Grief in the Body: How Somatic Therapy Helps Heal Loss

Grief doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t always look like tears or come in tidy stages. Sometimes, it appears in the body first — as a collapse, a tight chest, or a refusal to move. Sometimes, it’s irritation, numbness, or exhaustion. And sometimes, it’s the whisper beneath all of that: I can’t do life right now. 

One of my clients, deep in the early days of mourning, came into session barely able to speak. She was exhausted, resentful, and numb. A familiar pattern had been reactivated — the expectation to hold it all together, to look after others, and to set aside her own needs. Her grief was being overshadowed by the unspoken family rule that her mother’s sorrow should take centre stage. Again. 

And yet, under that irritation, under the weariness and shutdown, something else was waiting. 

I gently invited her to stay with the collapse in her body, to get curious about it, not to change it or fix it, to listen. I asked her to place one hand on the area where she felt the collapse most

strongly, and the other where she felt any glimmer of support — perhaps her legs, her back, or even just her breath. 

After sitting quietly, she whispered, “Simplicity.” 

That word changed everything. Her body wasn’t asking her to move on. It was asking her to slow down. Not to do more, but to do less — more gently, and on her terms. 

She chose to spend time outside, not with a goal or a plan, but simply to be. Wrapped in a scarf, walking slowly in a quiet park, she let herself notice the cold air, the bare trees, the solid feel of the earth beneath her feet. It wasn’t about doing something productive. It was about being held by space, by slowness, by something bigger than the grief itself. She had found her way, her own pace, and most importantly, her permission. 

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Why Is Grief So Hard? 

In my podcast on this topic, I spoke about how grief is not just about loss — it’s about love. The depth of our pain reflects the depth of our connection. That’s what makes grief so uniquely disorienting. It doesn’t just hurt. It rearranges us. 

Grief is exhausting, not only emotionally but physically. Clients often describe feeling like they’re underwater, as if the world continues on the surface while they move through syrup below it. That’s not weakness. It’s the body’s way of protecting us, of buffering impact. 

When grief hits, our nervous system can swing between sympathetic arousal (anxiety, restlessness, irritation) and dorsal vagal shutdown (collapse, heaviness, inertia). Both states are valid. Neither needs to be pathologised. What helps is attunement — the felt sense that we don’t have to be “better” to be seen or supported. 

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Attachment, Old Wounds, and the Grief That Goes Deeper 

Grief doesn’t just stir our sadness. It can awaken old attachment wounds — the part of us that never felt like our needs were allowed to matter. My client’s resentment toward her mother wasn’t only about the present; it echoed a lifetime of being cast as the caretaker. Now, even in her grief, she was expected to step aside.

These moments, when we feel like our pain has to wait until others are done, can reawaken survival strategies: over-functioning, numbing, shutting down, and people-pleasing. Grief can expose where love has felt conditional, where our boundaries have been blurred. 

And that’s why the somatic invitation matters. It says: Your body knows something here. Let’s listen. 

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The Wisdom of the Body in Grief 

In somatic psychotherapy, we don’t treat grief as something to be solved, but something to be met. Slowly. Gently. With presence. 

Some clients need movement. Others need stillness. Some want silence; others want to talk, cry, rage, or rest. Some want all of it — and then none of it — often in the same hour. 

What I hear again and again is this: “I need permission.” 

Permission to not keep it together. 

● Permission to be inconsistent. 

● Permission to feel anger at the person who died. 

● Permission to not want to process it yet. 

● Permission to laugh, love, or enjoy things without guilt. 

● And, crucially, permission to stop performing the idea of “coping well.” 

For some, that pressure to perform shows up most acutely during holidays or anniversaries — moments where we’re expected to be cheerful, grateful, or emotionally available. But grief doesn’t take a break for the calendar. It can sharpen at the exact moment everyone else is toasting, laughing, or urging us to “make the most of it.” 

This can create a profound sense of isolation. When joy is expected but sorrow is present, the body can feel deeply out of sync, as though something is wrong with us for not being able to rise to the occasion. 

But there is no wrong way to grieve.

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Try This: Supporting Grief Somatically 

Here’s the exercise that helped my client reconnect with her inner knowing: 

Hand-to-Heart Practice for Collapse and Support 

● Sit or lie down in a way that feels as comfortable as possible. 

● Place one hand gently on the part of your body that feels most shut down or heavy. ● Place the other hand where you feel most supported — this might be your chest, your belly, your thighs, or the ground beneath you. 

● With your breath soft and easy, see if you can hold both sensations at once: the pain and the support. The heaviness and the steadiness. 

● Then ask, without pressure: What does this part of me need? 

● There’s no right answer. It might be a word, an image, or just a sensation. Let that be enough. 

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A Final Word: Grief Is Love 

Grief is a testament to what we’ve loved and how deeply we’ve let life matter to us. It’s not something we get over — it’s something we learn to live alongside. 

My client didn’t need a checklist or a five-stage model. She needed space. She needed simplicity. She needed to be allowed to be messy, tired, irritable, and human. 

This is what somatic grief work honours: not pushing through, but staying with. Not rushing healing, but letting it unfold in the body’s own time. Not fixing, but listening. 

In the end, grief is not a failure of strength. 

It’s a reflection of connection. 

And we wouldn’t wish that away.

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Author Bio 

Shelley Treacher is a UK-based somatic psychotherapist who helps people bring compassion to the parts of themselves that feel messy, stuck, or hard to hold. With over 20 years’ experience, she supports healing through embodiment, trauma-informed care, and therapeutic storytelling. Learn more at www.bristolcounselling.co.uk.

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