What Grief Revealed After Losing My Friend

Two weeks ago, I lost my closest friend, Stacy. Probably one of the hardest days of my life. Losing her felt like someone ripped out a part of me and left a huge hollow hole.

Grief is something most of us know about in theory. We understand that it hurts, that it brings sadness, and that it takes time to move through. But what we often don’t realize, at least I hadn’t, is that grief is not just emotional.

It is deeply physiological.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been witnessing this in my own body in ways that have surprised me. As someone who practices mindfulness and works closely with nature therapy and herbal medicine, I found myself observing grief not only through my emotions, but through the lens of the nervous system.

And the body has a lot to say about loss. A LOT.

Fact is, human beings are wired for connection. Our nervous system regulates itself through relationships. The people we are closest to become part of our internal sense of safety and stability in the world, especially with those who make us feel like we belong, who love us unconditionally and who have been a positive force in our lives. For me, that was Stacy.

This is deeply rooted in what psychologists call the Attachment Theory.

When someone we are deeply connected to dies, the nervous system experiences something that can feel like a shock to the system. The person who once existed as a point of emotional regulation, that someone we laughed with, confided in, texted, called, and leaned on, is suddenly gone. When they go, our entire body has to reorganize around that absence.

This is why grief can show up as very real physical symptoms.

My body felt unsettled in ways that were hard to explain. There were waves of tears, but there were also moments where my heart would flutter or my stomach would drop for no apparent reason. I noticed nausea, digestive upset, extreme fatigue, restlessness, difficulty concentrating, and physical discomfort throughout my body.

The biggest one was feeling…empty, in a weird way.

One of the gifts of mindfulness is that it teaches us to pay attention.  Instead of getting lost in the story of what was happening, I was able to notice how grief was manifesting in my body. In the early days of grief, I felt a deep ache in my chest…deep, deep grief.

Later, the sensation moved.

Sometimes it felt like a hollow space in my stomach. Other times it showed up as restlessness or a tightness in my throat. What I learned is that grief moves.

Losing Stacy forced me to slow down. Slowing down meant that I had to witness it… feel it. And what I realized is that emotions are much bigger than just thoughts or feelings. They are physical sensations moving through the body.

What my mindfulness practice offered me was the space to notice this without immediately trying to fix it. I did feel helpless for a few days, and in trying to cope with that feeling, I wanted to be active in being part of Stacy’s funeral arrangements and all the rest.

But what I realized, is that my ‘actions’ were coping mechanisms. They were a form of distraction.

I also felt really helpless in the sense that I felt like I took a lot of emotional space during the first few days of her passing because my emotions were so big that I was emotionally and physically unable to be of any type of support to others. I knew I wasn’t the only one grieving her loss. And, I felt terrible for not being able to share condolences with others, because my pain was so big.

Thankfully, I was reminded by many people it was ok to take the space I needed to grieve. And I needed to give myself permission to allow the grief to move through.

After the first wave of intense sorrow began to soften, another phase of grief appeared.

Thinking. So. Much. Thinking.

It was hard to go to sleep, stay asleep and do anything else during the day. My memories were on repeat, and special moments kept surfacing.  And then, the quiet awareness of the spaces where Stacy used to exist in my life.

The texts she would send. The random questions. The guilt I felt for those times I rolled my eyes at her for some things, or how I wish I could have been a better friend. Ah man! What I would do to have each of those moments back.  It’s the little pieces of connection that weave themselves so naturally into our daily lives that we barely notice them, until they’re gone. 

This sure makes you really consider the tiny and small things we take for granted in our lives.

Eventually I returned to nature. At first going to nature felt overwhelming. Not gonna lie.  I was actually terrified of what I would have to face by being among the trees. It took a few days, but I finally managed.

I slowed down. Walked. Listened to the wind move through the trees.

What I already knew is that nature has a remarkable effect on the nervous system, but until that day, after deciding I needed to ground myself in nature, I was really scared of the emotions that would come up.

For me, I think I didn’t want to face the fact that with Stacy gone, I needed to navigate this world without her.  Don’t get me wrong, there are a few people in my life I know I can call friends. But what Stacy and I had was different.

She always invited me to things. She always confided in me. I always could confide in her. We both made an effort to be in one another’s life. It’s not necessarily the case with everyone else in my life.

I am not the person others call first for suggestions, help, to talk or to just hang out. I am not the first person they think of when something happens, or when they need something or to share important news. They have their own people for these things.

Stacy was that person for me.

Going out in nature meant that I would have to face that reality and I needed to go when I was ready to accept that reality.

But research (and personal experience) shows that time in natural environments helps lower cortisol levels, reduce stress, and shift the body toward a more regulated state.  And I had a lot of stress so, I went.

What I love about nature is that nature doesn’t rush us. It doesn’t ask us to move through grief faster than we’re ready to. It simply holds space.

I found myself doing what I often invite others to do on nature therapy walks. At first I noticed textures, sounds, the ground beneath my feet.

I allowed my body to settle.

Most importantly, I did not force my grief away, but I gave it a place to exist.  It wasn’t easy but it was necessary. I wept and the earth absorbed my tears.

Then, a few days ago, I noticed something else happening.

The sadness began to feel heavier. Not just grief, but a sense of emotional weight that felt like it might pull me under if I didn’t support my system in some way. I felt myself slipping into darkness.

Over the years, I’ve learned to listen to those signals and so I couldn’t allow myself to ignore them.

Besides, being a herbalist-in-training, I have been learning a lot about medicinal herbs that can assist with many conditions, including sadness and anxiety. I remembered how St. John’s Wort can really help with anxiety and depression. I wasn’t depressed, but my grief needed support.

This plant has a long history of supporting mood and emotional balance. Traditionally, it has been used to help bring light back into the system when things feel heavy or dark.

It doesn’t remove grief. Nor should it.  Grief is a natural process that deserves space, but it can help support the nervous system so that we are not overwhelmed by the intensity of what we are feeling.

I have been taking it for a few days now, and I can feel myself coming back to my old self. Still missing Stacy greatly, but my mood is shifting. So that’s good.

And finally…

Loss has a way of opening deeper questions about life. It makes you pause and look at the path you’re walking. Over the past two weeks, I’ve found myself reflecting on many aspects of my life, what I’ve been building, where I’ve been placing my energy, and what truly matters to me.

Some things that once felt important feel less so now. Other things feel more meaningful than ever. The answers are still unfolding. I am not 100% sure yet where I am headed but something has shifted.

Grief has a way of doing that. It reminds us that life is fragile and that relationships matter deeply and that the way we choose to spend our time here is not something to take lightly.

One thing I did find clarity over is how, moving forward, the relationships where others take connection as seriously as I do, I will do better. I will show up more intentionally, make the time, and nurture the relationships that are mutual and meaningful.

But I will not waste my time chasing those who don’t make an effort in return.

Grief has a way of making things very clear. It shows you who has been walking beside you and who hasn’t. And it reminds you that our time and energy are far too valuable to keep pouring them into places where they are not equally valued.

So moving forward, I will invest where connection flows both ways. Where effort is mutual. Where presence is shared.

Now, I my job is to learn to carry my grief because I don’t think it really ever disappears.  I need to learn to integrate the loss into my life while continuing to move forward.

For now, my focus is simple.

I need to continue re-grounding my nervous system, listen to my body and allow nature and plant medicine to support me. And of course, let the waves of grief move through as they need to.

I miss Stacy incredibly, and I always will, but I have to continue living my life to the fullest.

In doing so, it’s choosing what truly matters and letting go of what doesn’t. And having faith and trusting that life will bring me what I need when I need it.

Maybe Stacy will help with that.

RIP my beautiful friend.