This piece first appeared on Medium — if you found it helpful, I’d love to see you over there too. Thank you.
I’ve been having bereavement counselling.
In a recent session, my therapist asked me a question I wasn’t expecting: “What does Ntathu want?”
We sat with that question for weeks.
Turning it over.
Each session helped me get clearer, and finally, during a recent session, something shifted.
I realised, the real question, rising in me was
“Not what do I want?”
But what do I want to feel?
That small reframe opened something up inside.
The sense of safety, clarity, love, support, and connection with the divine that I experienced during my daily yoga nidra meditation was exactly what I want to feel and experience in my everyday life.
So, going back to the original question,
“I want to feel safe in my body and love, trust, and nourish myself. “
And that sense of clarity now informs and guides how I move and the choices and decisions I make in my daily interactions with others.
We spend so much of our lives focused on doing, the lists, the next step, the goals we’re reaching for. But underneath it all, what most of us are really seeking is a feeling.
A feeling of safety, comfort and ease.
That quiet acceptance that we are enough, right here, right now.
Lately, I’ve noticed I have been carrying a lot; as much as I want to feel safe and secure in my body, I recognize I feel anxious and worried about the world my new granddaughter is growing up in.
I have concerns about my health and whether I’ll have enough of myself to give as I get older.
These are the kinds of worries that surface quietly at 3 a.m., or while I’m standing in the kitchen, wondering what to cook for dinner.
And yet.
Yet underneath it all, I find myself catching moments of unexpected joy.
Because there is something else quietly bubbling beneath the anxieties, a small steady flicker of hope.
When I feel anxious, I often think of my brother John’s funeral.
He passed away in July 1997, and during the service, it all became too much; I collapsed and fainted.
Someone, still unknown to me (live-streamed funerals weren’t a thing back then, and I have blocked out a lot from that day), lifted me from the floor, sat beside me, and held me tight.
That unexpected act of kindness and the feeling of safety in the middle of grief were exactly what my body wanted and knew, even though I couldn’t name them.
And on reflection, I realized that feeling came back to me during my mother’s funeral, just under a year ago now, as I stood and read the poem I had written in her honour.
If you’d like to read that poem, I published it here on Medium: The Quiet After Caregiving — a poem for my mother.
Grief has a way of teaching us what we truly need; through our grief journey, it gives us courage and strength we never knew we possessed, if we’re willing and able to allow ourselves to be still, listen to our heart and be held long enough to feel it.
So I come back to the question.
What do you want to feel?
As I shared, I want to feel safe in my body, and I want to feel rested, not the kind of rest that comes from pushing through until you collapse, but the deep, nourishing rest I experience through listening to a yoga nidra meditation, where I also feel alive, aligned and present.
Perhaps you recognise some of these feelings, too.
Naming what we want to feel isn’t always easy.
Society encourages us to gloss over our feelings and present the bland, non-committal “Oh, I am fine” when someone asks, “How are you feeling today?”
We are also often far more familiar with the feelings we don’t want.
Stress. Overwhelm. Exhaustion. That bone-deep weariness. These are feelings our bodies know all too well.
Rest, ease, calm, sometimes these feel harder to access and name. As if we’ve simply forgotten their shape.
If this question resonates with you, I invite you to consider what you want to feel or how you want to feel.
I’d love to read your thoughts in the comments below.
I know that sharing what you feel can sometimes feel vulnerable or uncertain, and that is completely okay.
If it’s easier, you can journal or jot your feelings down in your notebook.
All feelings and experiences are welcome here, and naming and sharing your feelings might help someone who is struggling to name their feelings become clearer about how they feel.
There’s something quietly powerful about naming it, even in just a few words.
And if you’re carrying a lot right now, grief, exhaustion, that low hum of anxiety that won’t quite leave, I’d like to offer you something gentle.
I’ve put together a free resource called The 1-Minute Calm Kit, a gentle collection of short breathing and mindfulness practices you can reach for when life feels like too much.
No experience of meditation is needed. Just one breath, and a moment to reset and come back to yourself.
It’s free, and it’s waiting for you: The 1-Minute Calm Kit →Thank you.
Remember, dear friend, you are not alone in this. Healing from grief and loss is a journey, and together we can find a way to care for ourselves and live and feel safer within our grief.
Thank you for taking the time to read my article. I appreciate your care.
Ntathu xxx
Leave a Reply