After A Devastating Loss, I Found Healing Through This Type Of Movement

Trigger warning: This article includes mentions of rape and sexual abuse.

In 2003, after a long fertility journey with a few pregnancy losses, I finally was pregnant with a baby girl. However, just one day after I felt her first kick in my belly, I found out that something had gone wrong. The doctors informed me that she had died inside of me, and I would have to give birth to her body. 

After that experience, I really felt like my body was a failure, that I was a failure. I had given birth to death, and as a result, I felt like I was slowly dying. I just went with that flesh that died within me.

I fell into a deep depression, and no one in my family really understood what I was going through. My mother had eight kids, and nobody in my huge family had fertility issues of any kind. I felt invisible in my own family and invisible in a culture that doesn't really talk about fertility challenges. It seemed like everyone around me just thought I should be able to set it aside and not talk about it, not feel the pain. Everybody wanted me to be happy. 

While I was going through this traumatic, difficult time, a dear friend of mine showed up to see me on a regular basis for three months. She sat with me patiently, even when I told her I hated myself and my life. At times, I even told her I hated her for showing up to see me. Yet, she kept coming back. 

Eventually, she noticed that small parts of me might be willing to shift—even before I realized it myself. That's when she invited me to take a Nia class with her—telling me it was time to get moving. I had no idea what "Nia" was at the time, but I learned it's a sensory-based movement practice that draws from martial arts, dance arts, and healing arts. Nia actually stands for "neuromuscular integrative action." 

So three months after burying my daughter, I went with my friend to the local Y to try one of these classes. I had been a dancer and an athlete my whole life, but I stepped into that Nia class incredibly skeptical—I figured I'd just stand in the back of the class and not move. (As a lifelong performer, the fact that I wanted to stand in the back really demonstrates how I was feeling.)

Honestly, I didn't love my first class. I completely froze—just like in the face of trauma, I froze, because I didn't actually want to feel my own feelings or be transported back to what happened. But in that class, the instructor guided me through gentle movements, focusing on comfort, and I remember hearing the words "safe in your body," which actually resonated with me.

Nia is really designed to transform our relationships with our bodies, which then in turn, transforms our relationships with life. It's rooted in anatomy and physiology and features 52 moves based on how the body is designed to move safely and systemically. 

It's a fusion art of martial arts, which are about precision, focus, concentration, and readiness; the dance arts, which are about meaning, purpose, and expression; and the healing arts, which are about alignment and subtle awareness of sensations. Together, it makes for a beautiful movement blend.

In my experience, Nia was a powerful tool for healing trauma. As a psychotherapist of 25 years, I know that trauma affects our brainstem and our early processing centers. And when we disconnect from our body's physical sensation, we don't think clearly, we don't feel in a balanced way, and we lose our sense of self. Every single one of us can relate to this in some way, shape, or form.

Nia follows the same order as brain development, which starts by making sense of the world via sensation. Think about it: As infants, we learn to walk via physical sensation, not thoughts—we take in the world through feelings and the emotional responses of people around us. In the face of trauma, that basic, natural ability gets interrupted—in order to reclaim it, we have to go back to focusing on sensation and feeling.

After trauma, people also often have the false belief they're not worthy. Nia honors the unique self and, over time, teases you into believing you are. What's more, our physical postures often change after a traumatic event (we might slouch or try to make ourselves feel as small and closed off as possible). This type of practice also breaks us out of all those patterns and encourages healthier postures, which let us breathe and feel better.

One of the best ways to be supportive is to be present. Stay fairly emotionally neutral and hear what happened. Listen to what they're going through, and be receptive to what they might need. Remember that nothing is wrong with them.

I don't recommend giving advice unless asked, and then, the best advice is to guide them to places that can help—which they can seek out in their own timing. The same advice applies if you can't listen to their experience because of your own trauma and pain. Ultimately, don't force, don't push, just be present.

There are so many of us walking around feeling worthless and disconnected from ourselves due to invisible loss and/or trauma. However, because it's often kept in the dark, there aren't really many forums for people to heal—and that's where the invisibility lies.