Very Wendy Yoga How to Release Grief in The Body

Grief doesn’t always look like tears. Sometimes it looks like fatigue that won’t lift, a tightness in your chest, or the dull ache in your hips when you wake up. Sometimes grief lives quietly in our bodies, buried beneath the surface of our busy lives, waiting for the right moment—or the right practice—to be acknowledged.

I’ve come to believe that grief, when left unspoken or unprocessed, settles into our muscles, our breath, and even our posture. We round our shoulders to protect a broken heart. We clench our jaws to hold back words we never got to say. We hold our breath without even realizing it.

And yet, the body is also where healing begins.

Your psoas (hip flexor muscle) holds what your heart couldn’t say. In low lunge, we offer it breath, space, and permission to release — melting stored grief, unwinding old fear, and making room for freedom.

That’s why beach yoga is so much more than movement—it’s a return. A return to the body, to breath, and to the rhythm of something greater than ourselves. There’s something sacred about practicing yoga by the ocean. The sound of the waves creates a natural lullaby for the nervous system. The salt air, the open sky, the feeling of sand beneath your feet—it all invites you to soften.

In my classes, I hold space for people who are grieving—whether from the loss of a loved one, a relationship, or simply the weight of life not unfolding the way they hoped. We move gently, breathe deeply, and allow the ocean to be our witness. There’s no need to push, perform, or fix anything. The invitation is simply to be.

“The body remembers what the heart tries to forget.Through breath, movement, and the rhythm of the ocean, we begin to remember who we are beneath the ache.”

One of the most powerful poses we return to again and again is child’s pose—a shape of surrender. It allows the spine to release, the heart to bow, and the breath to deepen. In this posture, something begins to shift. Not all at once. But slowly, as the body feels safe, the grief begins to move.

Because movement is medicine.Because the body remembers.And because the ocean always knows how to listen.

If you’re carrying grief—or simply longing for connection and calm—come join me on the sand this summer. No experience is necessary. Just bring your breath, your heart, and whatever you're ready to release.

Let the sea hold what you no longer can.