Channeling Grief through Yoga

“Have you taken a yoga class yet, you would love it.” queried my internist, four years ago. “No, but I will, promise.” I lied.

A miserable frozen shoulder and a heart to heart talk with my chiropractor, and I finally called a local yoga studio. “I don’t have proper clothes, or a mat, and I am not even sure my body can do yoga,” I spilled out to the yoga instructor on the other end of the phone line. “Don’t worry about a thing,” the gentle voice replied, “we have mats, wear comfortable clothes, and we can work with you on modifications for what your body needs.”

So I grabbed myself by the scruff of my collar and showed up for my first yoga class, self-conscious, my body stiff and cranky. I was greeted by name with great kindness. The instructors had a mat waiting for me in the studio, the room glowed with candlelight and peace. Bolstered by the assurance to do what felt right for my body, I moved through my first class. I felt terribly awkward, but accepted, which in turn prompted me to be gentle with my unyielding body. My doctor may have been right, I was tense.

“How did class go? asked the husband. “My body liked it, sounds crazy, but it told me “thank you.” I felt energized and looked forward to my next class. But, as I moved through the second and third class I was not prepared for the grief that surfaced during my practice. Images of Justin, and deep sorrow would move through me, tears streaked down my face during class. Even as my body enjoyed the movement and stretching, I could feel myself spiraling down in grief.

When a child dies it is as if someone ripped out your very heart, it is a burning, searing pain. The shoulders reflexively hunch in and the arms draw in protectively. For every breath you try to breathe there is a counter acting vise that tightens and you can’t get down to the bottom of your lungs. Tense muscles are reluctant to stretch, we ache with knots of flesh where there was once fluidity. Grief becomes trapped in our muscles, we bear its weight in our bodies.

I had an intuitive sense that my grief spiral and the practice of yoga was related, so I started to dig. I learned that yoga can gently dislodge that grief that is trapped in our knotted muscles and feeling intense grief during yoga practice is not unusual, continuous practice and movement can encourage that grief to flow through and out of our bodies. A presenter at The Compassionate Friends conference this summer shared that as bereaved parents, our bodies age seven times faster than normal – intense grief ages us. I am finding that practicing yoga is restorative and nurturing, hopefully slowing the assault on my body.

I also came across Amy Cuddy’s TED talk “Your Body Language Shapes Who You Are.” I watched it and my jaw dropped, I watched it again. When we hold our bodies in hunched positions, our cortisol levels increase and our testosterone levels decrease. We feel dis-empowered and defeated. Grief is dis-empowering. Grief is a maelstrom that sucks us down under its waters and pummels us physically, mentally, and emotionally. Cortisol levels skyrocket as we experience grief trauma and our adrenals become fatigued. Amy suggested different body postures to decrease cortisol and raise levels of testosterone, as I watched them, they each involved opening the arms, dropping the shoulders, engaging in and claiming our space.

“Your mat is your space, this is your yoga practice,” my instructor gently offered during class. My space, I am not in competition, I am not judged on how well I am doing, all I have to do is breathe. Every time I was tempted to upbraid myself for not being as flexible and well-balanced as I was when practicing martial arts, I reminded myself this was about checking in with my body to answer its needs for healing and care. I began to love my space, my mat, my time to rest in child’s pose for the entire class if that is what my body needed, and to know that everyone in the room would honor and respect that need.

I learned that heart-openers that release the shoulders are particularly nurturing for grieving parents, we invite space and openness back into our bodies. We lift the spine that feels the weight of mourning and let that weight slide down and off. I don’t always feel the benefits of a practice, sometimes I can’t seem to stand on two feet, much less balance on one. My neck and shoulders resist stretching and hold fast like little suction cups on an octopus tentacle. I am learning to trust the process though, that a successful practice means I showed up. I put the time in, I breathed, I believe that interior work is being accomplished even though my body is not so sure. And some classes I feel the joy of movement bubbling up, strength and balance slowly returning to my body.

I have found a sweet and welcoming presence at Core Yoga in Mount Airy, MD. The instructors are beautiful, strong women with compassionate hearts. And kind, they are so kind, the first time I was offered a warm towel scented with lavender oil, I teared up. I look forward to walking through the front door of the studio and being greeted with gentle candle light and peaceful spirits.

I see my internist in a few weeks, I can’t wait to tell her that she was right. I was carrying an enormous amount of tension in my body and yes, I do love yoga.

My thanks and gratitude to the staff and instructors of Core Yoga for providing a gentle landing space for my weary body and soul. Namaste.