January has been a month of consciously managing my grief and paying closer attention to how I look after myself. In many ways, I’ve been doing something quite simple, not always easy: I’ve been applying the same advice I usually offer to others in my own life.

One of the most common themes I explore in therapy is the fight-or-flight response. When we become stuck in this stress state, our nervous system remains on high alert, which can significantly impact our emotional wellbeing, thinking patterns, and physical health (Cannon, 1932). I often find myself saying something like:

The thoughts you’re having and how you’re feeling may be proportional to how stressed your body currently is.

From this perspective, the next logical step is not to hold on to every thought, but instead to reduce overall stress, lower cortisol levels, and allow the body’s stress system to recover and rebalance (McEwen, 1998). Chronic stress has a way of narrowing our emotional and cognitive world, making everything feel heavier and more permanent than it truly is.

Listening to my own knowledge—and actually acting on it—has been a major focus this month.

January also carried particular emotional weight. My late brother would have turned 45. Knowing this would be his first birthday since his death, I intentionally created space one evening after work to mark it. I lit a candle and a premium incense stick I had been saving for several years. I allowed myself time to reflect on him—his energy, his presence, and what he brought into the world.

I remember thinking that this was his first birthday after his death, that next year would be his second, and that with each passing year I will grow older while continuing to remember him. Grief has a way of stretching time like that—anchoring us simultaneously in the past, present, and future.

Talking about him with my family has been one of the most grounding and meaningful ways of remembering him. At one point, I noticed a fear that I wouldn’t be able to recall anything to share. I turned to my journal, and once I started writing, the memories came flooding back. It was a powerful reminder of just how effective journalling can be during periods of stress and emotional overload (Pennebaker & Chung, 2011).

What’s Been Keeping Me on the Straight and Narrow

These are the principles I’ve been returning to consistently—my anchors for my nervous system and wellbeing:

• Getting daylight first thing in the morning, supporting circadian rhythm regulation and mood
• Maintaining a sleep routine, aiming for 6–8 hours per night
• Regular exercise and stretching, to discharge stress held in the body
• Mindful posture while working, keeping my shoulders supported against the backrest
• Eating well, ensuring protein, vegetables, and carbohydrates at each meal, with three meals a day
• Doing things I enjoy, such as reading, listening to music, and spending time with family and friends
• Remembering what makes me laugh, whether that’s funny incidents, films, or shared moment

January has been a particularly difficult month for grief. Having a plan and returning to my routine has helped keep me steady. Along the way, I came across a question that touched something new in me, and over the month of February I’ll be gently reflecting on it: what might life look like when grief begins to soften and settle?

References

Cannon, W. B. (1932). The wisdom of the body. New York: W. W. Norton.

McEwen, B. S. (1998). Protective and damaging effects of stress mediators. New England Journal of Medicine, 338(3), 171–179.

Pennebaker, J. W., & Chung, C. K. (2011). Expressive writing: Connections to physical and mental health. Oxford Handbook of Health Psychology.