My Body Knew She Was Gone Before I Did
- Aug 20
- 5 min read
Written by Hella Rader, Podcast Host and Somatic Coach
Hella Rader is the host of Stories That Sparkle, long-form conversations with women navigating some of the hardest chapters of their lives. As a somatic coach, she helps women build what comes next, from the inside out.
It was just another Monday. With the sun setting behind the tall canopy of trees along the fence line, I decided to go out into the garden. The blazing heat of the day had faded, but the air, thick with humidity, clung against my skin. Undeterred by the sweat forming at my hairline, I knelt next to one of the flower beds.
Mindlessly, I wielded the small clipper and trimmed back the spent shoots of the lavender bush.
I had spent the day procrastinating on my to-do list. On purpose. After feeling off for at least a week and waking up tired and distracted no matter how much deep sleep I got, I did not search for an explanation. I let the work on my desk pile up and stayed at home, by myself. I knew, eventually, I would discover why I just felt off.
No sooner had I finished cutting back the last stem of lavender than my phone rang. It was one of my best friends. So, of course, I picked up.
The first thing she said was, “So, how are you doing today?” “Ok, a little tired,” I said. “Yeah, I'm really feeling it today too. I mean, today is the second anniversary. It has hit me hard.”
The anniversary I forgot
The minute she said that, the fog lifted and everything became crystal clear.
Two years ago, to the day, Barbara, my spiritual mom, my mentor of twenty years, and the person who taught me what it looked like to be witnessed instead of fixed, passed away. I was with her, at her bedside, the moment she took her last breath. Today was the anniversary. I had missed it. But not completely.
My mind may not have registered the date, but some part of me had been keeping track. Because my body hadn't forgotten.
After more than a week of feeling off with no clear sense of why, I had my why. It was Barbara's anniversary.
My friend and I chatted for a few more minutes and said our goodbyes. As soon as I hung up the phone, I did not get up or go inside. I sat down right in the dirt. I cried, not the tears I'd been holding back for a week without knowing it, but something much looser than that. It was a release. My body finally had permission to let go and express what it already knew.
What the body remembers
The mind keeps a calendar to which it routinely refers. Schedules. Appointments. Due dates. It keeps track of things concretely. The body keeps one too. It holds anniversaries, losses, and grief on a timeline that has nothing to do with what we've consciously decided to remember or move beyond. That's not malfunction. That's memory working through the body and in the nervous system.
This is where the work begins: not with changing or fixing what the body is doing, but with getting curious about why. That's the noticing.
Once my friend brought up the anniversary of Barbara’s passing, I could see the grief. I could feel it. I could release it. In that space, I could feel what was actually there instead of the low, unspoken wondering of “what's wrong with me.”
What helped
Even before I had a clear sense of what was happening, I didn't push through it, and I didn't try to explain it before I understood it myself. A few things I did made room for what my body already knew:
I rested, without needing a reason. Not the productive kind of rest that's just recovery for the next push, but the kind of rest that has no agenda attached to it. Lying down for ten minutes in the middle of the day. Taking things off my to-do list. Watching the birds on the bird feeder.
I let myself be not okay. Not the performance of fine, not rushing to reassure anyone, including myself. Even though my mind tried to figure it out, I focused on doing something else, something tactile, with my hands, like gardening.
I trusted that my body knew what it needed. I didn't need a full explanation to listen to it.
I kept it simple. No elaborate ritual, no process with five steps, just noticing and letting that be enough.
I let myself skip the social plans. Not every year, not forever. I was not isolating. I was giving myself the space I needed without guilt or shame attached to spending time alone.
I wrote about it as I noticed it. Every morning, before the day got going, I wrote down what I noticed and noted one thing I could do that would feel good, a walk, a chat with a friend, or an ice cream cone. The writing was part of how I made sense of it.
None of this fixed anything, because there was nothing to fix.
Some anniversaries I feel coming; others still arrive sideways. Sometimes they are disguised as fatigue, frustration, or an unexplainable need to be alone, and I don’t always have a word for what’s going on. But I trust that my body knows. I don't need a date on the calendar to believe what my body is telling me.
If you've ever felt “off” without knowing why, it might be nothing. Or it might be something. It might be your body speaking to you in a language you haven't yet learned. If you're curious about learning it, that’s the work I do with women through somatic coaching. You can find me at hellarader.com.
Read more from Hella Rader
Hella Rader, Podcast Host and Somatic Coach
Hella Rader built Stories That Sparkle, long-form intimate conversations with women navigating grief, starting over, reclaiming their voices, inhabiting their bodies and building community, because she had spent more than twenty years doing exactly that herself. As a somatic coach at Embody & Create, she brings the same kind of witnessing to her one-on-one work with women and helps them build lives they love from the inside out. A roving interviewer and host whose recording studio is fully mobile by design, Hella has recorded conversations in living rooms, sunrooms, kitchens, conference rooms, and even a park. She goes where the story is. Find her at hellarader.com.
