Your body wants to move this grief — and other self-care tips
Between the rage and sorrow, despair and anguish, so many of us are numb.
The Buffalo massacre. The Uvalde school shooting. The two-year anniversary of George Floyd's murder. The nearly 10-year anniversary of Sandy Hook. And all the other personal and collective losses we're still trying, or haven't even begun, to process. The grief is relentless.
Going numb, shutting down, checking out — these are all natural responses. Our bodies were not made to carry this much grief and trauma.
And yet we can only ignore the pain for so long. It's still there, even when we're not thinking about it or feeling it, deep in our tissues, carried and and remembered by the very body that doesn't seem to have the capacity to hold it all...but remains the container for all the emotions and experiences tangled in our grief.
Which is why I often turn to movement as one of the most reliable tools in my grief toolbox. Tuesday night I was numb. Yesterday morning, I felt a flicker of anger and the prick of tears but mostly I was still numb.
Then Michael Jackson's "Will You Be There" drifted into my head and stayed on a loop. And I knew it was my invitation. To move. To flow with whatever wanted to flow through me. To lean in where my tears felt frozen and stuck. To notice where anger was congealing, tightening into knots. To touch each splintering ache of grief. And feel the loosening. Softening. Expanding.
To trust my body's instincts for release.
Sometimes this dance is prayer. Sometimes fire. Or a thousand tears unlocked.
Always, it is the deepest of self-care.
Which is what — in addition to the actions we’re taking, the support we’re giving, the love we’re offering — we all should be encouraged to practice at this time. Instead many of us are struggling to be productive at work, to focus on projects and plans that may seem meaningless in the face of the global health crisis that is gun violence and the devastating heartache of too many families facing impossible questions and staring at empty spaces where their loved ones once sat.
I invite you to dive into your self-care toolbox, and to remember that self-care is also grief care. Here are some suggestions if you’re not sure where to start.
Rock your body. See if you can bring your attention, as you do, to your feet on the floor, the seat that’s supporting you, your arms, if you choose, hugging you close. Notice the points of contact between your body and the supports that are holding you. Rocking helps release feel-good endorphins in the brain.
Hum. This can also be accompanied by rocking. What you hum doesn’t matter (sometimes I rock and hum my own name with my hand on my heart as a grounding practice). But the act of humming or vocalization helps stimulate our parasympathetic nervous system to relax us.
Shake your body from head to toe as an expressive meditation to reset your nervous system. You may want to begin with your head, working your way down to your shoulders, arms, torso, hips, legs and feet. Or begin with your arms and instinctively follow your body’s cues until you’re shaking your whole body, releasing your stress and whatever else may not be serving you in the moment.
Drop into your body through a guided yoga sequence or breath work. If it’s accessible to you, you may wish to choose a space with skilled, facilitated support in case your emotions begin to overwhelm you.
Put on a piece of music that stirs you. Close your eyes as you listen. As the music moves through you, notice if there are any movements your body wants to make, any shapes or gestures that come to you. Maybe play with the practice of opening and contracting (for example, opening up your chest and then curling forward, seeing if or how you can expand into the opening more and more).
Lie down on the earth and wail your sorrows into her or pound out your rage. Let the ground hold and support you. Or if you live near the ocean, cast your tears and anger into the sea. In many indigenous cultures, giving our dense and heavy energies to the earth is a way of thanking and feeding her for all the ways she nourishes us.
Seek out support — in therapy, in community, in group settings, through your church, wherever you will feel safe and seen in the full range of your emotions.
Spend time in the places that replenish and soothe you, with the people who feel like a home where you can breathe.
Seek out moments of joy and pleasure. That doesn’t make you immune to the suffering around you. It doesn’t make you selfish or self-absorbed. Cultivating joy deepens our capacity to be present to life’s hard moments.
Journal your feelings or turn to any art medium (painting, drawing, collaging, singing, making music, etc.) that offers you a place to give them free rein and/or put them down.
Limit your intake of the news and time on social media. Pay attention to how you feel when you’re consuming in these spaces and scale back or opt out for a few days and allow yourself to rest.
And as you can, find a way to honor these horrific and senseless tragedies with the actions and rituals that call to you.
After dancing, I went down to the water and released 21 rose petals. For 21 lives that cowardice and corruption stole as surely as the rifle no civilian should be allowed to carry.
And today, the tears are finally falling, watering the ground of our collective heart, and a world where are children deserve to play and learn and grow, joyful and unafraid.