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We are the most glorious paradox: both the child who longs for love and the Love itself.

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When Ellie Crossed the Rainbow Bridge, I Couldn’t Stop Replaying Everything

It felt like a loop I couldn’t break. The pain of “losing” Ellie would hit me, and before I could even sit with it, my mind would start racing, analyzing, questioning, searching for what I could have done differently. Did I make the right decision? Did I really do everything I could? My brain kept cycling through the details, trying to rewrite the past. This is the kind of suffering we create—and the kind we can unlearn.

In those early days, I was desperate for peace. Like so many of us, I looked for it through logic and reason, trying to make sure I had done the “right” thing. But peace doesn’t live there. As humans, we cling to control, believing that if we can just figure things out, we’ll finally feel okay. Yet what we’re really longing for isn’t control at all, it’s love, safety, and the feeling of being held by something greater than our understanding.

Honestly, this part of being human is frustrating. In my head, I knew I had done right by Ellie. I gave her everything, hours of care, attention, love. I lived and breathed for that perfect, precious bundle of fur. But that kind of knowing didn’t stop the waves of doubt. Early on, I felt wrong, uneasy, guilt-ridden, even ashamed. And I was also dealing with another layer of guilt, equally irrational and painful - the guilt of giving her up.

I had been preparing to send Ellie to a new home in Ohio. I was fostering to adopt, and as much as I wanted it to work with Fenix, it wasn’t a good fit. His joy and energy changed, and I could feel his unhappiness. I wanted Ellie to have a life filled with love and ease, so I began looking for her forever home, and I found one.

Michael in Ohio was perfect. He adored dogs and had three gentle Souls who welcomed new friends. His oldest, Mac, was a natural mentor to young dogs, just what Ellie needed. And when we learned that Ellie was blind, it seemed even more perfect, because one of Michael’s dogs, Zeus, was also blind.

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Ohio was far, but after reaching out to every rescue I could find, his home was the only real option. I started preparing for her flight and booked an MRI to make sure she could travel safely. But the results changed everything. Ellie’s neurological condition was far worse than I realized. Her growling and aggression, it wasn’t misbehavior; it was suffering. And as painful as it was to face, the most loving choice was to let her go.

Still, even knowing that, I sometimes feel that murky shame in my stomach, the ache of wondering if I failed her.

As highly sensitive, empathetic beings, we often care so deeply that we start believing we’re responsible for saving others. So when something goes wrong, we instinctively take on guilt and shame, even when we know we’ve done our best.

The truth is, our minds aren’t the rational machines we imagine them to be. They’re shaped by emotion and old conditioning. To break free from the spiraling of guilt and self-blame, we have to shift from analyzing our pain to softening toward it, with compassion, with tenderness, with the gentle love of our Huge Heart.

Learning How to Feel for Healing

As we begin to practice grievealing, we start making that shift, from the cyclic storm of the mind into the steady presence of the heart. This approach helps us release guilt and shame, but it doesn’t mean doubts will disappear completely. Questioning, analyzing, and blaming are simply what the mind does; it’s how it’s wired.

One of the most healing things we can do is make space for those thoughts, and let them come and go. The inner dialogue—Did I do enough? Did they really love me?—is natural. Simply noticing those thoughts, without fighting them, is healing in itself. The key is recognizing when we’re caught in the storm, when the mind starts replaying, analyzing, or obsessing, and gently shifting from the head down into the body, from thinking about our pain to actually feeling it via our physical sensations and emotions. Beneath the swirl of thoughts is emotion calling out for our love.

Grievealing isn’t about fixing or escaping what we feel; it’s about being fully present and real. When we allow our emotions to move through us and meet them with love, we begin to uncover what lies beneath—the unconscious patterns of guilt, shame, and self-protection that are ready to be healed. As we allow the “mess” in our mind and in our emotions, we allow our own self-compassion to transform what we’re experiencing. We already have so many reference points for just how miraculous and important our own compassion is. Sometimes we just need to be reminded…

Imagine a small child, say six-years-old, comes running into your room crying, devastated. They just lost their favorite stuffed animal. Their best friend in the whole world. What would you do?

I know what I’d do: I’d scoop them up, hold them, and love them. I’d let them cry and tell me all about it. I’d honor and respect the depth of their loss with sweetness and patience. I’d know there’s really nothing to do, only to be with them, love them, and hold them in their time of need.

But most of us didn’t experience that kind of emotional support growing up. We were often taught to meet pain with rational solutions and to dismiss our “unnecessary” or “childish” emotional outbursts. Maybe we heard, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a new one,” “You have so many others, you’ll be fine,” or worse, “Stop crying, it’s just a toy.”

And in many ways, that’s how the world treats pet grief. Maybe you’ve heard things like, Don’t worry, you’ll get another one, At least you have others, or worse, You’ll get over it, it’s just an animal.

In so many ways, we’re still that six-year-old, that younger part of us. Every time we feel deep loss, fear, or shame, it’s that inner child longing for the same thing, not quick fixes, but the loving presence that says, Your feelings matter. You matter.

If You Would Cradle a Broken Arm, Why Not a Grieving Heart?

When we injure our arm, we instinctively care for it. We cradle it, rest it, and protect it from further harm. We’re gentle with it, sometimes even asking others to be extra careful around us. That instinct to nurture the wound is natural because we know a broken arm needs special care to heal fully. Our emotional wounds are no different. They need that same tenderness to heal. Yet when we’re in emotional pain, we often do the opposite.

Instead of cradling the wound, we distract ourselves with scrolling, binge-watching, or staying endlessly busy. We numb with wine, weed, or even spiritual practices that let us float above the pain instead of feeling it. We blame others, telling ourselves that if they had just loved us better, we wouldn’t be hurting. Or we rush into fix-it mode, changing routines, jobs, or relationships, hoping an outer shift will soothe the inner ache.

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The truth is:

emotional pain needs loving care just as much as physical pain.

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Just because we can’t see the injury doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Emotional wounds often run deeper than anything visible. They shape how we breathe, how we show up in the world, and how we relate to ourselves and others. And yet, we often ignore them, shame them, and push them aside.

What if we treated grief like a broken bone, giving it rest, support, and time instead of guilt or pressure to “move on”? Just as a cast supports a bone while it mends, compassion and care support the heart as it heals. Talking about our pain, crying with a friend or sharing our story, matters deeply, but it’s like describing your broken arm while still watching it bleed. Talking isn’t enough. Expression is a powerful beginning, but it’s only half the equation.

We have to tend to the wound gently, consistently, and lovingly. Like we would a scraped knee or a healing incision, our emotional pain needs ongoing care. Not just one good cry or one heartfelt conversation, but repeated attention, softness, and presence. We need to keep checking in, keep applying love, and keep showing up for ourselves again and again. Grievealing isn’t a one-time event. It’s a relationship, a sacred one. It asks us to bring compassion, presence, and healing processes to the places that hurt most. It isn’t weakness. It’s practical wisdom.

The Feeling for Healing™ Method

When the mind is in chaos, spiraling with doubt, grief, or fear, it is hard to think clearly. We get lost in the storm. This method gives us something solid to hold: a way through. It is a step-by-step process that helps us move from emotional overwhelm to self-compassion and healing. Before we dive into each step in depth, here’s the broad outline:

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[F] Feel your feelings–Acknowledge what you are experiencing; name it.

[E] Embrace them–Instead of resisting, welcome whatever emotions arise.

[E] Express–Give the feelings a voice. Write, cry, move, whatever helps you release.

[L] Love them–Bring kindness and compassion to the part of you that is hurting.

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When we are in deep emotional pain, we forget what helps. We freeze, or we spiral. This method is a lifeline, guiding us from the depths of suffering back into healing. It is also easy to remember with the acronym F.E.E.L.

Step 1: Feel Your Feelings

The first step is simple but powerful: feel your feelings of grief so you can become aware of them and write them down. The goal is not to fix or analyze; it is to be aware.

Most of us were never taught that acknowledging what we feel, simply naming it, is a healing act. Naming validates the experience and signals to the body and nervous system that what we feel is real and it matters. When a feeling is seen and honored, even briefly, it often begins to transform and soften.

Emotions do not live in the mind; they live in the body. Use these three questions to help identify what you are experiencing:

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1. What am I feeling?

2. Where do I feel it most in my body?

3. If this feeling had a color, texture, or movement, what would it be?

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If you are new to somatic work, these questions may feel unusual. That is okay. They can help shift your awareness from thinking about feelings to actually feeling them. Even if you are unsure at first, go for it and just do the best you can.

Guessing, Allowing, and Beginning to Heal

At the beginning, it may feel like you are only guessing at what you feel. That is completely normal. I often tell clients: Just make it up. If you are not sure, take a breath and say anything. The moment you give yourself permission, energy starts to move and blocks start to unlock.

If “blue” comes instead of “red,” or “swirly” instead of “still,” trust it. Your unconscious is offering a clue. Think of this like improv: don’t try to get it right,  just go with what arises. That kind of openness is faith ,  trusting a greater knowing than the mind, the power and wisdom of the heart. Emotional healing works the same way. When you stop trying to be right and allow it to be messy and honest, you gain access to the deeper and unconscious layers that long to be seen, felt, and loved.

This can be especially hard to do when grief and emotional pain can make us feel chaotic and out of control. The mind wants to fix, analyze, and prevent future hurt. But healing does not come from thinking our way out. It comes from allowing ourselves to be with what is. So as you practice Step 1, keep this in mind:

Once you’ve identified what you’re feeling, give it a name, a feeling form, a short phrase that captures its essence. If you felt sadness in your chest, dark blue and swirling like fog, you might write down something like “Sad Blue Foggy Heart.” Naming an emotion creates a little space, helping you relate to it rather than become it. It’s easy to confuse emotions with identity: I feel sad, therefore I am sad. But emotions are processes, not definitions. They move through you, like breath or digestion. What passes through you is not who you are.

Over time, you begin to experience this truth: emotions are visitors, not roommates. A feeling form helps you witness, care for, and even love what arises — which is what allows it to move and release.

You may notice many feelings at once. That’s normal. Choose just one to focus on for now — usually the strongest one, the one tugging for your attention. Let that be enough.

Write your feeling form down.

Step 2: Embrace Your Feelings

Once you have acknowledged what you are feeling in some way, the next step is to just accept and welcome those emotions. Often, the biggest obstacle is not the emotion itself, but our resistance to feeling it. We push feelings down, judge them, or distract ourselves, hoping they will fade. But emotions do not disappear when ignored, eventually they will get our attention, and often not in ways we like. The more we learn to accept and embrace our feelings, the more they transform into blessings.

One way that has worked for me is to imagine my body as a loving home and invite my feelings inside like honored guests. We might try saying this to our feelings as if it were a child:

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If resistance arises, meet it with curiosity. Resistance is a protector, it often originates from an experience when it truly wasn’t safe to feel. Ironically, it too deserves acceptance. When I notice resistance in myself or a client, I offer:

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This kind of acknowledgment softens resistance and creates space for emotions to rise and move. And if resistance remains, allow it to be the feeling you are embracing for now and let it reveal the greater opportunity for healing.

Why does this step matter? Because emotions that are embraced begin to shift. They soften and reveal something deeper. Think of a crying child: if you push them away, they cry harder. But if you open your arms and hold them close, they relax and find relief.

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The Power of These First Two Steps

So much healing can happen simply by feeling and embracing your emotions. Sometimes, those two steps are all you need. Other times, there may be a deeper layer to explore, but never underestimate the power of beginning here.

Like any new practice, it gets easier over time. At first, it may feel awkward, like picking up a violin for the first time. The sound might be rough, and you may wonder if you are doing it “right.” But the more you practice, the more natural it becomes. Eventually, you’ll find yourself creating something beautiful: a deep connection to yourself and a new way of being with your emotions.

Often, I notice after these first two steps that something has already shifted. The heaviness may lift, and I feel lighter, more grounded, and in a different state of mind. In those moments, I may choose to pause and complete the process there. But if the emotion still feels heavy and intense in my body, I’ll continue on to complete all four steps.

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Step 3: Express Your Feelings

This step is about giving your emotions the space to be fully seen and heard. Think of each one as a small being with something important to say. It doesn’t need to be fixed or controlled, it only needs to be heard and acknowledged.

And as you do this, remember: you are not your emotions. Feelings move through you, but they do not define you. Just as a passing cloud does not define the sky, sadness, anger, or guilt does not define who you are. Emotions are visitors, they arrive, they stay for a while, and then they move on. You are the one who can notice them, welcome them, and offer compassion.

Feelings are raw and unfiltered, more like wild, uncensored children than well-trained adults. They don’t need wisdom or tidy solutions; they need freedom. Writing by hand can help this energy move freely, allowing your feelings to spill onto the page without judgment.

Great Job! That’s Week 6 Reading Complete 🏆 🎉 😁 🙌

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