Ever since we lost the baby, my husband and I inhabit our bedroom like two ghosts - he tosses and turns all night while I lie perfectly still, both of us afraid to reach for the other because we don't know if touch will bring comfort or make the ache in our chests unbearable. Our bodies remember what we've lost in ways that words can't touch, and we're both drowning in our own physical grief.
More people experience this than they realize.
Shared loss creates a somatic minefield where touch itself becomes fraught with memory and pain.
“Where Are You with The physical experience of grief?”
If this sounds familiar, the Library can help you find the bigger picture.