How do I know if the physical heaviness I feel is actually grief?

Grief lives in the body before it lives anywhere else. That weight in your chest, the way your limbs feel like they're moving through water, the exhaustion that sleep doesn't touch — that's not weakness or illness. That's your body saying *something precious is gone*. Mirabai knew this. She wrote about longing that made her bones ache, about how love doesn't just break your heart; it breaks your spine, your knees, the soles of your feet. The physical experience of grief is so real that sometimes people mistake it for depression or fatigue. But there's a difference: grief is the body's honest response to loss. It's remembering through flesh. When you notice these sensations, try naming them without judgment. Not "I feel bad" but "my shoulders are tight with missing him" or "my stomach knows something my mind hasn't fully accepted yet." This specificity matters. It's the difference between fighting your body and listening to it. Your body isn't malfunctioning. It's grieving exactly as it should.