I notice I’ve been interviewing a lot of women about healing recently - searching in our conversations for explanations about why I’m feeling a certain way, why people are acting in ways that are so antisocial, why I say “Fuck!” and “Asshole!” so much more than I used to.
I think I’m grieving. Grief coach and death midwife Naila Francis would probably agree. In this episode of CK Unmuted, we talk about what grief is, where it comes from, and how to use it to grow and enrich our lives rather than stunt and impoverish them. We learn that authentic healing is not rushed, not dispatched with a check list. It’s not about reaching a feel-better destination and returning to “normal.” It’s about learning to carry our grief with compassion and care.
Thank you, Naila, for sharing your wisdom!
~ CK
Resources:
1. Salt Trails - https://salttrailsphilly.com
2. Philly Goat Project - https://phillygoatproject.org
3. Uplift Center for Grieving Children - https://upliftphilly.org
4. The Wind Phone - https://www.mywindphone.com/
5. Naila Francis - Website and social media - https://. thishallowedwilderness.com
Naila’s Poems:
Ordinary Time
Hard to know what to do with this grief,
the branching out, spilling over
when there is sun at my window,
the sway of summer’s raucous green,
a ripple that moves like a rune
for momentum, even joy, the call,
obstinate and clarion, to love
what threads each day.
And, still there is room to be
surprised, to stumble into a memory
that begs for one more scrap.
Sometimes, it is a conversation
I will never enter, two people on the street
sharing a dream of us, a look
on the television that sees through
to where your sorrow couldn’t go.
Then there is now, nameless, fathomless,
rising up to fill my throat.
Grief, I say, come in. Sit down.
I have tea. There is honey. This
will take as long as it takes.
~ Naila Francis
How To Carry Tenderness
Don’t rush, even if slow
is a trembling mode, no
matter what stirs under skin.
Let the belly stay soft, heart softer
to breathe where words can’t reach.
Between the dew-lit dream of grass, the sun
a hungry slice of sky, find your place
— feet on earth, crown gold-spun,
the memory of love slipping in.
If water comes, greet it.
If beauty stuns — shock of fuchsia roses,
fan of fulsome green — bow down to the miracle
of what this world still gives.
Here is a home for sorrow and the smile
that still blooms in your cheeks.
You are not alone, living body held
by living body, by all who’ve touched
this ache, found honey in the opening
— chest, throat, hands — wherever they let go.
a thousand more moments will beckon.
Let this one holy pause,
silent listening,
claim and name you
a child of compassion.
No more hard edges and flattened shapes.
Cup your own bright face.
Welcome, darling.
Now walk into this day.
~ Naila Francis
