Finding Balance
What Loss Taught Me About Healing
I was on the cross-trainer machine in our home office the other day and noticed the photo of my mother-in-law sitting on my desk. It got me thinking about her and then my father, and all those in my family who have died far too young.
There are moments in life that mark us forever. For me, two of those moments came wrapped in grief—the loss of my father and my mother-in-law, both gone at 68. Their lives, their struggles, and ultimately their deaths were unexpected catalysts for a quiet, slow, and yet powerful shift in my own.
It’s funny how transformation doesn’t always announce itself with fanfare. Sometimes it begins in a whisper—in the ache of watching someone you love slip away, in the inherited habits you begin to question, or in the sudden clarity that something in your life no longer fits.
My father lived with various illnesses and maladies for most of his life. As a child, I remember the smell of hospital visits—that distinct, disinfectant, sickness, and death smell you only find there.
His absence during hospital stays and his ongoing pain created a tension that health struggles can bring into a home, and the sharp edges of unspoken emotions that often erupted in anger.
My mother-in-law, a kind and deeply sensitive woman, held her family together in the face of addiction. She lived with quiet strength, raising her children in an environment that would have undone many.
Both of them shaped me. And both of them left behind more than memories—they left me with questions. Questions about health, about resilience, about how we carry trauma through generations… and how we begin to let it go.
In the months and years that followed, I began the slow, often uncomfortable process of unravelling my own patterns. It took many years of searching, bouncing around from one potential “fix” to the next, until I finally realised I wasn’t actually broken.
When I stopped long enough to listen to my body and the whispers of my soul,
I finally started to heal.
I discovered the trait of high sensitivity and came to understand it not as a flaw but as a guiding light—an invitation to live more attuned to my body, my environment, and my nervous system. I stopped pushing through exhaustion and started listening. I changed how I nourish myself, not out of discipline, but because I finally noticed what my body had been trying to tell me for years.
I learned to breathe again—not just the shallow kind that gets you through the day, but deep, diaphragmatic breathing that calms the storm inside.
And slowly, I came back to myself.
Regulating my nervous system became the foundation of everything. It was the missing piece I hadn’t known I was searching for. The more I grounded myself through breath, through nature, through small acts of self-care and mindfulness, the more I found clarity, energy, and joy.
Joy in a hot cup of tea. Joy in the quiet of a morning walk. Joy in remembering that I don’t have to hustle or strive to be enough.
This journey of healing isn’t linear. Some days are still hard. Old stories resurface. But I’ve learned that the path forward isn’t about pushing them away—it’s about meeting them with softness and choosing differently. Again and again.
If you’re navigating loss, change, or simply feeling off-balance, I want you to know: you’re not alone. Your body holds so much wisdom. And there are gentle, powerful ways to come home to yourself.
Start small. Breathe deeply. Put your feet on the earth. And trust that healing, like all good things, takes time—but it always moves us closer to wholeness.
Anchoring the Nervous System: Daily Practices That Help
If you’re on your own healing journey—and especially if you’re a sensitive soul trying to stop battling your body—know that you don’t have to force your way through.
Start here:
🫁 Breathe deeply
Diaphragmatic breathing helps reset the nervous system. One hand on your heart, one on your belly. Breathe until the belly rises.🌍 Ground regularly
Take your shoes off and feel the earth. Sit under a tree. In the workplace, place your hands on your thighs and feel the weight of your body as you sit in the chair.🍵 Pause for presence
A warm cup of tea. A shower. A short walk. These aren’t luxuries—they’re essential acts of reconnection.🌀 Unwind slowly
Healing takes time. Trauma doesn’t release on command. With gentle attention and consistency, the knots begin to loosen.
This isn’t about perfection. It’s about honoring the truth of our lived experience—grief, sensitivity, pain, and all—and making space for something softer, more aligned, more alive.
If you’re navigating loss, rewiring old beliefs, or gently birthing something new, I see you. Keep breathing. Keep grounding. Keep going.
We don’t have to rush our healing.
We just have to return—again and again—to ourselves.
With love and breath,
Jocelyn 🌿
💬 What’s your go‑to nervous‑system reset?
I’d love to hear about the little things that help you feel grounded. Leave a comment or hit reply.