my mind does not.

I'll never forget the first year anniversary of this day... when I saw another mother with her new baby and my womb jumped up into my throat and choked me with tears.

The anniversary of the due date of the first baby I miscarried five years ago. Holy shit - FIVE YEARS.

My cells remember the confusion and loss.

My womb remembers it's emptiness and weeping of blood.

My breasts remember unfulfilled promises of a nursling that was never held.

With my legs up the wall, I allowed my body to relax into the anxiety, the sensations, the jitters that suddenly flooded me after completing my work day.

Had I done enough? What was my next step? Where am I going, now? What's the purpose of all of this?

Anxiety really likes to keep things vague. Keep us distracted. Avoid grieving at all costs. Because grieving gets real and specific and commands healing to come.

As long as anxiety can keep up separated from our bodies, from our hurt, from our losses... it can keep us in an illusion of safety.

Laying there, I just felt. I just breathed.

I felt my psoas releasing deep within my body... emotions welling up like a wave. This well of traumas and unhandled energy breaking free to be felt, to flow, to accomplish its mission. What is that mission? Expression. Awareness. Embodiment. Presence.

Bringing me deeper into wholeness. Refusing to be ignored.

As the hot tears began to roll down my cheeks my daughter asked, "Mommy, what are you doing?"

"I'm being present with my body and letting myself feel my feelings."

"Oh," she replied and went about the rest of her lunch.

I just laid myself there in the middle of the house, legs up the wall and felt myself. An intense cramp contracting in my right middle back, letting me know there was more... I allowed.

I didn't think too much. I didn't replay events or wonder. I just felt.

And then I thought it was over.

That night as my husband and I talked about our lives, our future, our businesses... I said, "Something just doesn't feel right."

And then he brought it up... the baby.

No, not the baby I had lost, but the one that has been present with me for about two years now... the one I'm sure will join our family someday.

I was already teary and feeling hormonal... but this pushed me over the edge.

I sobbed. Rather, I stopped breathing. My body pulled me in, every muscle in my core contracting. My diaphragm reaching into the recesses of my subconscious, my body, my being to bring all that shit up.

And I wept, gasping for air, one of those deep death life-is-coming kind of cries.

I just let myself feel. I stopped judging my desire to meet this other child. I stopped numbing out the pain of having not met two of my children that I'd held in my womb but not in my arms. I just was.

And I don't think it's over.

This is an anti-climactic story. This is the circle of death and life told.

I am still healing. I am still here. I have re-written my c-section story, my own birth, and so many other parts of my past... and now this is presenting itself for new life, new meaning, and new unapologetic embodied expression.

Doing the real inner work is not always about appearing fierce and flawless. Doing the work isn't always impressive or conclusive. Doing the work means showing up for yourself, trusting what is coming up for you, and investing all of who you are in the journey.

You can't ignore your need for that kind of work if you really want to thrive in your life and relationships. If you try, you'll end up blaming everyone else for reflecting back at you what is really going on within.

You can't ignore your need for sacred space and support... for this is not a path you have to walk alone, though it is one you have to choose to walk through the depths of loneliness so that you might prove to yourself how very held and loved you are.

What hot tears are you holding in? What fire are you circling, refusing to walk through it? What grief have you left unfelt because you're afraid of the power it might bring you?

The seed struggles to push up through the earth and becomes stronger, but it does not suffer. It dies and becomes one with the earth again, but it does not suffer. It simply exists fully in every moment of the life-death-life cycle.

Step into that cycle for yourself. Allow. Breathe. Feel. And let yourself move through the lonliness - commanding the company you crave so that you are never, ever alone.



P.S. The first week in October marks the launch of the Worship HER Fan Club - a sacred sisterhood space where we dive deep into this inner work. I've created this as a super affordable way for women to not only work with me but also have access to a safe, soul-centered sisterhood that meets (virtually) face-to-face that we may each be fully seen and fully heard and fully whole/healing. For details, CLICK HERE. Sending you deep womb love!