A month ago, I received that text.
“Friends, I have some sad news to share….”
I stared at my phone in disbelief.
My reply, “WTF?”
The friend was from high school. We graduated in 1994, putting us now in our mid-forties; too young.
Chills begin to surge in my body as the news settled in. It was like standing on shore and watching a tsunami coming. Then it hit. The tears fell and my legs weakened. I wanted to sink to the ground right where I stood but managed to walk to a set of steps and sit down. I let the tsunami crash. The guttural sobs came and quickly the cusp of hyperventilating. I saw myself and could see I was just about to hurl my emotional sense of self out of the plane….
From an inner knowingness, I began to draw in deep, slow breaths. A safety parachute opened. The continual slow, conscious way of breathing created a landing space for me to pause and go within. I was able to ask myself, “What do I need?”
Sisterhood. All of us, friends since high school, had lost Kristy.
The next few hours were spent in sisterhood on Zoom, sharing our shock and sadness. We heart-fully held one another’s hand and walked through our initial sense of grief together. Eventually, the dismay and tears evolved into laughter as we shared memories of a precious time together, so many years ago.
That evening in bed, I could feel the weight of grief in my body. I knew it needed to be moved through and out. I placed myself on the ground, with only a yoga mat between me and the wood floor. There, I allowed my body the space it needed to just be and breathe. I recognized the outline of my body, the weight of sadness in my belly and ache in my heart. Just breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.
In my line of work, I am fortunate to have cultivated a tool box of compassionate skills to call upon when needed. The training, now ingrained through my sense of being, invited and enabled me to breathe deeply, rather than spiral into hyperventilating. The learning and practicing of such various skills didn’t happen during a time of trauma; they were integrated into my second nature when everything was ok. A few years ago, I read a lovely passage about how laying on firm ground can help one feel rooted within themself, so they have a space to steady their sense of being while grieving. I found beauty in the passage and its words found their way into my consciousness that evening.
Our dominate culture values intellect over intuition, rational over emotion. We rationalize away the importance of self care, reducing our ability to listen inwardly and be self attuned. I was born and raised in this dominant culture of belief systems so I was pretty good at ignoring my internal needs. At one point, I tucked and folded myself inward so well that when I simply couldn’t compact any further, I imploded.
The first time I experienced an anxiety attack was seven months after my mother died. After she died, I did my best to propel myself forward and plod on as if it keeping myself busy after the experience of her transition and absence would make me feel better. The cause (of the anxiety attack) was so insignificant, but it was the toothpick that broke the dam. At a home improvement store, Dan had asked which large flower pot I liked better and that did it. I felt the wave of “too much” crash upon me and I couldn’t breathe. My chest and upper back spasmed, while my stomach juggled boulders and mind whirled. Afterwards, exhausted and confused, it felt as though a rip current had been swept me under, thrashed me and tossed me on shore a bit fragmented.
The second time, there was a lot going on with my dad and I had been in a state of continual worry about him for over a year. Fortunately, I had been a yoga instructor for a few years by that point. Breathing techniques had become a natural resource due to my training and consistent teaching. The warning signs of the anxiety attack were clear. Dan and I had just entered the highway and my chest began to tighten and I felt trapped in the car. The tsunami was building.
In the passenger seat, as the car continued down the highway, I began practicing a conscious breathing technique called Dirga Svasm (Three Part Breath). One’s breath is the most resourceful method to steady one’s nervous system. The Three Part Breath is initiated in the abdomen, expands up through the chest and finally under the collarbones. The exhale slowly releases the collarbones, chest and abdomen. When done correctly, can feel like a soft wave moving through you and a sigh of relief. Each inhale and exhale is smooth, slow and signals to the body that everything is ok. By deepening and slowing down my breath I was able to rescind the wave of the anxiety attack.
That’s what I did when our friend died. Breathed. I also allowed myself to be sad, to embody my sense of grief. Rather than pretending the dark rain cloud wasn’t above me, I instead invited it in. I gave myself permission to check-out so I could check in-ward. I rescheduled a meeting and got my yoga class covered to further cultivate the space needed. I chose to be present with my grief.
“We can enjoy the treasures of the world while they are with us, knowing full well we will not bind to them, nor they to us. And as they depart, our arms open wide and let them fly. Steady in both circumstances, we remember who we really are….This concept has its greatest challenge when we are separated from our friends and loves ones, especially without our permission or when it seems permanent. Our heart feels a vast emptiness where it was once filled with love. At these times it takes great strength to restore and sustain our equilibrium. By securing a place within our hearts to hold their love and by continuing our devoted practice our balance is more easily reestablished.” Nischala Joy Devi, “The Secret Power of Yoga”
Throughout the process of my initial grief, I continued to show up for myself through my daily meditations, walks and practices. While this may be viewed as self discipline (intellectual) it really isn’t. It was and is about paying attention to what I need and how to support myself. These acts of self care, I consider rituals, were cultivated when everything was ok. We cannot ready our emergency kit during the earthquake but we can prepare ourselves with coping skills beforehand. The knowledge and know how can and will be absorbed by the brain and body to be stored as resources for the future.
Grief is a road that can be traveled, no matter how difficult it may be. Even if the tsunami does crash or the tornado sweeps you off your feet, your footing can be re-found by stopping to breathe and be in your awareness. When we cultivate a space and capacity to go inward we are able to to see and hear ourselves. When we are able to see and hear ourself we are able to witness our experiences. Baring witness to thyself can be healing.
During this challenging time of Covid, there are many people who have lost someone and maybe many. It is my hope and prayer that everyone takes the time to nurture themself. As individuals we are vast. Be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual - be present to every part of you, for each element that composes the beautiful, unique tapestry of You is precious.