Grief: How Sorrow Lives in Our Body

Listening to What Hurts

Grief is not just a a thought in our mind—it’s also something we carry in our whole body. It can change how we breathe, how we move, how we show up in the day-to-day. Sometimes it shows up suddenly, like after a loss of a loved one. Other times, it creeps in slowly through seasons of stress, change, or heartache we didn’t fully process.

We may not always recognize grief. At first we may notice a tight chest, a nervous stomach, aching shoulders, or exhaustion that doesn’t make sense. These are actual clues from our body asking for help, they are not random.

Overtime, we may then start to notice that our bodies become heavy, the breath shortens, or you may have tension you can't quite shake—those more subtle but heavier body cues maybe reminders of a time when something hurt too much, and your body stepped in to help you carry it. And like other old patterns or pain, grief has a way of echoing in the background until it’s gently given space to move.

Grief doesn’t just fade away nor is it something we just “get over”. Grief writes itself into the body, tucked away behind tension, fatigue, or that sense of not feeling quite like yourself. We can try and push it down for a season, but over time, it will find its way back to the surface. It is kind of like water— you can try to dam it up, but eventually it will find a crack, overflow, or burst through entirely.

Where Does Grief Come From

Sometimes we may think grief only comes from the loss of a loved one; however; It can come from many different events we experience such as divorce, a cancer journey, miscarriage, years of chronic pain, trauma, or even watching someone you love suffer. Some women are even grieving the version of themselves they lost after giving so much to everyone else. Others grieve their body—the energy they once had, the ability to move freely, and the sleep that used to come easily.

Grief can also come from what never was: the apology that never came, the support you needed but didn’t get, the dream that slipped away while you were just trying to survive.

Grief shows up to teach us that something we lost is important, wether it be a person, a place, a role, or even a version of ourselves. Grief teaches us where our heart has been deeply invested. It draws attention to our values, our attachments, and even our limits—emotional, spiritual, and relational.

Grief Compounds Grief

In my healing journey of grief, my counselor shared this concept with me- “grief compounds grief”- meaning, new grief can stir up older, unprocessed grief—making your current experience feel heavier than expected. And most of the time, we don’t even realize it’s happening. We just feel overwhelmed and wonder, “Why is this hitting me so hard?”

It can be a little like holding your breath. The first time, it’s uncomfortable but manageable. Then another wave of grief comes, and you hold your breath again — but you never fully exhale from the first one. Over time, your lungs stay tight, your chest aches, and your body forgets what a full, deep breath feels like.

Eventually, even the smallest stress feels suffocating because you’ve been carrying years of unspent breath — years of unprocessed grief — inside you.

That’s not weakness. That’s your nervous system doing what it does best: holding on to protect you — until you’re safe enough to let go.

When we give grief space, it’s like finally exhaling after years of tension. The air rushes in, the body softens, and we remember what it feels like to breathe — and live — again.

A moment like that found me not long ago. I was at the funeral of a cousin, back in my mother’s hometown — the same place where she is buried. The day was quiet, solemn. Not overwhelming, but undeniably heavy.

As I stood at the gravesite, a gentle wave of emotion moved through me. For the past two years, I’ve been in therapy, slowly working through the grief of losing my mom when I was very young — grief I never allowed myself to feel for the last 34 years.

And still, in that moment, something unexpected rose up. Not just sadness, but a deep awareness of how much time had passed… and how much I had carried all those years. The grief wasn’t only about losing my mom. It was layered with the grief of other areas in my life — the life I thought I’d have, the expectations that would never be met — all of it creeping in that day.

Grief stacked on top of grief.

My body had spent decades living with it — quietly, consistently, and without recognition. That day, something in me softened. My body reminded me again:

I’m still healing. And that healing takes time, safety, and space.

This is exactly what compounded grief can feel like. A current event touches something tender and old. For many of the women I work with, that might be hearing about someone else's loss and suddenly feeling overwhelmed—not just by what’s happening now, but by what’s still waiting inside their own story.

And it’s not because they’re too emotional or too sensitive. It’s because they’ve been strong for a long time. Their bodies have been holding grief that never had a safe place to land.

Grief is layered. It stays quiet, or we think it is quiet, but it maybe showing up in out bodys for years before we ever realize it- until something brings it to the surface. But when we honor it, feel it, and give it space—it begins to move. And when grief moves, healing begins.

Healing Takes More Than Time

We’ve all heard the phrase, “time heals all wounds.” But if you’ve ever walked through real loss, you know it’s just not that simple.

Time may create distance. It might soften the edges. But it doesn’t erase the ache. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline—and it doesn’t just disappear because weeks, months, or years have passed. As the loss of my mom has taught me, I know this firsthand. Grief hits less often now, but when it does, it can still take my breath away. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere—triggered by a song, a scene in a movie, or a quiet moment I didn’t expect. And suddenly, there it is again, like a wave that’s been building just beneath the surface.

For many of the women I work with, that wave I described—the one that shows up out of nowhere—is all too familiar. Time hasn’t erased their grief. If anything, it has just made it harder to name. They kept going. They showed up. They stayed strong because they had to. But their grief didn’t disappear. It just found places to live that they may not even realize is grief—in their breath, their shoulders, their lack of sleep, their stomach.

Healing doesn’t mean going back to how things used to be. It means finding a new way to carry what’s been lost without letting it carry you. It means learning to live in the tension of joy and sorrow at the same time—learning how to stay soft even when life has been hard.

Grief doesn’t need to be fixed. It needs to be witnessed. It needs a safe place to land—where it can be felt, not rushed; honored, not hidden.

Sometimes that safe place is a trusted friend and community. Sometimes it’s a therapist. And sometimes, it’s found through bodywork.

Therapeutic bodywork gives grief a way to move—not with force, but with gentleness. It helps the nervous system feel safe again. It helps the breath deepen. It helps your body begin to loosen its grip on what it’s been holding for so long.

You Don’t Have to Carry This Alone

Maybe there’s something inside you that you’ve been carrying for a long time—a loss you never fully named, a goodbye you didn’t get to speak, or a season of life that took more from you than you had to give. Maybe you’ve stayed strong for so long that you didn’t notice how much your body has been holding.

Grief doesn’t always show up as tears. Sometimes it looks like exhaustion. Or a tight chest. Or tension that just won’t release. If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed, numb, or stuck, this might be your body’s quiet way of saying, “I’m not okay yet.”

It’s never too late to pause and tend to those parts of you that haven’t had a voice. You deserve space to breathe, to rest, and to feel supported—without having to explain or push through. That’s where healing begins.

You don’t have to figure this out all at once.

Just begin with one moment of awareness. One deep breath. One honest conversation. One small act of care for your body.

If you’re ready to explore how bodywork can support you through grief, I’m here. And if you’re not there yet, that’s okay too.

What matters most is this: You were never meant to carry it alone.

If something in this spoke to you—if your body is asking for rest, release, or support—I invite you to take the next step. You can learn more, book a session, or explore additional grief tools and supportive practices in our resource section. Start wherever feels right for you.

With love and comfort,

Cynthia Newton
Magnolia Wellness