February has felt steadier.

One of the most significant shifts has been recognising my fight, flight, and freeze responses. Earlier in my grief, I often felt shock, numbness, or a sense of not fully knowing how I felt. Naming these experiences as nervous system responses has helped reduce the confusion. Instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me?” I’ve been able to ask, “Which state am I in right now?”

That small shift has helped me move beyond the paralysis of shock toward something more integrated. Awareness has created space and space has allowed feeling.

The lack of sunlight this time of year has been noticeable. I’ve been using a Lumie lamp in the mornings and getting outside as soon as I can after waking. The combination of natural light exposure, gentle movement, and consistency has felt supportive. Supporting my circadian rhythms feels like an act of self-respect.

And yet, alongside all of this, there remains a simple truth:
Every day I feel the weight of losing my brother, and at times it shatters me.

What’s been quietly holding me up are the people around me: time with family, honest conversations with friends, shared memories and laughter. All of it adds nourishment back into places that feel distressed.

I’ve found comfort in small rituals. Making coffee with a moka pot has become one of them. Grinding, brewing, waiting, pouring, a mindful exercise that feels intentional. A small act of care at the start of the day.

Movement continues to help: daily cardio, weight training, stretching. My meditation practice has stayed steady too. Loving-kindness and Transcendental Meditation are my anchors right now. I’ve created a dedicated corner with incense and a zafu cushion. When I sit down, my body senses the purpose behind the action.

Food has been simple and structured: three meals, plenty of protein and vegetables, staying hydrated and consistent.

I’m still reading horror, which surprises some people. There’s something about stepping into fictional darkness that feels oddly comforting. I’ve also been using a VR headset for short bursts, 20 to 30 minutes at a time. It’s immersive and playful and I come back feeling lighter.

Looking back at the question I posed at the end of January: what might life look like when grief begins to soften and settle? I’m not sure I have a full answer yet…February hasn’t lifted my grief, but I’ve learned that I am not powerless within it