Hello, and welcome back to Happya Ever After.

Today we’re going to talk about something that sits underneath so much of life after loss, and yet is rarely explained clearly or kindly.

What grief does to your nervous system.

If you’ve ever wondered why you feel constantly on edge…
 Or exhausted no matter how much you rest…
 Or numb, foggy, disconnected, or unable to concentrate…

This episode is for you.

And I want to say this right at the beginning:
 what you’re experiencing is not a personal failing.

It’s not a lack of resilience.
 It’s not because you’re “not coping properly”.
 And it’s not because you’re doing grief wrong.

It’s because your nervous system has been through something overwhelming.

One of the biggest misunderstandings about grief is the idea that it’s purely emotional.

That if you could just think differently, talk it through, or give it enough time, your body would eventually settle.

For many people, that doesn’t happen.

And when it doesn’t, it can be deeply confusing.

You might find yourself thinking:
 Why do I still feel like this?
Why can’t I relax?
Why am I so tired, so jumpy, so flat?

And when there are no clear answers, people often turn that confusion inward.

What’s wrong with me?

So let’s slow this down.

Grief is not just something you feel.
 It’s something your body experiences.

When you lose someone you love, especially a partner, your system doesn’t just register sadness. It registers threat.

From the body’s perspective, something essential has been lost: safety, connection, predictability, and orientation.

Your nervous system has one primary job to keep you alive.

And when something overwhelming happens, it does exactly what it’s designed to do.

It shifts into survival mode.

For some people, that looks like high alert.

You might feel:

• Anxious or on edge
• Hyper-aware of everything around you
• Unable to switch off
• Startled easily
• Restless or agitated

For others, it looks like shutdown.

You might feel:

• Numb or disconnected
• Exhausted all the time
• Flat, heavy, or foggy
• Struggling to think clearly or make decisions
• Withdrawn from the world

And for many people, it’s a mixture of both.

None of these responses mean anything has gone wrong.

They are your nervous system doing its job in the face of loss.

What often isn’t explained is that time alone doesn’t always resolve this.

Time helps when the nervous system feels safe.

If safety hasn’t been restored, the system stays on guard even when the immediate danger has passed.

This is why some people say, “The worst part wasn’t the early days. It was later.”

When the shock has softened.
 When life looks normal again on the outside.
 But your body hasn’t caught up.

I know this from both professional work and lived experience.

I know what it’s like to look fine on the surface and feel anything but fine inside.

To be functioning working, parenting, showing up while your body feels constantly braced, exhausted, or strangely absent.

And I also know how easy it is to judge yourself for that.

To think you should be further along by now.

So I want to say this gently and clearly:

Your nervous system does not work on timelines or expectations.

It works on safety.

After loss, many people are asked implicitly or explicitly to return to normal life quickly.

To make decisions.
 To perform.
 To keep going.

And often, there is very little space for the body to actually process what’s happened.

So the system stays in survival mode.

Not because you’re weak.
 But because it hasn’t yet learned that it’s safe to stand down.

This can show up in ways that feel confusing.

You might notice:

• You can’t concentrate like you used to
• Simple decisions feel overwhelming
• Your tolerance for stress is much lower
• You’re more reactive or more withdrawn than before
• You feel tired even after resting

These are not character flaws.

They are signs of a system that has been under prolonged strain.

Another thing that often happens after loss is that people try to override their nervous system with willpower.

They tell themselves to be strong.
 To push through.
 To keep busy.

And in the short term, that can work.

But over time, the cost shows up.

Because you can’t think your way out of a nervous system response.

You can’t logic your body into feeling safe.

And when people aren’t given this explanation, they often end up blaming themselves.

Why can’t I cope like other people?
Why am I still struggling when the worst is over?

The truth is, there is no “over” in the way grief is often imagined.

There is integration.
 There is stabilisation.
 There is adaptation.

But those things happen when the body is supported not pressured.

I want to be very clear here.

Understanding what grief does to your nervous system is not about labelling yourself as traumatised or broken.

It’s about removing shame.

It’s about understanding that your reactions make sense in the context of what you’ve lived through.

And it’s about opening the door to gentler ways of supporting yourself.

This is not about forcing calm.
 It’s not about positive thinking.
 And it’s not about fixing yourself.

It’s about recognising that your body has been doing its best to protect you.

Sometimes that protection looks like anxiety.
 Sometimes it looks like numbness.
 Sometimes it looks like exhaustion.

And all of it is information.

Another thing I want to name here is how lonely this can feel.

Because nervous system responses are largely invisible.

People may see you functioning and assume you’re fine. They may not see the internal effort it takes to get through a day.

And when that effort isn’t acknowledged, people often turn that frustration inward.

Why is this still so hard?

If that’s been your experience, I want you to know you’re not alone.

And you’re not behind.

One of the most important shifts you can make after loss is moving from self-judgement to self-understanding.

Instead of asking, What’s wrong with me?
You might gently ask, What has my system been through?

That shift alone can bring a surprising amount of relief.

I also want to say this.

Regulation doesn’t mean being calm all the time.

It means having enough safety in your system to move between states to feel, to rest, to engage, to withdraw when needed.

After loss, that flexibility is often reduced.

And that’s not permanent.

But it does take time, patience, and the right kind of support.

If as you’re listening to this you notice your body reacting tightening, softening, sighing just notice that.

You don’t need to do anything with it.

Awareness is the first step toward regulation.

And that’s enough for today.

If you’d like more support in understanding and calming your nervous system after loss, you can explore the Calming Your Nervous System After Loss guide via the show notes or at happyacoach.com/happya-ever-after/calming-your-nervous-system.

You’ll also find the Happya Ever After hub at happyacoach.com/happya-ever-after, where resources continue to grow alongside this series.

You are not broken.
 Your body is not failing you.
 It has been protecting you the best way it knows how.

And with time, safety, and compassion, it can learn that life is not only about survival anymore.

Thank you for being here with me today.
 I’ll be with you again in the next episode.