Gently Moving Through the Grief Storm: Nourishing Body, Mind, Heart, and Spirit

I’ve just come through a tender stretch of the year… that time when three anniversaries gather close together: my late husband’s birthday, our wedding anniversary, and the day he passed.

Even four years later, those dates hold a quiet intensity. They arrive almost like their own weather system, heavy clouds one moment, soft sun the next. Grief, I’ve learned, doesn’t fade away completely. It changes shape, and we evolve with it.

Each year, as those days approach, I find myself preparing almost unconsciously. My breath becomes shallow, my body tightens, and my heart feels a little heavier. Then, once I’ve moved through them, there’s a soft exhale. Relief, sadness, gratitude, love… all mingled together.

These tender seasons remind me that healing isn’t linear. It’s cyclical. Grief asks for patience, kindness, and deep listening, not only to the heart, but to the whole self. Over time, I’ve come to understand that we don’t experience grief in just one way; we experience it through all parts of our being.

We are layered beings, and we are made up of our physical body, our mental body, our emotional body, and our spiritual body. Each layer holds and expresses grief differently. When we tend to all of them, we invite a deeper sense of balance, connection, and peace.

The Physical Body: Coming Home to the Present & Shifting Grief

Grief often lives in the body, in the chest, the throat, the hips, the belly. It shows up as exhaustion, tension, or a heaviness that’s hard to describe.

When this happens, I turn toward movement that feels grounding rather than depleting, such as gentle yoga, slow walks in nature, or stretching in the morning sun. Even something as simple as placing my hands on my heart and breathing slowly can create a sense of being held.

Movement reconnects me to the present. It reminds me that I am still here, still breathing, still alive in this body that carries both love and loss. Nourishing myself with wholesome food, rest, and small rituals, like a warm cup of tea helps anchor me again.

It’s not about doing more but about creating softness and presence in the physical space where grief resides. Try asking yourself this ‘What does my body need today?’ and then listen without judgment. Sometimes it will be rest, other times, gentle motion. Both are equally valid.

The Mental Body: Finding Calm Within the Chaos

Our minds can be both a refuge and a storm during grief. Thoughts loop endlessly… ‘What if I had done this?’’ or ‘What if things were different?’ The mind wants to make sense of what the heart knows cannot be undone.

Meditation, breathwork, or even a few moments of stillness can become lifelines. I sometimes sit quietly, placing one hand on my belly, the other on my heart, and simply notice the rise and fall of each breath. A few mindful breaths, in through the nose, and out through the mouth can shift the energy in ways that surprise me.

Breathwork teaches the nervous system to soften. It tells the mind it’s safe to pause. And in that pause comes a gentle gap, a space where peace can begin to enter.

I also find writing a simple reflection helps me calm the mental storm. You don’t have to solve anything. Just noticing is enough.

The Emotional Body: Letting Feelings Flow

The emotional body is where grief speaks loudest. It’s raw, unpredictable, and deeply human. Emotions don’t need to be fixed or pushed away, they need to move and be released.

I’ve found that art, such as painting or drawing, can help emotions find expression when words fail. Sometimes I draw the storm, and sometimes I draw the calm that follows. Tears, laughter, silence… all of it belongs.

Even small acts of acknowledgment matter, such as lighting a candle as a tribute or simply allowing myself to cry. These acts create a safe container for feelings to move through, instead of being trapped inside.

The Spiritual Body: Remembering Connection Beyond Form

The spiritual body is where love continues. It’s the part of us that senses something greater… the unseen threads that connect us across time and space.

When I light a candle, sit in meditation, or whisper a few words to my husband, I feel that thread. Grief softens, not because it disappears, but because it becomes infused with gratitude.

The spiritual body doesn’t ask for belief in anything specific; it asks only for openness to beauty, to mystery, to the quiet knowing that love doesn’t end, it simply changes form.

Our Whole Being

Grief touches every layer of our being. Caring for the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual bodies is not a path to “fix” grief, but a way to move gently alongside it. Each layer holds wisdom, each layer offers support, and each layer invites us back into life with more tenderness.

When we approach grief as a whole by acknowledging the body, mind, heart, and spirit, we give ourselves the chance to experience it fully and safely. Too often, grief is treated as if it lives only in the mind or only in the heart. But it does not live in isolation. It is connected through our very being, shaping how we move, think, feel, and connect.

The physical body holds grief’s weight and tension. The mind processes its questions and reflections. The emotional body carries the rawness, the tears, the laughter, and the sighs. And the spiritual body reminds us that love does not end, that we are connected to something greater, even when what we have lost feels unbearably present.

By tending to all these parts together, we cultivate a rhythm of care that honours grief rather than resisting it. We allow ourselves to breathe, to rest, and to move through the storm without losing our balance.

Grief becomes not just something to survive, but a teacher, one that invites us to slow down, to listen deeply, and to nurture our whole being. In this holistic approach, healing is not a destination; it is the quiet, steady work of tending to every part of ourselves. You can pause, breathe, and nurture all parts of yourself with patience, compassion, and openness. Grief is not a storm to fight against, it is a current to move with, gently, consciously, and kindly.

Even in sorrow, there can be beauty, connection, and quiet renewal. By tending to our whole selves, we allow grief to find its place, not as something that diminishes life, but as something that deepens it.

Go gently…
Melissa