Calming the Nervous System After Loss

I used to be the type of person with a lot of energy, and then Jenna died. The lights didn’t go out all at once. They dimmed. My brain felt stuffed with fog. Words I knew yesterday slipped away today. I’d stand in the kitchen and forget why I was there. Fatigue lived in my bones like a weight I couldn’t set down.

At first, I was scared of that fog. It felt like I was losing myself, but later I learned my brain was trying to protect me, which made me feel a little better.

The “way back” wasn’t a big, glorious leap. It was tiny, ordinary (but intentional) actions, repeated. I remember one afternoon on the couch, my heart going too fast for no reason. I put one hand on my chest and one on my belly and counted a slow four in, and six out. I imagined I was breathing for both of us, me and the alarm. After a few rounds, my shoulders relaxed. Not a miracle. Just enough.

Grief made my world feel too loud and too empty at the same time. I learned to hum, low and silly at first. The vibration steadied me. Sometimes I wrapped myself in my robe, a staple of my life for so many years.  I walked, looking up at the mountains and paths that surrounded me. Heel, toe, inhale. Toe, heel, exhale. The view and the path didn’t change. I did.

There were evenings when I crossed my arms and held my own shoulders like a stubborn child and said, “Okay, Dena, we’re going to sit here for one minute,” and I tapped left-right-left-right, slow and steady. The tapping wasn’t magic; it was rhythm. Rhythm makes space. In that space, I could feel the love and the ache without drowning.

Here’s what I know: grief doesn’t leave, but the panic softens when your body believes you're safe. My focus has returned in small pieces. My energy isn’t as good as it used to be, but it’s not terrible. I still practice my tiny state-changes, not because I haven’t made progress, but because they work. Losing Jenna has made me a little more tender and they widen the space inside me where love and sorrow can stand together without knocking me over.

Some days, I visit a place (usually my journal) that reminds me of her. I sit, close my eyes, and whisper, “I miss you.” The words don’t unravel me the way they used to. They ground me. I feel my feet. I feel my breath. I feel the hum in my chest, the steady beat that says we’re still here, carrying your light, carrying what remains, making a life from both.

Strategies That Helped Me Heal

Here are the methods I use, grounded in research and real practice, to calm my nervous system and rebuild after loss.

1. Breathwork to Recenter

When panic surges, I place one hand on my chest and the other on my belly and breathe slowly, with gentle inhales and longer exhales. The long exhale signals my parasympathetic system to step in so my body can settle.

2. Grounding Through Movement and Nature

Even when I felt hesitant, I started taking quiet walks in green places. I pay attention to the oak trees that surround me, the wind on my skin, and birdsong overhead. These simple sensory anchors help me return to the present and break the cycle of sadness.

3. Journaling as Release

I work from home so during the day when the weight is heavy, I write about memories, purpose, meaning, sadness, and love. Journaling helps me regulate emotions, make sense of tangled thoughts, and keep a living bond with those I love.

4. Connection With Trusted People

I have my small village. These are people I know I can share my heart with. Sharing my grief instead of hiding it helps me relax and know that I am not alone and that safety is possible.

5. Rhythm, Gentle Movement, and Music

Music is a companion and a healer for me. The funny thing is, I am the worst when it comes to knowing anything about who sings the song, but what I do know is that those soul-touching songs are healing and inspiring for me. Music brings me back to balance like a superpower. I called in my super state changer. 

Why Professional Guidance Matters

These practices help, and understanding why I felt this way changed everything. A trauma-informed book I read early on taught me that all the shifts I was experiencing didn’t have to be permanent damage. They were signs of my nervous system on high alert after such a devastating loss. I cannot say enough about how these techniques helped me. 

Moving Forward

I would love for you to try a small experiment with me. For the next seven days, choose any two or three of these state changes and practice them for five minutes a day. Hand to heart breathing. A short walk with your attention on your feet (I know that’s a short walk!). A few minutes of humming. Two lines in your journal that begin with Right now I notice… and One kind thing I can do next is...

Keep it simple. Put a reminder on your phone. Give yourself permission to do only five minutes. Notice any shifts in your body and your mood. Notice if sleep softens or focus returns even a little.

At the end of the week, write to me and tell me what you noticed. I read every note. You can reach me at dena@hersmile.org or send me a message on Instagram at @denabetti. Your story matters, and your data matters too. If even one practice helped, we will build from there together. If nothing changed, we will adjust and keep going.

You do not have to do this perfectly. You only have to practice. One breath, one step, one kind choice at a time.