Sarah Jackson Coaching

When we are mired in trauma, whether there is an active, real threat in our lives or an unresolved force in our bodies, it is especially difficult to process the emotions we’re feeling under the trauma. In a trauma state, the body’s priority is survival, so it devotes its resources to survival — to preserving safety, a sense of dignity, and connection — leaving few resources left to process painful emotion. It’s not only hard to access the grief under our trauma, the nervous system simply does not have the capacity to healthily process it. 
 
As we begin to create safety in our lives, and our nervous systems start to perceive that safety, it’s not uncommon to feel blindsided by tempest waves of grief. This is, in fact, a healthy sign of increased nervous system capacity. Mercifully, as we process the surfacing grief, we lighten the body’s grief load, allowing the nervous system’s capacity to continue to increase. 
 
In this way, fresh waves of grief are an invitation to step into deeper healing. But most of us do not know how to respond to that invitation. What do we do, exactly, when we feel upended by the pain of loss? How do we begin processing that pain in ways that honor our nervous system’s capacity? 
 
Today, I want to share a few things with you that have served me over the last many years of grief and trauma and helped guide me on my recent trip to the mountains. 
 
1. It's never just one loss. There are always accompanying intangible losses, like the loss of security or felt safety, the death of a dream, the loss of confidence, the loss of happiness or hope. 
 
We do not tend to culturally validate intangible losses, and it’s easy to overlook them. But we cannot process the losses we’re unaware of, so little by little, we bring awareness to the intangible losses under the more obvious losses. You might start by asking yourself, how has this loss affected the way I experience my body? My community? My sense of purpose? My hope and desire?
 

2. Grief needs a relational container. Peter Levine, the creator of Somatic Experiencing, uses the analogy of a cast to explain the power of a relational container. When someone’s broken limb is wrapped up in a cast, the cast itself will not heal the arm; instead, it holds the arm in place so it can do what arms are wired to do: heal. 
 
In the same way, compassionate relationships, where we feel seen and cared for, stabilize body and soul so they can do what God wired them to do: heal. Without a safe relational container, processing our grief can be more triggering and overwhelming than healing. 
 
The Psalms, Job, Lamentations, and Prophets (in the Old Testament) show us how to process our grief in the ultimate container of relationship with God, through a practice called lament. We even see Jesus engage lament on the cross, when he cries out to the Father, “Why have you forsaken me?” Lament is where we air our pain and hard questions for God as a way of insisting they matter to him. It’s where we unload the burden body and soul have been carrying, exposing our most tender wounds to the Holy Healer, so he can restore them. And it’s where we discover we are held and beloved, and are surprised with joy that defies our circumstances. Lament, more than any other practice for me, has ushered in deepest spiritual healing. 
 
God wired us to also need the healing container of human relationship. This means learning to relate to ourselves — body and soul — in ways that imitate God’s love for us, and finding 1-2 safe people (or more, if you know several safe people) who can hold space for the grief we share. 
 
In a survival state, it’s natural to feel like we need to have all the containers all at once, or else we’re never going to heal. But I didn’t. I started by cultivating the container of intimacy with Jesus in my suffering, through a daily practice of lament, and it was years before I had the physical wherewithal to process my grief in my community. 
 
Throughout the long years in bed, learning to be held in the container of relationship with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I began to learn to imitate God’s love to me for me, creating a container of love with myself, for myself. The process of learning to rest in the container of God’s love, and developing relational containers with ourselves and others, is gentle and incremental. Let yourself move at the pace of grace. 
 
 
3. Grief needs a place to go. You might think of your body as a container for your emotions. When we’re healthily processing our emotions, they move through us, making it easier to maintain nervous system health. But when we stuff and suppress, distracting with busyness, food, and Netflix, our sadness, anger, and regret accumulate in the body. Processing grief entails not only bringing awareness to our losses, but letting the accompanying emotions move through us. In other words, you’re going to take the feelings that are on the inside and put them on the outside, in a container other than your body. 
 
You might share with God in prayer or with a friend over Facetime. You might journal or play music or dance. You might use your voice to sigh deeply and loudly, as a way of expressing the truth of the grief you feel. Let yourself explore different ways of expressing your grief. 
 
 
4. Your nervous system needs support. Grief is exhausting. It demands a lot of our bodies, and since the nervous system facilitates all experience of emotion, it will need resourcing when we grieve.
 
Generally, nervous system resources can be cognitive (like a guided visualization that signals peace to the nervous system), somatic (using sensation, voice, and movement to signal safety and love to the nervous system), spiritual (engaging practices like Ignatian prayer that  open us to  the healing love of God), and beyond (sleep, nutrition, socialization). You might experiment with resourcing your nervous system with something like a guided visualization, or gentle somatic practice (like I teach in my monthly membership), before and after you take time to process grief, to help stabilize it through the process.
 
Additionally, our emotional experiences greatly impact the firing of the limbic system, the threat alert system in the brain designed to move the body into a survival state when there’s threat. Too much emotional pain can feel like a threat to the limbic system and can feel especially dysregulating.

For this reason, it’s helpful to process grief in small doses, engaging in comforting routines and practices in between the times we process grief. You might even experiment with setting a timer and journaling for 15 minutes and noticing how your nervous system responds to that duration of time in the following hours and days. 
 
Some of my favorite comforting practices: a hot shower, a hot cup of tea, sitting in the sunshine, snuggling Lily, calling a friend, going on a walk, watching funny or beautiful YouTube videos, writing. 
 
However you explore resourcing your nervous system, be gentle with yourself. Grief needs gentleness. 
 
I'm practicing gentleness with you. 

 

Further up and further in,
 
Sarah