Content note
This post mentions death, grief, and caregiving. Please take care while reading.
Pause if you need to.
Since my mum passed in June, I’ve been learning how to live again.
Gently.
Honestly.
Without forcing a return to “normal.”
There is no normal anyway.
Only presence.
Only breath.
Only what this moment offers.
Throughout my caregiving and now grief journey, I’ve come to appreciate, once again, the vital role of self-kindness in my healing process.
Caregiving to Grieving is the journey I’m walking, rebuilding my core through small rituals, gentle walks, and nourishing self-care practices. If you’re a caregiver or grieving the loss of a loved one, I hope these simple practices offer a little steadiness today.
I still care for Dad.
However, I have mental headspace now from the intensity of caring for Mum.
Yet, Dad’s needs are different.
His grief weighs on both our hearts and has an emotional tug on my energy, conflicting with my need for rest, quiet and silence.
Within all of the emotions surfacing, each day feels like a private ceremony.
A soft return to myself.
A renewing and finding of routine, ritual, and rest.
Some days feel heavy and uncertain.
Others are steadier, held by small practices I am slowly reclaiming.
These small acts of self-kindness and restful, mindful activities, I’ve come to realise, are not just routines, but powerful doors in my healing journey.
The months before Mum died were full.
Caring for her at home while she was bedbound with Alzheimer’s was one of the most exhausting, and with hindsight, sacred experiences of my life.
The house bustled with support, routines, and vigil-like presence.
The doorbell rang often.
My daughters, family friends, and I juggled our schedules to ensure Mum always had company, helping to keep her spirits up and our own.
I am grateful for my daughters; their employers offered flexible hours, gave them support when their workloads were demanding, and encouraged working from home.
That support mattered.
From talking with other carers, particularly those working full-time and caring for loved ones, we often found that having the energy to be present and focused at work is impossible.
Change is needed for employers to offer more compassionate and supportive structures that support their employees during and after caregiving and grief.
And that’s a focus for another time.
Now the house is still.
Grief lives in the silence.
And in that silence, I’m beginning to listen.
Walking with grief
In September, I joined Dementia UK’s 30‑mile walking challenge.
One mile a day, in honour of Mum and everyone living with dementia.
That gentle commitment gave me something to focus on.
In the past, I had a regular early morning walk practice.
It was a time of quiet meditation, in nature, away from the hustle and bustle of daily life.
While caring for my mum and since she has passed away, I struggle to get up, ready, and out of the house and walk first thing.
Doing the Dementia UK Walk 30 Miles in September gave me the motivation to get out and walk again.
I consciously walked where I could: walking back from errands, shopping trips, and random late-afternoon walks with my daughters, enjoying our chatter and ease as we strolled along.
Walking gave my body space to move discreetly through grief.
I found it therapeutic to walk and observe my surroundings.
To notice the way the leaves danced along the pavement, to smile with strangers as our eyes met when crossing the road.
Best of all, walking helped slow my racing thoughts as I breathed in rhythm with my steps.
As my mind cleared and thoughts settled, I could see clearly.
The world seemed more vivid and alive.
The light danced through the streets of my neighbourhood.
Also read: When Caregiving Ends: Grief, Breath, and Rest
Meandering through the park, I subtly stroked the old oak trees, in awe at their grand statues and silhouette framing the skyline.
My heart opened as I began saying simple affirmations and composing little meditations in my mind while walking, remembering, and reaffirming the joy of being alive, even in the midst of grief.
Doing the 30-Mile Walk gave purpose and structure to my day as I knew every step was helping myself and someone going through the stress and strain of caring for loved ones living with dementia.
It felt like a prayer, a blessing, and a way of giving back, all rolled into one.
If you feel called, you can visit my fundraising page here and donate to this cause as well: Ntathu’s 30-Mile Walk for Dementia UK:
So far, I have raised £865! I am super humbled, as my original goal was to raise £300.00.
A gentle morning
Mornings have always been my favourite time of the day.
Before I began caregiving, my mornings were structured and flowed easily at my own pace.
I would spend 90 minutes on yoga, meditation, and journaling before the world stirred.
This rhythm dissolved during caregiving.
During caregiving, even though my mind was cluttered and my body tired, I had no time for such a lengthy morning routine.
I woke up tired from a lack of sleep and hurriedly got ready for Mum and the morning carers.
Now, with Mum’s passing, my routine is no longer dictated by the early ring of the doorbell.
I am grateful for the restorative yoga and meditation practices that help me greet the day with a lighter heart, underscoring the importance of self-care and the need to reclaim personal rituals.
My heart’s desire is softness and a gentle start to the day.
My body needs more time to feel safe, to connect with the energy of the day, to be nourished, and to relinquish the need to get up early to answer the doorbell.
Now, I light a candle for Mum.
Whisper prayers to the women in my lineage, to carers and people grieving the passing of loved ones.
And nourish my body with breath and gentle yin yoga, tai chi and Feldenkrais movements and stretches.
When brushing my teeth, I stare at my reflection and whisper,
I protect my peace; you are safe, just be kind; I am beautiful.
These affirmations ground me and are on repeat during the day when grief spikes or anxiety stirs.
Some mornings, I wake with heaviness in my chest, my teeth clenched, fists screwed in a tight ball, the funeral song we played as mum’s coffin entered the church, ‘Amen’ by Otis Redding still looping in my head.
Sometimes the memory soothes as I say my morning prayers.
Sometimes it lingers and stings.
Either way, I pause and practice my go‑to variation of the Five Senses Meditation.
The 3-3-3 Senses Meditation
Three things I can see
I scan the room slowly, noticing what catches my attention.
No judgment.
Just curiosity.
A pile of books.
A mug on my desk. A plant.
Three things I can hear
A car revving its engine. My breath. A bird calling in the day.
Three things I can feel
Toes wiggling, jaw relaxing. Hands resting on my bed.
This simple mindfulness meditation practice helps me return to the present moment.
Out of my head, out of the mental spiral and into my body.
It’s a small, powerful act of self-love.
Here are more gentle self-care practices for caregivers
Easing back to work and life
I am not in a rush to return to work.
I have bills to pay, yet I recognise the value of this window of time to rest, process and be present with my grief and sadness.
I am thankful to be self‑employed, to have had the flexibility to care for Mum full‑time, and now to tend to my own healing at a gentler pace.
In the past, I numbed grief and rushed back into the business of life and work, especially during my early years as a probation officer and when my daughters were younger and I had to get on with life.
However, this time around, I am older and wiser.
Mum’s death has opened older losses too: my brother, my cousin, and a miscarriage.
I know I need to honour grief and use this window to see where I can serve and support others while grieving and being kind to myself.
Self-compassion is the priority.
Being kind to myself and protecting my peace are my guiding principles.
So, for now, my current weekly rhythm is
My weekly rhythm
Mondays
Teaching yoga at a local approved probation premises.
As a former probation officer who resigned to teach yoga, returning to this setting feels like a blessing and a timely introduction into the rhythm of planning and teaching a formal yoga/meditation lesson.
In time, I hope to offer chair yoga, yoga nidra, and short meditations to carers and share the gentle, nurturing self-care practices that supported me throughout the uncertainties of caring for mum.
Tuesdays
Gardening therapy at a local nature conservation project, arranged by my care worker.
We dig, weed, plant, and talk.
The group is diverse and real.
At first, I felt shy and unsure about how I would fit in.
The facilitator was welcoming.
We are all there, looking to heal as we navigate life and our personal mental health concerns.
It’s a humbling experience as we meet each other where we are.
No judgment, just space to breathe and be as loud or as quiet as we care to be.
Wednesdays and Thursdays
I am setting aside time to ease back into writing and publishing blogs, and eventually, mini online self-care and yoga nidra meditation courses to support and offer comfort and encouragement to other caregivers and individuals experiencing grief and loss.
I sense this is an area of life calling.
Weekends
For now, I’m doing clothes shopping and catching up with friends.
Cooking simple meals and batch cooking soups and dhal ensures that there’s something nourishing and wholesome to return to.
We did a lot of warm, soft blended foods while caring for Mum as her appetite reduced and she had difficulty chewing her food.
I find it comforting and reassuring to know there is something ready and warm to return to when I am out and about.
Evenings
Reading, pottering around the house, or watching Netflix.
Naps on the settee.
Time with my daughters.
Messages with friends.
I still participate in the regular online carers spaces scheduled throughout my week, which held me during the heaviness of full-time caring.
It is beneficial to listen and, where appropriate, share our experiences and offer support to each other.
It is not a perfect routine, but it supports my desire to be well, nourish my body, and care for my mind.
It is open and flexible, holding me together.
And, for now, that is enough.
A return to words
As I shared earlier, and as this series of posts about caregiving and grief indicates, I feel a stirring — a call to return to writing, offering meditations and supporting others through their seasons of sorrow, caregiving, and loss, my dharma.
Over the years, I have shared poems, guided meditations and self-care practices, blogs, and YouTube videos.
Through it all, one thread remains:
The desire to offer comfort, presence, and self-care for myself and others going through hard times, including the impact of microaggressions and their impact on identity.
I am grateful to be journaling meditations again as part of my morning practices.
I hope to record and share these meditations with a broader audience of caregivers and those grieving over time.
Here is an excerpt from a recent morning breathing meditation
I breathe in love, for myself and others.
I exhale love for those who are different from me.
I breathe in kindness.
I exhale peace, for all beings.
Let today be the day we stay steady in heart, spirit, and soul.
A blessing for you, dear gentle reader
Wherever you are, whether you are caregiving, grieving, healing, or simply trying to catch your breath, I invite you to take a mini, gentle pause today and reaffirm your commitment to self-care, kindness and self-love.
Protect your peace.
Be kind to your tender heart.
Remember: you are not alone.
We are each finding our way back, one breath, one step, one small act of self‑compassion and kindness to ourselves and one another at a time.
What small self-care ritual is helping you right now?
Please share in the comments so others can try it too.
Thank you for reading my posts and for walking alongside me as we heal and discover how to find moments of calm, peace, and comfort in the joys and sorrows of life.
Ntathu Allen is a yoga and meditation guide, writer, and former probation officer. She supports caregivers and individuals navigating grief with gentle, restorative practices for body, breath, and heart.
New posts every week or two.
Join me if you need small steps to remember to love yourself more
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