After countless NICU rounds, hospital stays, procedures, and tests, her pain had ended, but mine had just begun. 

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After losing my child, I tried to find any place of comfort and solace and couldn’t seem to find anything to mend my shattered heart. 

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I was so angry at the world, at healthcare providers, at people’s unwarranted advice, and even mad at myself for something that was beyond my control. 

As I started ebbing and flowing through this cycle of grief (which is not linear AT ALL by the way), I thought to myself. You have two options: 1) Lose my sh*t! OR 2) create a legacy to honor my daughter's name. I chose the latter.

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At the time, I didn’t know what that looked like or what that meant and I was even a little mad at myself for thinking that there could possibly be hope on “the other side”. Was it possible for me to drag myself out of this hole, that I felt okay staying in, away from the world? It was safe there because it felt like in some weird way, there was still a connection to her (grief is tricky that way)!

 

Fast forward a few months, I started edging my way into things that comforted me like yoga, journaling, and listening to nature sounds. And to be honest, my yoga practice sometimes looked like me crying hysterically on my mat, but boy did it feel good to release in that way. 

 

Week by week I started to incorporate yoga asanas (yoga postures) and pranayama (breath connection). I found that the more I practiced this, the more I started to get in tune with myself again.

 

Movement was the medicine I didn’t know I was seeking (despite my therapist’s encouragement to try antidepressants- yes, therapists need therapists too)! It’s not that I don’t believe in medication but somehow I knew I could heal myself organically. I needed to be patient with this process and invite sadness in even when I didn’t want to feel it. The trick I learned was that it was okay to be sad and even depressed sometimes but it was important that I didn’t STAY in that space.