From Devotion to Freedom: Healing the Grief My Body Kept
This reflection is shared as part of my healing work through Yin Yang Healing Arts. It explores grief held in the body, devotion, and the quiet wisdom of the nervous system. May it meet you gently.
I have been doing the work. I have been searching. I have been questioning.
I have been sitting with myself in quiet rooms, in moments when the world feels far away, asking the same questions again and again. Why do I not allow myself to be loved fully? Why do I retreat into solitude even when my heart longs to connect? Why do I repeat the same patterns, over and over, in different bodies, across years I cannot get back?
And now I see it.
It was never random. It was never just timing, poor choices, or unworthy partners.
It was grief.
Silent. Unconscious. Deep inside me. Grief shaping every attraction, every devotion, every risk I was willing to take for love.
For years I carried it as strength. I appeared untouchable, composed, resilient, capable. I had my life together. I had my shit together. And I did. I do.
But beneath that strength, grief was holding the reins. Unseen. Unspoken. Unprocessed. Quietly shaping the patterns of my love.
I risked everything for love. Family. Culture. Identity. Safety. I trusted my intuition. I followed my heart. I believed devotion could awaken. I believed loyalty could transform. I believed hope could illuminate.
And still, betrayal came.
The first engagement was sudden and intense. I did not know what I was stepping into. My heart aligned. My mind quieted. My body followed. And yet cracks appeared. Secrecy. Hidden motives. Subtle cruelty I sensed before I had language for it.
I left before commitment solidified, but not without consequence. My father’s disappointment. Cultural ideals disrupted. Expectations failed. I carried grief. I carried shame. My nervous system recorded it all, layer by layer, without words.
Years later, I trusted again. I devoted myself again. I imagined partnership, communion, home, children.
I quieted my intuition. I told myself patience was holy. I told myself faith was sacred. I told myself devotion could transform.
And betrayal appeared again. Infidelity. Secrecy. Absence. The truth that the person I loved could not meet me where I needed.
For over a decade, grief quietly controlled the rhythm of my heart. I repeated the same patterns in different bodies. I gave devotion to the unavailable. I believed hope could awaken them. I believed my courage could transform what was not mine to change.
My life, my love, my identity, my self worth were all caught in a rhythm I could not see.
And I loved myself anyway.
I am grateful today for the person I have become because of these experiences. I am grateful for the courage I carried, the devotion I risked, the faith I held, the love I offered, even when it met absence.
Then he appeared.
I believed it would be different. I trusted him. I opened myself fully. I devoted myself fully.
My body whispered caution. My intuition nudged. I quieted it. I told myself devotion could awaken. I told myself devotion could illuminate. I told myself devotion could transform.
It did not.
The truth was hidden. His desires were elsewhere. In the moment of intimacy, the truth surfaced. He could not meet me because he was not living in his own truth.
My body had known. My heart had suspected. My mind had hoped anyway.
I cry now. I cry for the girl who believed so purely. I cry for the futures I prepared that never arrived. I cry for devotion that was never mirrored. I cry for the nervous system that learned safety in solitude and mistrust in hope.
And I am grateful for her courage. For her faith. For her willingness to risk everything.
I see her now. The girl who disrupted expectations, who carried courage and shame in equal measure. She was brave. She was sacred. She was alive. She was whole. She was enough.
And I love her. And I love myself.
This is where the pattern ends.
I no longer offer devotion before truth. I no longer confuse intensity with intimacy. I no longer sacrifice myself to prove the purity of my heart.
Love is still welcome. Deeply welcome. But it must arrive with honesty. It must arrive with clarity. It must arrive with consistency. It must arrive with the capacity to meet me where I am real.
And if you are reading this, let it be for you too.
If your chest tightens. If memories rise. If your body aches, softens, trembles, or opens, know this.
As you bring grief into awareness, as you allow your body to feel it fully, something unfolds. Patterns soften. The heart opens. Transformation emerges.
Somewhere inside, your nervous system may also have been keeping score silently. Let this be the moment that score softens. Let this be the witness that allows release. Let this be the invitation to transform.
I inhale deeply, feel my chest expand, feel grief move, feel it soften.
I step forward with grace for who I was. I step forward with reverence for what has been. I step forward with openness for a love that does not require me to disappear to be chosen.
I am already here.
I am already enough.
I am free.
#HealingThroughGrief, #ConsciousLove, #EmotionalTransformation
