Making Room for the Body, Mind, and All Parts of Ourselves - Reflections on grief, the nervous system, and learning to live alongside loss.
by Angela Larmer
Grief has a way of showing up in places we don't always recognize. It can settle into our bodies as exhaustion, tension, restlessness, or a heaviness we cannot quite explain. It can influence our sleep, concentration, relationships, and even our sense of who we are. Some days, grief feels close to the surface; on others, it moves into the background, only to return when we least expect it. We may find ourselves laughing one moment and feeling the weight of sadness the next. These experiences are not contradictions. They remind us that grief is deeply human, personal, and far more complex than any timeline or set of stages could capture.
Understanding how grief influences our brains, bodies, and nervous systems can help us approach what we experience with greater curiosity and compassion. It also invites us to reconsider some of the expectations we may have learned about how grief is supposed to unfold.
The Five Stages of Grief: Understanding Their Original Intention
In 1969, psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross published On Death and Dying, introducing five commonly observed responses: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Her work emerged from conversations with people facing their own deaths, at a time when dying was often avoided in medical discussions. She wanted to better understand and honour their emotional experiences, not establish a sequence that people should follow after losing someone they love.
Over time, however, the five stages became widely understood as a roadmap for grief. People were often led to believe that they should move through each stage, eventually reaching acceptance. This interpretation created expectations about what grief should look like and how long it should last. For some, it also created a sense that they were somehow grieving incorrectly when their experiences did not follow this pattern.
Kübler-Ross herself acknowledged that these responses were not necessarily sequential. In 2005, she and grief educator David Kessler revisited the framework in On Grief and Grieving, applying it more directly to bereavement and emphasizing that these experiences are neither universal nor linear.
The five responses can offer language for some of what we experience, without becoming expectations we place upon ourselves:
Denial: Shock, disbelief, or numbness as we begin to absorb the reality of a loss.
Anger: Feelings of injustice, frustration, helplessness, or anger toward ourselves, others, or the circumstances of the loss.
Bargaining: Revisiting what happened through thoughts of "what if" or "if only," as we try to make sense of something we cannot change.
Depression: The sadness, emptiness, withdrawal, or heaviness that may accompany loss. This does not necessarily mean clinical depression.
Acceptance: Beginning to acknowledge the reality of our loss and finding ways to live alongside it. Acceptance does not require us to feel comfortable with what happened or to stop feeling sorrow.
These are possible experiences within grief, not steps we must complete. We may recognize several of them, return to them at different times, or experience grief in ways that do not fit these descriptions at all.
The Sixth Stage: Finding Meaning
In 2019, David Kessler introduced a sixth stage in his book Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief. Following the death of his own son, he began exploring how acceptance alone did not fully capture the experience of continuing to live with profound loss.
Finding meaning does not suggest that a death happened for a reason, that something good must come from tragedy, or that we must make sense of something that may never make sense. Instead, it invites us to consider how love, connection, memories, and the influence of someone we have lost might continue to have a place in our lives.
Meaning may emerge through relationships, remembrance, community, or the quiet ways we carry someone with us. For others, finding meaning may not feel possible or necessary. Neither experience is more valid than the other. Meaning is something we may discover over time, not something we are required to create.
Moving With Grief Rather Than Through It
Our understanding of grief has continued to evolve, moving beyond the idea that we must progress through particular emotional stages.
Psychologists Margaret Stroebe and Henk Schut developed the Dual Process Model of Coping with Bereavement, which describes how we naturally move between attending to our loss and engaging with the responsibilities and experiences of everyday life.
We may spend time remembering someone, feeling sadness or longing, and later find ourselves enjoying a conversation, walking outside, or becoming absorbed in something meaningful. This movement, known as oscillation, recognizes that we are not meant to remain immersed in grief at every moment. Turning toward ordinary life does not mean we are avoiding our sorrow or forgetting the person who died.
Another important understanding is that of continuing bonds. Our relationship with someone who has died does not necessarily end; rather, the way we experience that relationship may change. Connection can remain through stories, memories, values, rituals, and the many ways that person continues to influence who we are.
We do not need to stop loving, remembering, or grieving someone in order to continue living.
Pendulation: Allowing Grief and Comfort to Coexist
Grief is not experienced only through our thoughts and emotions. It is also felt within the body. Neuroscientist Mary-Frances O'Connor's work helps us understand how the grieving brain adjusts to the absence of someone significant, while the nervous-system teachings of Deb Dana offer ways of recognizing how our bodies respond to overwhelming experiences.
Sometimes grief brings activation, restlessness, anxiety, or a sense of urgency. At other times, we may notice exhaustion, numbness, or withdrawal. Becoming curious about these responses can help us understand what we are experiencing without immediately needing to change it.
One gentle somatic practice that may support us is pendulation, which involves moving our attention between something difficult and something that offers a sense of steadiness, comfort, or ease.
For example, we might notice a wave of sadness while remembering someone we have lost. Perhaps there is a heaviness in our chest or tightness in our throat. Rather than remaining entirely with that sensation, we might gently shift our attention to the warmth of sunlight, the feeling of our feet resting on the floor, or the comforting presence of a pet. We can remain with that steadiness for a few moments and, if it feels manageable, gently return our attention to the sadness.
This movement between discomfort and comfort reminds us that more than one experience can exist within us at the same time. We can feel sorrow and still experience warmth, connection, or even joy. Allowing ourselves moments of ease does not diminish our grief or the significance of the person we have lost.
Pendulation is not about avoiding difficult feelings or asking ourselves to remain with more than we can manage. It is an opportunity to notice what is happening within us while allowing space for both the difficult and the comforting. We can move gently, without rushing ourselves or expecting a particular outcome.
Making Room for All Parts of Ourselves
Grief can bring forward many different parts of ourselves. There may be a part that longs for what has been lost, a part that feels angry, a part that is exhausted from carrying so much, and another that still finds moments of happiness. Sometimes these experiences can feel difficult to reconcile, particularly when we begin to feel joy alongside our sorrow.
Yet we do not need to reject one part of ourselves to make room for another. Our sadness does not invalidate our joy, and our capacity to laugh, connect, or experience pleasure does not diminish the love we carry.
We can begin to recognize that all these parts belong to us. We remain whole, even when grief changes how we experience ourselves and the world around us.
A Gentle Reminder
Perhaps one of the most important things we can offer ourselves in grief is permission to experience what is present, without measuring it against what we believe we should be feeling.
There is no correct pace, no required sequence, and no expectation that we must eventually leave our grief behind. Some days we may have the capacity to remain close to our sorrow, while on others we may need rest, connection, distraction, or time spent simply living our lives.
We can be curious about what our bodies and emotions are communicating, while remembering that our grief does not need to be justified, compared, or measured.
Moving between sorrow and moments of ease is not a departure from grief. It is one of the ways we learn to live alongside it.
An Invitation to Reflect: Writing With Grief
Writing can offer a space to pause and notice what we are carrying. There is no need to find the right words, reach a particular understanding, or make sense of everything that arises. Sometimes a few minutes of reflection allows us to become more aware of what is present; other times, it may simply give our thoughts and feelings somewhere to land.
Consider choosing one or two questions that resonate with you, allowing yourself to write without judgment or expectation:
Making room for grief: What expectations have I placed on myself about how I should be grieving? Where might these expectations have come from, and what would it feel like to loosen my hold on them?
Listening to my body: When grief feels close, what do I notice happening in my body? Are there sensations I have become familiar with, and what might help me respond to them with greater compassion?
Exploring pendulation: What people, places, memories, or everyday experiences offer me a sense of steadiness? How might I allow myself to move between what feels difficult and what offers comfort, without asking either experience to disappear?
Welcoming all parts of myself: Are there parts of myself that I have struggled to make room for in my grief? Perhaps anger, relief, longing, exhaustion, or even joy. What might it mean to allow these parts to belong without needing to judge or change them?
Continuing connection: In what ways does my connection with the person I have lost remain present in my life? What memories, values, or small everyday experiences remind me of the relationship we shared?
Living alongside loss: What am I learning about myself as I continue to live with grief? Is there something I would like to make more room for in my life while continuing to honour the love and loss I carry?
There is no expectation to answer every question. You may find that one invites reflection while another does not feel right for you today. Both are worth honouring. You can return to these questions at another time, recognizing that what feels true or meaningful may change.
A Gentle Note About Support
Grief is deeply personal, and what feels supportive for one person may not feel right for another. Practices such as pendulation and reflective writing are invitations, not expectations. If turning toward difficult emotions or body sensations feels overwhelming, it is okay to stop, return your attention to something comforting, or reach out to someone you trust. There may also be times when additional support from a qualified mental health professional is helpful, particularly when distress feels persistent, overwhelming, or significantly affects daily life. We do not need to navigate every part of grief on our own.
