This Is Not Your Typical Approach to Healing

Written By Melissa Hull

Let me say this gently: if you’re here for a tidy checklist, a five-step grief recovery plan, or a how-to on “getting over it” you won’t find that here.

Not because I don’t believe in healing. I do. Deeply. But because I’ve lived through the kind of grief that doesn’t ask for a map — it demands a transformation.

Most mainstream approaches to healing try to move you forward without truly honoring where you’ve been. They hand you formulas, platitudes, or timelines that might sound helpful but often fall flat when the pain is still fresh, or still lingering, years later. Especially if the loss cracked open your sense of identity, safety, or purpose.

What I offer is something different. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. But it’s real. It’s deeply human. And most importantly, it’s rooted in the kind of healing that restores rather than rushes.

This is the path I took when the ground gave way beneath me after the loss of my son, Drew. And this is the path I now walk with others.

The Healing I Needed Didn’t Look Like Healing at All

After Drew died, I searched everywhere for relief — therapy, support groups, books, advice from people who meant well but didn’t really understand.

Some things helped a little. But much of it felt like a performance, like I was pretending to be okay on the outside while quietly unraveling inside.

What no one told me was that healing often begins in the quiet, unglamorous moments. In the stillness. In the breath you didn’t know you were holding. In the practices that seem almost too simple to matter — until they do.

I didn’t want to be told to “move on.” I wanted to be reminded that it was still safe to be here, in my body, in my breath, in my life.

So now, I teach what actually helped me. The tools that grounded me. The rituals that steadied me. The practices that made room for both grief and grace.

Here are 10 simple, soulful, and surprisingly powerful tools that work.

1. Humming to Heal Your Nervous System

I’ll be honest, the first time someone told me to hum when I was spiraling with anxiety, I thought, “That’s cute. And useless.”

But I tried it anyway. And it worked.

Humming stimulates the vagus nerve, the main communication line between your brain and your body. It tells your system, “You’re safe.” It helps regulate your breath. It pulls you gently out of fight-or-flight and into a more grounded, receptive state.

No fancy mantras. No special equipment. Just you, your voice, and a willingness to settle back into your body , one vibration at a time.

2. Giving Grief a Name, a Color, a Place

Grief doesn’t announce itself. It seeps in through your bones, your breath, your thoughts. It’s invisible, but it can take up all the space in a room.

One way to soften its hold? Give it form.

Close your eyes and imagine:

– What color is your grief today?

– What shape does it take?

– Where does it live in your body?

This isn’t about control. It’s about intimacy. When you visualize grief, speak to it, and name it, you shift from being consumed by it to being in relationship with it.

“I see you. I’m listening. Let’s learn to live together.”

Grief doesn’t need to be tamed. It needs to be met.

3. Letting the Earth Hold You

Some days, I couldn’t hold myself together, not emotionally, not physically, not energetically.

So I stopped trying. I went outside. I sat in the grass barefoot, leaned against a tree, and let the earth hold me.

This isn’t poetic metaphor, it’s biology. Grounding helps regulate your nervous system, support your heart rate variability, and discharge excess stress. But beyond the science, there’s something sacred about remembering: I belong here. I’m still connected.

When you’re falling apart, let the earth remind you, you’re never falling alone.

4. Speaking to the People Who Are No Longer Here

This part of healing gets overlooked or judged.

But I’ll say it plainly:

You still get to talk to them.

Your love didn’t vanish. Your connection didn’t dissolve. It changed form. You can still speak, still share, still feel them beside you.

I talk to Drew often. In quiet moments, in laughter, in decision-making. It keeps him close. It keeps me whole.

You don’t need permission to honor your bond. You just need willingness to believe that love, like energy, doesn’t disappear. It transforms.

5. Crying in Water

This one was hard for me …deeply, personally hard.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to heal in the very element that took my son from me. The first time someone suggested this practice, I felt myself recoil. I was angry. I didn’t want to give water that kind of trust.

But what happened that day was something I could never have predicted.

I lashed out at it. I screamed into it. I demanded answers from it. I wrestled with the very nature of it, until I had nothing left. No more resistance. No more rage. Just stillness.

And in that stillness, I felt something shift.

I could feel the presence of water holding me — not as an enemy, but as something ancient and sacred. Something beautiful. That afternoon, I forgave the water. And something heavy left my heart that day.

Since then, water has become one of the only places I feel safe enough to cry.

The bath. The shower. The rain. The pool.

I’ve learned that water holds what we can’t. It softens what’s hardened. It gives emotion somewhere to go…privately, gently, powerfully.

So if you feel numb, or stuck, or overwhelmed by the pressure to “be strong,” let water be your witness. Let it carry what you don’t yet have words for.

Sometimes the healing begins in the places that don’t ask you to explain yourself.

6. Creating Rituals Instead of Routines

After loss, time becomes strange. Days blur. Structure feels hollow. And the routines that once grounded you can feel impossible to maintain.

Instead of routines, I turned to rituals.

– A candle in the morning with a word of gratitude.

– Tea brewed with intention, not urgency.

– A certain song each night to let my body know, “You’re safe now. Rest.”

These rituals weren’t about productivity. They were about presence. About reminding myself, “You’re still here. And that matters.”

7. Moving Your Body Without Expectation

Grief lives in your fascia, your joints, your posture. It settles in the places we forget to check.

And while traditional exercise can be helpful, it often felt like too much for me in early grief. Too structured. Too demanding.

So I gave myself permission to move intuitively. Stretching. Walking slowly. Rolling out my spine. Letting my breath guide the pace.

This wasn’t about achievement. It was about allowing motion to meet emotion.

Grief is heavy. Let movement help you carry it.

8. Allowing Joy Without Guilt

This one still catches people off guard. Joy, after loss, can feel suspicious. Even wrong.

But here’s what I know: joy is not a betrayal.

It’s not proof you’ve forgotten. It’s proof you’re still alive.

Joy doesn’t cancel grief. It coexists with it. It sneaks in through laughter, beauty, comfort, and meaning. And it deserves a place at the table, even if it only stays for a moment.

Let it come. Let it soften. Let it remind you that love didn’t end. It just evolved.

9. Tending to Your Energy Like a Garden

Healing isn’t just emotional or physical. It’s also energetic.

You are a frequency. A vibration. And when your energy gets heavy, clouded, or out of sync, everything else feels harder.

So open the windows. Burn herbs. Clear your space. Imagine light moving through your body. Speak words that shift the atmosphere.

This isn’t about being spiritual. It’s about being sovereign. It’s about creating space for peace to land.

You don’t need to explain it. Just let it work.

I personally love tending to my energetic self — I’ve learned to allow myself to shine and to radiate love insid of a world that I don’t always understand. I know that how I ch

10. Letting Grief Make You Real

Grief changed me. It stripped away every performance, every mask, every illusion of control I thought I needed to survive in the world.

And in that stripping away, I found something truer. Quieter. More grounded.

Grief didn’t destroy me. It revealed me. And now I live more honestly than I ever did before.

You don’t have to go back to who you were.

You get to become who you are — with clarity, compassion, and integrity.

Let grief refine you. Let it deepen you. Let it return you to your essence.

If This Speaks to You, You’re Not Alone

You don’t need to fix yourself.

You don’t need to explain your pain to anyone who hasn’t earned the right to witness it.

And you certainly don’t need to rush your healing for anyone’s comfort …including your own.

The kind of support I offer doesn’t ask you to be okay. It simply asks you to be here. To be present with yourself. To let your grief be part of your becoming ,not something you hide, silence, or power through.

If you’re looking for a healing journey rooted in compassion, energy, sacred self-trust, and honest tools that honor where you’ve been, I invite you to walk with me.

Not to move on. But to move through. Toward something real. Toward something whole.

Toward you.

Let’s Stay Connected!

I’d love to keep the conversation going. Whether you’re looking for free resources, inspiration, healing tools, or want to dive deeper through my courses and podcast — there’s a space for you here:

Wherever you are on your healing journey, know that you’re not alone.

Melissa Hull
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