On this Cancer New Moon, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to care deeply while staying with ourselves.

One thing I’ve been sitting with lately is what happens in us when we hear about someone else’s tragedy or loss.

So often, without even realizing it, we begin to imagine what they must be feeling. We picture the details. We imagine ourselves in their place. We try to comprehend the enormity of what has happened by entering into it internally, wondering what we would do, how we would cope, or how we would survive something like that.

Of course, this comes from care. It comes from love. It comes from the part of us that wants to understand, to feel with, to not turn away.

But sometimes empathy can tip into over-identification. Instead of staying present with another person’s grief, we begin to leave our own body and enter into an imagined version of their experience. Our nervous system may begin responding as though the loss is happening to us.

This can be especially true for those of us who are sensitive, empathic, intuitive, or have had to become highly attuned to others to feel safe.

In those moments, one of the kindest things we can do is gently return to ourselves.

Here are a few invitations to explore. Some may resonate more than others. Please take what feels supportive and leave the rest.

• Can I notice my feet touching the ground?
• Can I sense the chair holding me up in this moment?
• Can I turn my awareness to the sounds around me?
• Can I slow my breath?
• Can I help my body feel a little more here, now?

Can I stay with myself as I care for another?
When we can stay with ourselves like this, we are more available to offer support from a grounded place.

Rather than reacting from our own overwhelm, or from a need to make the pain go away, we can offer ourselves from a place of steadiness and regulation.

And this is so often what someone in grief needs: a solid, loving presence to witness them in their pain. Not to fix it or take it away. Just to be with them through the underworld journey of grief.

Beneath all pain is aliveness, a song-cry of elation intrinsic to your being. Grief is graced with brilliance. Sheer resilience, delicate as a lotus – irrefutably more real than whatever convinced you that you were anything less, or other, than unfragmentably whole.
~Rashani Réa