Grief Is Wild 🌿

For the woman learning to hold both love and loss — this reflection and embodiment practice will help you honor your grief without rushing it, numbing it, or making it wrong.
Grief is not weakness. It’s proof that you have loved deeply.
And love this deep will always ask to be felt — not fixed.

 

 

“The other side of grief is love. Grief and love, sisters. When you can fully face the wreckage of life and the pain, the grief, you can really feel the depth of how much you love and all the things you’ve lost. You get to live deeper; you get to love more. There’s nothing anyone can take from you, so you’re not afraid to love when you truly go through this process and say, ‘I’m here for love. I’m here for myself. I’m here to stand my ground. I’m here to stand for what I believe.’”
— Veronica Clark

Those words echoed through me today.

Therapy opened a door I didn’t realize I had been holding shut so tightly — the door between grief and love. Sitting in that space, I felt something I rarely let myself feel: understood.
It was like someone finally saw the heavy weight I’ve been carrying.

Grief isn’t one note. It’s layered and unpredictable. Sometimes it’s sadness, raw and sharp. Other times it’s anger that burns hot in my chest. And yet, underneath it all, there is always love.

Love for the people I’ve lost.
Love for the life that could have been.
Love for the parts of myself I’m still learning to forgive and embrace.

Today reminded me that it’s okay to feel all of it — to let the tears come, to let the rage rise, to let the love remain.
And it’s also okay if my grief doesn’t look like anyone else’s.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
Your grief doesn’t have to be tidy, timed, or tempered.

If you need to grab a pillow and scream into it as loud as you can — do it.
(Just make sure your kids aren’t around; you don’t want to scare them.)

If you need to throw a full-blown temper tantrum — lie on your back, kick your legs, and slam your hands against the ground — do it.
If you need to wail, let your shoulders fall back, your head drop, and release every ounce of pain you’ve been holding — do it.

Because grief is energy.
And energy must move.

Let it pour out in safe ways so it doesn’t get stuck inside you.
Your tears are sacred.
Your rage is sacred.
Your release is sacred.

 

 

💎 Healing in Safe Ways

Healing doesn’t mean rushing, pretending, or numbing.
It means creating safe spaces for your grief to breathe.

That might look like:
• Talking with a trusted friend or therapist
• Journaling the words you’ve been afraid to say out loud
• Moving your body gently through walks or stretching
• Simply allowing yourself to cry without apology

Safe healing is about finding outlets that honor your heart without harming your body — rituals that hold you instead of hiding you.

 

 

💎 A Gentle Embodiment Practice

Close your eyes and place both hands over your heart.
Feel your own pulse — steady and true.

Take a slow, deep inhale and whisper to yourself:
“Grief is love.”

Exhale fully, letting your shoulders soften, and whisper:
“And love remains.”

As you breathe, imagine a soft light glowing in your chest.
With every inhale, it sparkles brighter.
With every exhale, it expands — wrapping around you like a shimmering blanket of gold.

Repeat for 5 rounds, letting tears, warmth, or silence rise.
Whatever comes is sacred.
Whatever comes is yours.

When you’re ready, open your eyes gently and remind yourself:
“I am still here. I am still shining.” 💎

 

 

💎 What Has Helped Me

What has helped me most is allowing it all — the sadness, the anger, the confusion, the love.
Letting myself be human in the middle of heartbreak.
Letting myself breathe through the waves instead of trying to stop them.

Somatic breathwork has helped me move the energy through my body when words weren’t enough.
It reminded me that grief doesn’t just live in the mind — it lives in the chest, the shoulders, the gut, the bones.

And spaces like Body Temple have given me the safety to release, to be witnessed, and to find softness after the storm.
When you grieve in safe community, you remember you’re not alone — and that healing can be both sacred and shared.

And through it all, I am deeply grateful for sobriety.
Sobriety keeps me present.
It keeps me here — fully in the process, rather than numbing the pain or skipping over the lessons.
It keeps me grounded in truth, even when truth feels heavy.

This healing is not linear. It’s not clean or simple. But it is real.
And in that realness, I find relief.
I find depth.
I find courage to keep standing — for myself, for love, for the life I believe in.

So here’s to grief.
Here’s to love.
Here’s to honoring the many ways it shows up.
Here’s to healing in the messy, beautiful space where they meet.

And here’s to continuing this journey with clarity, with sobriety, and with a heart wide enough to hold it all.

 

 

💎 Try This Today

💎 Breath: Take 5 deep inhales through your nose, exhaling with a long, sparkly sigh. Imagine you’re exhaling heaviness and inhaling light.
💎 Truth: Stand in front of a mirror, look into your own eyes, and say: “This is me. This is love. And I shine, even here.”
💎 Tenderness: Text a woman you love and remind her: “Your light is radiant. Don’t ever dim it.”

Grief is wild.
But so is your heart.
And in the wilderness of loss, love is still the compass that will always lead you home.

💎With love and reverence,
Karli

 
For the woman walking through the wreckage and still daring to shine.

💎