Grief. What is it like?
Hi. I know I’ve been quiet on here for obvious reasons (if you aren’t caught up, read this Instagram post) but it feels right to share a bit about where I am and what’s been happening “behind-the scenes”.
Not only does sharing my story help me in my own process, I hope it serves as an opening for more honest conversations and compassion in our society. We have a hard time talking about emotions in our over-culture, especially emotions that aren’t “positive”.
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I always wondered what grief is like. I have experienced pain, trauma, but I have never been acquainted with grief like this before.
Of course there is no one way, nor right way — but I’ve wondered...what would it be like..for me?
Will I be in bed 24/7? How often will I be sad? Happy? Angry? What is “healing” really like?
To the best of my ability, I’ve tracked and processed the sensations, movements, emotions, thoughts that come with this loss. I am SO grateful for my somatic/embodiment practices as they help me stay with my body and all it’s been experiencing.
Some things have been expected for me such as the desire to be offline, to be away from large crowds, the tears, the tenderness, the strong attachment & connection I have to my husband (hi Praveer :D) after a loss like this.
But throughout this, I’ve also had to learn to dial-down the “healing” and even disassociate/disconnect a bit so I can simply show-up for life.
Coming to the decision to end a pregnancy - especially with the prognosis we were given - was not an easy one. I poured through so many research papers and articles over many hours trying to understand what all of this could mean for our baby.
After our 20 week ultrasound, I had to schedule 6-7 appointments and tests within a week and a half: multiple ultrasounds, fetal MRI, conversations about the brain, genetics. To simply show up for it all, I had to be very “on”.
To be able to show up for the termination procedure, the death of my baby, I had to create a protective barrier that allowed me to disconnect.
And believe it or not, this feeling of being “on” still hasn’t completely subsided. So now, about a month after the passing of our baby, I’m still having follow-up appointments, extra testing, doing my own research to feel supported the next time around.
I know I partially chose to be this way so I have some semblance of control in a journey that requires deep surrender and letting go.
The desire for control is interesting. I find that having a few things that I can “do” for myself, such as regular movement, continuing my prenatals, drinking my red raspberry leaf tea, eating wholesome foods, give me a sense of security when there is so much that is out of my hands.
I find steadiness in simple household tasks, like making the bed, unloading the dishwasher, sweeping leaves in our backyard.
As someone who finds so much pleasure in being, I’m working on finding that sweet spot between between simply being with it all, and doing to help me move through time.
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The Body
In the past with trauma, I’ve distanced myself from my body. Blamed it for not supporting me. Had a hard time staying with what it was feeling. I had tried operating from a place of logic, thoughts, and doing because that felt easier and more “comfortable”.
This time, I promised myself and my body to not allow it to happen again. I know my body is always supporting me, and it did its best to keep our baby safe for as long as it could. My body needs love, support, and healing as well.
So I hold my womb, I give myself internal pelvic massages, I caress myself while putting on lotion. I ask my husband for loving touch, for energetic holding, for words of affirmation like my body is perfect, my body is beautiful (often I don't even have to ask, he simply offers - I’m a lucky woman!).
I’ve scheduled massages, Craniosacral work, pelvic floor therapy. My body is the center of it all.
Taking care of my body and myself feels like the most loving act for me and my baby. After all, it was the only home she knew on Earth.
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Storytelling
Over the last 2 months, I have immersed myself in stories - both fact and fiction, both my own and others’ - to help me get through this time and find hope.
I am writing a lot. Writing letters to my baby (and myself), random musings in my journal, half-finished essays in my google doc. Blog posts like this one.
I’m pleased that writing found me again —It’s the same inexplicable pull I had almost 10 years ago when I started my own “healing” journey.
It’s the same intuitive nudge that led me to create my first blog in 2012, which later turned into my copywriting business, which later turned into the somatic storytelling coaching.
I am reading a ton — novels, books on loss/trauma, spiritual reads. I find some comfort in reading other women’s stories on their losses, but I’m careful not to confuse them with my own.
I’m moving through my story and truth through flow practices such as hooping (again, another practice I also discovered back in 2012), embodied movement, and journaling.
Of course it’s no surprise that storytelling has been such a big resource, but it’s all such a beautiful reminder in its power.
There is still so much left to be processed, to be said, to be felt. But this is me, here and now. All of this has been serving me in exactly where I am and what I need. It doesn’t mean it’s perfect in any way, but it feels true and honest.
I’m still very much in it, but I feel like I may be starting a new chapter...whatever it may be.
Much love,
Akansha
P.S. I tell my story to support my healing process first, but I also know that it may help others. If you experienced pregnancy loss before or have questions for me please do not hesitate to send me a direct message on Instagram. I’m an open book, but I choose to reserve the specific details for those who truly will find support in them.