Grief, Love, & The Weight of the World

This past week has felt heavy.

And I know I’m not the only one feeling it.

There’s been a massive shift in the collective; one of those palpable timeline splits you can feel in your bones.

People are waking up. Seeing past the distractions. Peeling back the distortions.

And in doing so, we’re also facing the grief, the rage, the heartbreak... and asking ourselves: Is this the world we want to live in? Or is it time for something else?

I’ve been feeling this collective energy move through my body.

And I knew from the start—it wasn’t just mine.

But it was also something my soul chose to experience. So I could help move through it.

For me, it showed up in my tailbone and hips. It felt like someone had taken a screw to my sacrum and tightened it too far.

Nerve zings. Deep tension. Radiating stiffness. And a vibration of unease through my whole body.

I knew from that the tailbone is the seat of the root chakra, our foundation.

Safety. Belonging. Survival.

My body was asking me to clear and restore that root.

Every night, I massaged castor oil into my sacrum and followed with I Am Safe, my root chakra blend.

But every morning… I woke up just as tight.

It wasn’t until I had sex—an experience that brings me into connection and embodiment—that something cracked open.

But the next morning? I woke up furious.

Deeply, silent anger. Like I was holding back a scream that came from generations deep.

And no matter what I tried—nature walks, sage tea, naps, time in the garden—nothing shifted it. If anything, I just sank deeper.

Beneath the anger was grief.

Heavy, quiet, unnameable grief.

So I made lasagna.

Put it in the oven.

And took myself upstairs to the shower.

There, I cried. Not a meltdown, just enough to start to feel myself stabilize.

And when I stepped out, I realized I didn’t need someone else to comfort me.

I needed to love myself, in the most literal, physical way.

I pulled out my blueberry body butter—it smells just like muffins—and began massaging myself from the feet up. I rolled on I Am Love after each section.

Feet. Legs. Hips. Belly.

And when I got to my sternum, I found it—an iron band of tension sitting across my chest like a weight.

My fascia, muscles, breath—everything was tight.

I worked it loose with my fingers, moving tension through my armpits and down my arms, through the lymph and out of my body.

And something shifted.

I didn’t feel euphoric. But I was no longer drowning.

The sadness lost its grip.

Today, my mood has mostly stabilized. Still a little sharp here and there, but nothing like that earlier storm. And when I saw my chiropractor this afternoon, I had to smile; every adjustment he made mirrored the work I had done the day before.

Spreading my hips. Opening my chest. Unwinding my neck.

My body realigning for balance.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only one feeling collective symptoms show up as physical ones.

If you’ve been aching, grieving, tight, tired; know that you’re not alone.

And it’s okay to not be okay.

What matters most is how you respond to the “not okay.”

For me, I Am Love became an ally in my time of need. It became a permission slip.

A way to physically remind myself that I am worthy and deserving of the same love I so easily offer the world.

So if this resonated with you, I invite you to try it too.

I am love.

You are love.

We are loved.