How Grief Affects the Body: Understanding the Physical Symptoms of Loss

The first time Claire realized grief had settled into her body, not just her heart, was the day she collapsed in the supermarket.

Four months had passed since her mother died. On the surface, she was "doing fine." She had gone back to work, responded to texts with smiling emojis, even hosted a dinner where she laughed at the right moments. But in the quiet of night, her body whispered the truth—tight knots in her stomach, an ache in her chest that felt like a clenched fist, and an exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure.

That day, she had gone to the store with a list in hand, determined to keep moving forward. She reached for a jar of honey when the dizziness hit. The fluorescent lights above flickered like a bad dream. Her vision blurred, her pulse pounded in her ears. Then, the world tilted.

When she came to, a kind-faced woman was kneeling beside her, offering a bottle of water. “You fainted,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”

Claire tried to answer, but the lump in her throat swelled too tight. Was she okay? She had no bruises, no broken bones. And yet, she felt shattered.

Later that evening, after an urgent care visit revealed no underlying medical issue, she sat in her parked car and finally let herself break. Tears streamed down her face as the realization settled in: her body had been screaming for her attention. She just hadn’t been listening.

How Grief Shows Up in the Body

Grief doesn’t just weigh on the heart—it can spread through every inch of us, altering our physical state in ways we often don’t recognize until we’re forced to.

Claire’s fainting episode wasn’t random. It was the result of months of chronic stress, sleepless nights, and suppressed emotions. Like many grieving people, she had been experiencing a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. She felt guilty for grieving so deeply and for such an extended period of time—after all, her mother had lived a good, long life. But that didn’t change the fact that she missed her. In every way, she missed her. Life seemed forever changed without her mother’s presence, and the weight of that absence settled into every corner of her days, making even the simplest moments feel different.:

Grief activates the body's stress response, triggering the release of cortisol. Over time, this can weaken the immune system, disrupt digestion, and affect cardiovascular health. That’s why people who experience deep loss often say their entire body feels different—because it does.

Listening to the Body’s Grief

In the weeks following her collapse, Claire began paying attention to the signals her body had been sending all along. She realized she wasn’t just sad—she was physically unwell. And healing required more than just “moving on.”

She made small but deliberate choices:

✔ She prioritized sleep. Instead of numbing herself with late-night doom-scrolling, she embraced a bedtime ritual—warm tea, soft lighting, and breathing exercises to help quiet her mind.

✔ She moved her body gently. Long walks in the park, stretching in the morning, and yoga became ways to process grief physically rather than store it inside her muscles.

✔ She acknowledged her emotions. Instead of shutting down when grief surged, she let herself feel it fully. It wasn’t easy at first but she knew it was important to process the emotions living inside her.  Some days, that meant crying in the shower. Other days, it meant writing letters to her mother in a journal she kept by her bed.

✔ She sought connection. Grief had made her want to withdraw, but she made an effort to reach out—to her best friend, a grief support group, even a therapist who helped her understand that what she was feeling was not just normal, but necessary.

Grief is Not a Battle to Be Won—It’s a Journey to Be Lived

If you’ve ever found yourself feeling constantly exhausted, unable to focus, or battling unexplained aches and pains after a loss or even years after a loss, know this: you are not broken, and you are not alone.

Grief is not just an emotional state—it’s a full-body experience. Just as sorrow takes up space in our bones, so does healing. Over time, the weight of loss doesn’t vanish, but we learn to carry it intentionally.

Healing does not mean forgetting. It does not mean the pain disappears. But over time, with care and patience, the body finds its way back to equilibrium. And in that journey, there is grace. There is resilience.

And most importantly—there is hope.