Grief Lives in the Body

The body really does keep the score.

My body shuts down near the anniversary of the death of my sibling, Remi; like clockwork, the last week of February and first few days of March are the hardest on my body. She recalls grief, welcomes her like an old friend, and opens the space up again. On these days, I admit that there are loose seams and slight gapes in my heart. I feel like I am plunged into the darkness and helplessness that comes with loss, and losing someone. But now, four years on from losing Remi, I have the asset of self-awareness, and a vital urge to live my life.

Life requires the action of living, and living is a privilege and gift.

It has taken me a long time to get here. I have made many mistakes, had many days of apathy and self-destruction, and on many days, questioned my purpose on this planet without my sibling. Now, on the days that feel heavy, I move through it. I have learned to move with grief through daily exercise, yoga, breathwork and self compassion, with the latter being the hardest habit for me to maintain.

On the hard days, I still go to the gym at half-past six in the morning, I observe how looking other people in the eyes might cause me to be on the brink of tears. I observe my anxiety. I observe my hyperarousal and sensitivity. I observe the heaviness in my limbs. I lift, and I get the work done.

Going easy on myself, grateful that I showed up. Going hard on myself, not letting me roll over in defeat.

I have spent many days in defeat. I have achieved a lot as well, but my mindset has been in survival mode - doing for the sake of carrying on.

Now, however, I want to live.

I observe my body, how she keeps the score - how she knows when hard days are coming, but gets out of bed anyways.