A Plastic Spoon and a Sudden Wave of Grief
Saturday morning, I went to look for a plastic spoon in the silverware drawer, and muscle memory led straight into emotional memory … and then into a moment of grief release I didn’t see coming.
It was such an ordinary movement, rifling through utensils and hearing the familiar clink of metal. But my hand moved the way it used to at Mom and Dad’s house. And my brain, ever the blunt messenger, basically said, “Oh yeah… they’re both dead.” No warning. No buildup. Just truth, dropped straight into my chest.
And that was it.
I stood at the counter, tears falling, and I told myself to shut up because that’s what I do. That’s the old pattern: feel something, scold myself, and keep moving. But in that moment, something softened. It hit me that maybe I should try being a little kinder to myself.
When Cortisol Becomes a Messenger
Cortisol has been a b:+@# lately, giving me heart palpitations, evening dizziness and weakness, and ridiculous water retention. My body has been waving red flags for weeks, and this morning it finally occurred to me why.
This body has endured a lifetime of trauma and yo‑yo dieting. And in just the past two years, I watched both my parents decline and die, seven months apart. I walked through hospital rooms, sat through hospice visits, dealt with late‑night phone calls, and witnessed the slow, painful unraveling of the people who raised me. Then, almost immediately, I had to start handling the estate aftermath — the paperwork and decisions. The sorting of belongings that still smelled and felt like them.
I’m still in the process of trying to get the house ready to sell. And all of that while going through perimenopause/menopause/postmenopause – and almost always putting myself on the back burner because I have two teenage daughters, a husband, and a household zoo to take care of. Plus trying to maintain some kind of freelance writing/editing career at the same time.
To say I’ve been under some stress is an understatement, like saying “the ocean is a little wet.” 🤪
The Body Remembers What the Mind Moves Past
Here’s the thing I’m learning: the body remembers. It carries grief in places the mind has long stopped visiting. It stores trauma in muscles, breath, and posture. In the tiny rituals of daily life. A drawer. A spoon. A familiar movement. And suddenly the nervous system says, “We’re not done with this yet.”
That’s what happened Saturday. My body spoke before I had a chance to silence it.
If you’ve ever had grief hit out of nowhere, you’re not alone. The body often processes loss long after the mind thinks it has moved on.
Letting the Body Speak Instead of Fighting It
Of course, my body and brain are going to do some weird things as I continue on this journey after loss. Of course, I’m going to have days when I feel dizzy or weak or swollen or overwhelmed. Of course, grief is going to sneak up on me in the middle of breakfast. I’ve been carrying more than any one person should have to carry, and I’ve been doing it while trying to function, parent, work, and keep life moving.
So, I’m done fighting it. If my body wants to balloon up in water weight or stand in front of a silverware drawer and cry, I’m going to let it. I’ve been strong for everyone else long enough. It’s time I pay attention to the signals my body is sending and do what I can to help it — by treating myself with gentleness and not condemnation.
I deserve that. And maybe you do, too.
A Reminder for Anyone Carrying Too Much
If you’ve been carrying grief, trauma, stress, or the weight of being “the strong one,” your body might be speaking as well. Maybe through dizziness. Or tears. Or exhaustion. Maybe through moments that feel strange or inconvenient or embarrassing. But the body doesn’t lie. It doesn’t perform. It doesn’t pretend. It tells the truth, even when we don’t want to hear it.
I’m learning to listen. Soften. Let myself be human. To let grief move through me instead of locking it away.
And if you’re in a similar place, maybe today’s post is your reminder to be gentler with yourself, too — to let your body speak, your grief breathe, and to let healing come in its own strange, unexpected ways.
Letting The Moment Be What It Needed to Be
For now, I’m just letting that unsettling moment be what it was: a moment of remembering, release, and a reminder to be kind to myself.
That feels like healing to me.
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