When Grief Compounds: Finding Your Way Through the Unraveling
A personal story of cumulative loss, bodily collapse, and the slow journey back to wholeness.
There's a kind of grief that doesn't arrive alone.
It compounds. It layers. One loss stacked upon another until you can't tell where one wound ends and the next begins. Your body stops distinguishing between them it just knows it's drowning. This is cumulative grief. And if you're in it right now, I want you to know: you're not broken. You're human. And there is a way through.
When Everything Unravels at Once
Some years ago, my world fell apart in ways I couldn't have prepared for.
Two of my children and I found ourselves in a space of deep disconnection, estrangement that felt like death without closure. The relationships I'd nurtured, protected, and loved with everything I had were suddenly severed. The way it happened was harsh. Every attempt I made to bridge the distance only seemed to widen it. I was losing my children while they were still alive, and I had no map for that kind of grief.
Then, suddenly and without warning, my father died.
The ground I was already barely standing on disappeared entirely.
I was in freefall.
Grief upon grief upon grief. Relationship rupture. Death. Loss compounding loss. And the world expected me to keep functioning to show up for work, manage daily life, hold it together. Because this kind of grief? Society doesn't recognize it as deserving of time off. There's no bereavement leave for estrangement. No disability claim for a shattered heart.
So I kept moving. Because I had to. Because I didn't know what else to do.
When Your Body Says "No More"
Here's what I didn't understand then but know intimately now: your body keeps the score, and eventually, it will force you to stop.
I don't have a thyroid, I lost it to cancer years ago. I rely on hormone replacement therapy to literally keep my body functioning. But grief isn't just emotional. It's biological. The shock of compounded loss sent my system into such dysregulation that I stopped processing my medication properly.
My body, already taxed by loss, simply shut down what it could no longer sustain.
I was falling apart physically, emotionally, spiritually. I was trying to outrun an avalanche that had already buried me. And the harder I tried to "stay strong" and "push through," the deeper I sank.
Survival mode is not sustainable.
The truth is: cumulative grief doesn't care about your to-do list, your responsibilities, or your desperate need to appear "fine." It will take you down until you finally listen.
What Cumulative Grief Actually Is
Cumulative grief: sometimes called grief overload or compound grief happens when losses stack up faster than you can process them. It might look like:
Multiple deaths in a short period
Loss of relationships (estrangement, divorce, friendships ending)
Health crises layered with other losses
Job loss during personal turmoil
Financial stress compounding emotional pain
Trauma upon trauma without time to heal between
Your nervous system wasn't designed to process this much at once.
It goes into overwhelm. Your body starts breaking down. You feel like you're losing your mind. You can't think straight, can't sleep, can't stop crying or worse, can't cry at all because you've gone numb just to survive.
This is not weakness. This is biology.
And here's what makes it even harder: society doesn't give you space for it. You're expected to compartmentalize, to grieve "appropriately," to bounce back quickly. There's bereavement leave for death but not for estrangement. There's understanding for "real" loss but not for the thousand small deaths that compound into collapse.
So we suffer in silence, thinking something is wrong with us for not being able to "handle it."
Nothing is wrong with you. Everything is responding exactly as it should when a human system is overloaded beyond capacity.
The Moment I Stopped Running
I finally hit a point where I couldn't pretend anymore. My body wouldn't let me. My spirit was too fractured. I had tried to muscle through, to "stay positive," to fix what was broken and all of it had failed.
So I stopped.
I stopped trying to force healing on my timeline. I stopped pretending I was okay. I stopped apologizing for taking up space with my pain.
And I returned to what I'd always known but had forgotten in the crisis: the earth holds us when we can't hold ourselves.
My ancestors knew how to grieve. They knew that healing doesn't happen in isolation, that the land is medicine, that ceremony creates the container we need when we're falling apart.
So I went back to the practices that my lineage had always known: I walked in nature, slowly, with no destination. Just me and the trees and the wind that speaks if you're quiet enough to listen. I let the earth hold my weight when I couldn't hold my own.
I talked to Mother Earth. Not metaphorically. Actually spoke my grief into the soil, let the land receive what was too heavy for any human to carry.
I prayed. Not the prayers of asking for things to be different, but the prayers of surrender. I can't do this alone. Help me. Show me the way.
I sat in hape ceremony. That sacred tobacco medicine that clears what's clouded, grounds what's unmoored, brings you back into your body when you've been floating in survival mode.
I drank cacao in meditation. Let that heart medicine crack open what I'd been protecting, let the tears finally come, let the softness return.
I went on shamanic healing journeys and retreats. Spaces where I could unravel completely because someone else was holding the container. Where I could journey to retrieve the parts of myself I'd lost in the grief.
I moved my body. Not exercise...movement. Dance. Shaking. Letting the grief move through me instead of storing in me. Animals shake after trauma. I remembered I'm an animal too.
And I practiced Ho'oponopono. That Hawaiian prayer of reconciliation and forgiveness, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. Said it to my children, to my father, to myself, to the grief itself. Not to fix anything, but to soften what had hardened.
Slowly...so slowly...I began to come back to myself.
Not the self I was before. That person was gone. But someone new. Someone who knew grief intimately and had survived it. Someone softer and stronger at once.
What I Want You to Know If You're In It Right Now
If you're reading this and you're in the thick of cumulative grief, please hear me:
1. You're Not Crazy
Your body's response to overwhelming loss is appropriate. The tears that won't stop, the numbness, the rage, the confusion, the physical symptoms, all of it makes sense. You're not broken. You're a human being experiencing more than anyone person should have to carry at once.
2. You Can't Think Your Way Out
Grief lives in the body, not the mind. You can't logic your way through it, positive-think your way past it, or strong-will your way over it. It has to move through you. And that requires space, time, and practices that let your body release what it's holding.
3. "Pushing Through" Is Making It Worse
I know you think you have to keep going. I know the world tells you that. But survival mode is not healing. It's just delaying the inevitable collapse. At some point, your body will force you to stop. It's better to stop now, on your terms, than to wait until it chooses for you.
4. Healing Doesn't Look Like You Think
Healing isn't linear. It's not about "getting over it" or "moving on." Some days you'll feel okay, and then something small will level you again. That's not regression, that's how grief works. It comes in waves. Your job is to learn to surf them, not stop them from coming.
5. You Need More Than Therapy
Talk therapy has its place, but cumulative grief requires somatic healing, body-based practices that let trauma and grief move through your nervous system and out. This might look like:
Movement practices: yoga, dance, shaking, walking, anything that lets your body express what words can't
Nature immersion: spending time on the land, touching earth, letting the natural world hold you
Ceremony and ritual: creating sacred space for your grief, whether through prayer, fire ceremony, or whatever feels right to you
Energy healing: Reiki, shamanic healing, anything that works with the energetic body
Breathwork: letting the breath move stagnant energy
Creative expression: art, writing, music, giving grief a voice beyond words
Community: grief groups, circles, trusted friends who can witness without trying to fix
What works for you might be different than what worked for me. That's okay. The key is finding practices that help you feel instead of think, that move grief through instead of around.
6. You Deserve Time and Space
Even if society doesn't give it to you automatically, you deserve time to heal. This might mean:
Taking medical leave (yes, even for grief, find a doctor who understands)
Reducing your hours or responsibilities where possible
Saying no to things that drain you
Asking for help (even when it's hard)
Lowering your standards temporarily (the dishes can wait)
Protecting your energy fiercely
You're not being dramatic. You're not being weak. You're being wise.
7. There Are People Who Understand
You might feel alone, but you're not. There are practitioners, communities, and circles who understand cumulative grief and can hold space for you. Seek them out. Let yourself be held. You don't have to do this alone.
The Practices That Helped Me (And Might Help You)
Here's what I return to when grief rises again (because it does, healing isn't about grief disappearing, it's about learning to be with it):
Nature as Medicine
The land doesn't ask you to be anything other than what you are. Walk slowly. Touch trees. Sit on the ground. Let the earth absorb what's too heavy. Tell the wind your sorrow. Let the water carry it away.
Prayer and Ceremony
Create your own rituals for grief. Light a candle. Speak your loved one's name. Burn what needs releasing. Plant something in their honor. Ceremony gives structure to what feels chaotic.
Sacred Plant Medicines
For me, hape, cacao, and other sacred plant medicines in a ceremonial context were profound. They helped me access grief I couldn't reach otherwise and moved it through my system. (Always work with trained practitioners and in safe, held space.)
Shamanic Healing
Journey work helped me retrieve parts of myself I'd lost in the grief. Soul retrieval. Extraction of heavy energy. Connection with guides who offered wisdom I couldn't access alone.
Movement That Heals
Not "working out" moving grief. Dancing it. Shaking it. Walking it. Letting your body express what your mouth can't say.
Ho'oponopono Practice
I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
Say it to everyone involved, including yourself. Not to fix things, but to soften the edges of pain, to release resentment, to make space for whatever wants to shift.
Community and Witness
Finding even one person who could hold space for my grief without trying to fix it, minimize it, or rush me through it, that was medicine too.
What's on the Other Side
I won't tell you that grief ends, because it doesn't. My father is still gone. The health challenges remain. But I'm no longer drowning. And here's something I couldn't have imagined in the depths: my children and I have begun healing our relationships. We're in a far better space now. Not perfect, healing rarely is, but better. Present. Trying. Growing together.
That reconciliation didn't happen because I forced it or figured out the "right" strategy. It happened because I finally stopped trying to fix it and started healing myself. Because I learned to hold space for my own grief. Because I did the work to come back to myself.
When I changed, the energy between us shifted. When I stopped drowning, I could finally be present differently.
Sometimes the best thing we can do for our relationships is to heal ourselves first.
I've learned to carry grief differently now, not as something to overcome, but as something woven into the fabric of who I am. It's made me softer. More compassionate. More present. More aware of what really matters.
Grief cracked me open, and light got in.
I'm a better mother, friend, partner, practitioner because I've been shattered and slowly put myself back together. I understand cumulative loss not as a theory but as a lived experience. I know what it's like when your body gives out under the weight, and I know the practices that help you find your way back.
This is why I do the work I do now. Not in spite of my grief, but because of it. Earth Woven Wisdom was born from the unraveling and the slow weaving back together.
And if reconciliation with those you've lost connection with is part of your grief, know this: healing yourself creates the conditions for relationship healing to become possible. Not guaranteed, but possible. And sometimes, that's enough to hold onto.
Understanding What You're Experiencing: The Research
If you're wondering whether what you're going through has a name, it does. And understanding it can help you feel less alone.
Cumulative Grief (Grief Overload)
When you experience multiple losses in a short period, whether deaths, relationship losses, job loss, health crises, or any combination, it's called cumulative grief or grief overload. (1) The losses compound on each other, making it increasingly difficult to process and cope. (2)
As psychologist Dr. Meghan Marcum explains: "Compounded grief is difficult because before the person has an opportunity to find healing, another oftentimes unexpected loss arises that makes it increasingly difficult to cope." (2)
Why It Feels Unbearable
Research shows that compounded losses are harder to cope with than individual losses because of the cumulative effect. (2) Your nervous system becomes overwhelmed. "Shutting down" is a common response, your body's way of trying to protect you when the emotions feel unprocessable. (1)
When Grief Becomes Complicated
For some people (about 7% of those bereaved), grief becomes what's clinically called "complicated grief" or "persistent complex bereavement disorder." (3,4,5) This happens when painful emotions are so severe and long-lasting that you have trouble functioning even after a year or more has passed. (3)
Signs you might need professional support include: (3)
Intense sorrow and rumination that doesn't ease with time
Inability to accept the reality of your loss
Feeling life has no meaning or purpose
Trouble carrying out normal routines
Withdrawing from relationships and activities
Believing you should have died with your loved one
Persistent thoughts of suicide
Important: If you're experiencing thoughts of suicide, please reach out immediately. Call 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline) or contact a mental health professional. You matter, and help is available. (3)
This Isn't Your Fault
When you suffer multiple losses, it's common to question why this is happening to you or interpret it as punishment. But as difficult as it is to accept, it's not personal. It's a terribly timed misfortune. (1) Understanding that multiple losses are not a personal attack is an important step toward healing. (1)
You're Not Supposed to "Handle This Better"
There's no "right way" to grieve, especially cumulative grief. The first step to lessening your pain is accepting your grief as it is, accepting the complex way you're feeling, and giving yourself space and time to process without self-judgment. (1)
And here's what I learned that the research doesn't always capture: your body will tell you what it needs if you're willing to listen. For me, that meant returning to earth-based practices, ceremony, and somatic healing, not because therapy doesn't work, but because cumulative grief lives in the body and sometimes needs body-based medicine to move through.
SOURCES SECTION:
Sources & Further Reading
Empathy. (n.d.). Dealing with more than one loss. Retrieved from https://www.empathy.com/grief/dealing-with-more-than-one-loss
Marcum, M., as cited in Seladi-Schulman, J. (2023). Compounded grief: Symptoms, causes, diagnosis, and coping. Verywell Mind. Retrieved from https://www.verywellmind.com/compounded-grief-symptoms-causes-diagnosis-and-coping-6979518
Mayo Clinic. (2023). Complicated grief: Symptoms and causes. Retrieved from https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/complicated-grief/symptoms-causes/syc-20360374
Shear, M. K. (2012). Grief and mourning gone awry: Pathway and course of complicated grief. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 14(2), 119–128. https://doi.org/10.31887/DCNS.2012.14.2/mshear
Cleveland Clinic. (n.d.). Complicated grief. Retrieved from https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/24951-complicated-grief
Additional Support Resources:
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988 (available 24/7)
Crisis Text Hotline: Text HOME or HOLA to 741741
National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI): 1-800-950-NAMI (6264)
The Compassionate Friends (for those grieving the death of a child): www.compassionatefriends.org
GriefShare: Local grief support groups nationwide: www.griefshare.org
What's Your Grief: Online grief support and resources: www.whatsyourgrief.com
If you're in an immediate crisis, please call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room.
Jenny Lancey is a Certified Holistic Health Practitioner, shamanic practitioner, Reiki Master Teacher, RYSE practitioner, teacher trainer, and psychology student (BA candidate, 2026), integrating traditional healing wisdom with contemporary trauma-informed approaches. She is of mixed Mi'kmaq heritage and has been holding space for transformation for over 20 years. Through Earth Woven Wisdom, she offers shamanic healing, Reiki training, cacao ceremonies, and individual healing retreats. Jenny is passionate about bridging ancient earth-based wisdom with modern understanding of nervous system healing, trauma, and grief. She writes from lived experience as someone who has navigated cumulative grief, relationship rupture, chronic illness, and the slow journey back to wholeness.