Terminal illness: Rituals for Release.
Learning that there is no such thing as ‘after’.
STORIES
My own story isn’t one that was messy but ‘thank God it’s untangled now’. It’s not one that shows the big sigh found in the relief of ‘after’, once the gut-wrenching moment is finally out of view. No, there’s no clean before and after with terminal illness. In reality, that sense of ‘after’ is a false sense of security. There’s only now.
Realising that is one thing. Being forced to live it is another.
A year and a half ago, at 36 my partner was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, shifting my relationship to time, presence, and what it means to hold and let go at once. As a birth doula and yoga teacher, I’m drawn to the thresholds of life — where beginnings and endings meet.
Right before his diagnosis, we were planning a family, becoming professionally independent with our own freelance careers; our ‘lifestyle design’ was coming into fruition — as if we were naively boarding our own launching pads ready to enter the next, better phase of our lives.
Now, with rose-tinted glasses ripped from our expressions, manifestations in the bin, we watch our loved ones propel towards their plans, expand their nests and strengthen their foundations. It can feel like a cruel joke. What is the lesson here?, I often ask myself. Where is this experience taking me, us? Will I look back on this gut-wrenching phase of our lives and be in awe of all that we’ve overcome? So many others seem sure of that. Or, is my subconscious sugarcoating thoughts, in an attempt to divert away from the core of the soreness?
If allowed to marinate in this suffering, emergence becomes unlikely. This is one of the reasons I’ve become enticed by rituals. On one hand to awaken the connection of my heart to the present moment and as a way to signal to myself what is important. On another, as a tactic for panic.
These rituals also remind me that whilst it’s tempting to drift into what might be, what I hope for, and also what I fear, honouring the moment takes strength and focus.
Witnessing and supporting my partner through brain cancer has wreaked havoc on my identity. It’s wrestled with my idea of grace, forgiveness, understanding. Yet somehow, some of my original values seem to loiter, allowing to me have momentary grip. And these are what pull me back from a deafening silence, and into the motion of the world again.
Coming into contact with nature, sitting with silence, moving my body in a compassionate way, making rituals out of my every day — these things make me feel more like me.
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Living in the now can feel incredibly painful and tiring at times. You notice how much the mind wants to escape and divert away from what is happening. Pausing feels vulnerable, yet there are times when we know fully well that presence might allow us to accept a part of our journey — by seeing it for what it is; disarming it. It can enable us to surrender, soften and accept. Eventually creating a crevice of new space on our path, ready to be stepped into.
INSIGHTS
Wherever you go, there you are — Jon Kabat-Zinn
Ahhhh, books that encourage you to strip back to basics — no adding, just gentle nudges to see things as they are, now. This book feels like coming home and remembering that we don’t always need to add to feel whole. Often it’s removing that actually allows us to see clearly.
This quote isn’t short and punchy but it’s a kind reminder of what happens when we constantly look outside of ourselves for happiness and even distraction. Everything we need is already here.
‘So, if you think your meditation practice is full, or no good, or that the conditions aren’t right where you find yourself, and you think that only if you were in a cave in the Himalayas, or at an Asian monastery, or on a beach in the tropics, or a retreat in some natural setting, things would be better, your meditation stronger…think again. When you go to your cave or your beach or your retreat, there you would be, with the same mind, the same body, the very same breath that you already have.’ ‘There is always something to dislike. So why not let go and admit that you might as well be at home all the time, in every moment, where you are? Right in that moment, which when it arises, is always this moment, you touch the core of your being and invite mindfulness to enter and heal.’
RITUALS
Marma point practice — Hridayam. To cleanse our internal homes and encourage presence in your heart space.
Try this point whilst in Supta Baddha Konasana (reclined butterfly) or any posture where your chest is open.
- located in the centre of the chest, just below the 3rd rib on the middle of the chest. You might feel a flat space where you can lay your finger gently
- Take a deep breath, lengthen your exhales and stay here for a couple of minutes
- Once you feel ready to close the practice, remove your finger and observe how you feel
A year and a half ago, my partner was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, shifting my relationship to time, presence, and what it means to hold and let go at once. As a birth doula and yoga teacher, I’m drawn to the thresholds of life — where beginnings and endings meet.
Here, I share stories, insights, and rituals for living with grief, and for returning, again and again, to what is here.
If any of this resonated, why not reply and share how it landed for you?
Thank you, Nia.
