When my husband died, I thought my heart had broken.
What I didn’t realise was that my nervous system had shattered too.
No one talks about the grieving nervous system. About how your body goes into survival mode after loss. About why you feel wired and exhausted at the same time. Or why small things suddenly feel impossible.
Grief doesn’t just live in your thoughts. It lives in your body.
In the months after Andy died, I wasn’t just heartbroken — I was dysregulated. My nervous system after loss was on constant high alert. And because I didn’t understand what was happening inside me, I thought I was losing my mind.
I wasn’t.
My body was trying to protect me.
There are days I still remember in full-body detail – like muscle memory. The mornings I sat in my car after trying to get my son into school. Feeling utterly useless, torn apart, tear-streaked and exhausted, like I had nothing left.
And then, I’d drive to teach a yoga class.
I’d think, I can’t do this. I have nothing to give. But I would walk in, sit down, begin guiding people to breathe—and suddenly, something would shift. It was like my own body remembered what calm felt like, even when my mind couldn’t.
And that’s what I want you to know: I didn’t learn this work from a book. I lived it.
When Everything Falls Apart
When Andy died, I was 48. Our son was just 4 (yes, I am a “geriatric mom” – charming!). And everything that made me feel like I had a grip on life dissolved. Not slowly. Not gracefully. But in a big, crashing, unmanageable mess.
It wasn’t just the grief of losing my partner. It was the grief of watching my child spin out, too. He was neurodivergent, though I didn’t know that yet. But what I did know was that every school run felt like a trauma loop. Chasing him around (separation anxiety at it’s best), being judged, shamed, blamed. And underneath it all, I was barely hanging on myself.
I was trying to hold it all together while quietly falling apart.
No family support. No map. Just me. Just us. Just the daily storm of dysregulation, grief, rage, exhaustion, and trying to make it through the next hour.
The Only Thing That Helped
Somewhere in the mess, I had yoga.
I didn’t even go looking for it as a solution. It was a local class. A windowless gym room. No incense, no matching mats, no peaceful retreat vibes. Just me, strangers that I couldn’t even make eye contact with, and movement.
And something happened.
Through the repetition, the stillness, the breath (even though I probably held mine most of the time), I noticed that I kept coming back. My body wanted to be there.
So I signed up for a yoga teacher training course. I didn’t know then that this was nervous system regulation. I didn’t know I was teaching myself to co-regulate, to build capacity, to tolerate sensations without drowning in them. But my body knew.
And that’s the thing: our bodies always know.
Living It, Not Fixing It
This isn’t a story of transformation with a shiny, floaty ending.
This is about real life. I still live it. We’re in the thick of it. My son’s hitting puberty (god help us all), I’m still solo parenting, still holding and learning how to hold, a business, still meeting people in their own grief and trauma – and still learning to meet myself, too.
I’ve screamed, broken down, said all the wrong things. But I’ve also built rituals and routines that support both of us. I’ve learned how to return to myself, even after chaos. And I’ve watched my son’s nervous system learn, grow, and settle in ways I never thought possible – our road ahead is still long and uncertain.
And all of this – the whole messy, hard-won path – is what I bring into my work. I use the word “work” but its far more than work, it’s heart-felt purpose, drive, life force energy.
What I Want You to Know
This “work” isn’t about being calm and collected all the time. It’s about creating enough safety inside yourself that you can feel what you feel, and still keep going.
It’s about knowing that your nervous system isn’t broken. It’s responding exactly as it should to all the shit you’ve been through/are going through.
And healing doesn’t have to look graceful. It can look like sitting in your car sobbing, and then going into a yoga class and finding a shred of peace. That’s regulation too.
You don’t need to be fixed. You need to be held – by your breath, by your body, by someone who gets it.
PS. If this hits home
If you’ve felt like you’re walking through grief with a raw, exposed body and no map – I see you.
If you’ve thought “I can’t hold it together anymore,” just know… you’re not meant to hold it together. You’re meant to be held.
And if you’re ready for gentle, body-first support, my 6-week somatic course might be what your system is craving. I won’t push. But if you want to learn how to feel safe in your skin again, you know where I am.
Let’s find a bit of ground together.
Please drop me an email with the word “WITHIN” in the subject line and I will make sure you are the first to know about it when I’m ready to launch it.
Or if you’re looking for something gentle to hold you right now, download my free guided meditation here.
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You’re not alone in this truly hard and painful experience – even when it feels like it.