Using Yoga to Work With Grief

One of my best friends died last Sunday.

I’ve spent this week in a daze, alternating between confusion, anger, and sorrow. I wish I could do something to spare everyone – immediate family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances – the pain they are feeling. I wish I could understand why bad things happen to good people and why scientists haven’t yet cured pancreatic cancer. Mostly, I wish that she was still here and we could talk about all of this.

As the late Queen Elizabeth II said: “Grief is the price of love.” I know this, and yet it feels like a platitude right now. I’m not just sad – I’m filled with guilt, anger, resentment, fear, and hollowness. While the daily business of life helps has helped me to maintain composure, that vanishes when I step onto my yoga mat and I become overwhelmed. The disruption in my life – there’s a whole in practically every activity I attempt – makes it seem impossible to carry on as before. The very act of moving the body feels immensely difficult.  How, then, shall I carry on with my yoga practice?

If yoga means “union”, then part of my practice is acceptance.  Where I am today is simply that – not a judgment but a fact.  The week before she died, I was too overwrought to do much beyond crying, but perhaps I was practicing my yoga, or union with her and my Higher Power, by allowing myself to grieve. This week, any form of exercise seems to help; when I can’t face a complex asana series, simple repetitive walking is what I crave. Teaching my classes reminds me that there are others in the world who value my presence, and as a karmic yogini, the act of service is always comforting. Last night I was finally able to return to asana, I was grateful that the class was not particularly physically challenging, but the stretching and movement moved me into a meditative state. Existing in the here and now was a respite from the torrent of to-dos and feelings.

This definitely seems to be the time for a softer practice.  Yin moves, which allow me to stretch the stiff and unyielding parts of my body, give me an appropriate metaphor for grief work.  Savasana turns into quiet weeping, but perhaps that’s one form of rest and nourishment. Being kind to myself means being honest about my current physical and mental levels of strength; when I’m a bit calmer, I will incorporate more restorative sessions as well.

As an intellectual, I am finding yogic philosophy to be extremely helpful. The final spoke on Patanjali’s Eight-Fold Path is Ishvara Pranidhana, or surrender to a Power greater than myself. I’ve always found the famed Serenity Prayer compelling, but right now it’s a lifesaver – I can’t control the world, anyone else, or the level of my grief. My current desire is for the ability to respond appropriately in the minutes, hours, and days that follow; I take care of myself best by checking in, moment by moment, and doing the next indicated action.

Yoga and its philosophical concepts aren’t meant to hide us from misfortune; instead, the practice gives us the ability to deal with life on life’s terms. When I can, I unroll my mat.  Find a comfortable seated position.  Straighten the back.  Take a few mindful breaths before turning inward; what would help the most in the present moment?  Asana, prayer, meditation, maybe a nap followed by some knitting? I’ve worked hard in the past to develop my yogic skills; now is the time to use them for self-healing.

To anyone reading this who is grieving or has grieved, I send you a socially distanced hug. I know that my experience isn’t unique, that everyone has lost someone important. I am grateful for the time I had with my friend, and for the memories; I am also grateful for my yoga practice and teaching, which buoy me up in many different ways. I hope these musings have been useful to you.