In the whirlwind of grief and trauma, I found peace in the most unexpected place—not in fixing everything, not in pulling myself together—but in the quiet practice of self-compassion.
But let me be clear: self-compassion is not self-care in the way we often think of it. It’s not bubble baths or massages (though those things have their place). It’s deeper. It’s boundary-setting. It’s learning to say “no” when my heart is already stretched too thin. It’s reaching out when I’d rather isolate. It’s admitting I need help and allowing myself to receive it. It’s permitting myself to feel it all—the ache, the fatigue, the fear—and surrendering to the process of healing.
When Caring for Everyone Else Almost Broke Me
It felt counterintuitive to prioritize myself, especially as a mother, after our total house fire. After all, my kids were grieving, too in a thick, all-consuming way. I threw myself into caring for them, but slowly, almost silently, I stopped caring for myself.
And the truth is, neglecting my own body didn’t make anything better. It made everything harder. The pain I held in my spirit started to show up physically. I had less to give, not more. My resilience cracked. I had no reserve left for my children or anyone else.
However, something began to shift when I chose to show up for myself. I began paying attention to the signals—tight shoulders, shallow breathing, the lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away. Instead of pushing through, I paused. I took a breath. I asked myself, “What do you need right now?”
Why Movement Matters in Grief
Around the time a friend opened a Pilates studio, right after the world shut down during COVID. I signed up, not knowing how much it would help me. What I found wasn’t just a new exercise routine—it became a lifeline.
We know movement matters. We know that exercise is beneficial for both our mental and physical health. But Pilates is different. It’s slow. Intentional. Grounded. And it invites you to listen—actually to feel our bodies. Pilates heals the nervous system through the slower movements, which are so crucial for trauma and grief, since they leave you feeling disconnected and numb.
Each session became sacred. Under the gentle guidance of my instructor, I learned how to pair my breath with movement. And somewhere between the stretches and strength work, I felt the knot inside me begin to unravel. Sometimes, I cried on the mat. Other times, I left feeling just a little lighter. But every time, I walked out more present, more grounded.
The Psalmist writes, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” We walk through it. We move through it. When we feel stuck in our grief, sometimes the most healing thing we can do is move our bodies. I’ve made it my quiet promise: “I will move my body every day.”
When Faith and Breath Collide
For me, this healing journey is not just physical—it’s deeply spiritual. Scripture reminds me that strength doesn’t come from striving. It comes from surrender. When Paul asked the Lord to remove his weakness, God answered, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
That verse lives in my bones now.
In Pilates, I learn to surrender. To let go. To breathe. I stop trying to outrun the pain and instead, let Jesus meet me right in the middle of it.
One of my favorite books, The Body Keeps the Score, says, “For real change to take place, the body needs to learn that the danger has passed and to live in the reality of the present.” That’s what Pilates is doing for
Research even supports this. Studies show that practices like Pilates combined with cognitive behavioral therapy can significantly reduce anxiety and improve emotional well-being. And I’ve experienced that firsthand. It’s teaching my body that I am safe now. That I can trust again. That healing is not only possible—it’s already happening.
A Community of Healing
One of the most surprising gifts has been the community I’ve found in the Pilates studio. We may not always talk about our stories, but there’s a knowing. A shared understanding. We cheer each other on. We wipe away tears. We laugh after hard workouts. It’s healing, not just because of the movement, but because of the connection. I loved the community so much that I became a pilates instructor after five years of being a student.
What Self-Compassion Really Looks Like
So, if you’re walking through grief or trauma, and your body feels like it’s breaking under the weight of it all, I want to encourage you: be kind to yourself.
Self-compassion isn’t selfish. It’s brave. It’s setting boundaries. It’s moving your body, even when you feel like lying down. It’s crying through a Pilates class and not apologizing for it. It’s saying, “I need help,” and letting others hold space for you.
And more than anything, it’s remembering that God’s grace meets us in our weakness. That we’re not alone in our valleys. That healing, even when it comes slowly, is holy ground.
If this message resonated with you, you might find encouragement in my book, The Freedom to Feel: Finding God in Grief and Trauma. In it, I share more about my own journey through layers of loss—and how faith, community, and yes, movement, helped me find light again.
Looking for more tools to help you navigate grief with gentleness and hope? Join my email list to receive resources, reflections, and practical guides to support your healing journey.
