Welcome to The Mind Shift Moment with Dr. Veronica Griffin, from Protect Each One Consulting, LLC. I am Dr. Veronica Griffin. I dedicate this opening episode to my mother, Dorothy Griffin, who passed away on February 27, 2026. This series begins with a moment for her, and for everyone learning how to live while carrying love for someone who has died. Today we will reflect on grief, the nervous system, resilience, and safe spaces for healing. Your loss and your way of grieving deserve room here, too.
There will be no graphic descriptions in this episode. If the subject feels too close today, you can pause, listen with someone you trust, or return another time. You can keep your eyes open throughout. If you are driving or doing something that requires attention, simply listen and save the exercises for later. Choosing your pace is one way to care for yourself. We are making room for grief without demanding that you relive your most painful moments.
My mother, Dorothy Griffin, was resilient and resourceful. She had a high school diploma and a deep intelligence expressed through wisdom, careful judgment, and understanding how to make her way in the world. She was free-spirited, wanted to help others, and wanted to enjoy life. Those qualities belong together in the way I remember her: being thoughtful about life while still wanting to experience its joy. Today I honor the woman she was and the values she leaves with me. Remembering someone can include their strengths and the ordinary ways their presence mattered.
Let us talk about the nervous system carefully. Your brain and body continually coordinate attention, breathing, heart rate, and responses to stress. During stressful experiences, the autonomic nervous system and stress hormones can contribute to increased alertness, faster breathing, and a racing heart. After a major loss, some people notice restlessness, tension, disrupted sleep, or difficulty concentrating. Others feel exhausted or emotionally numb. These experiences vary; a podcast cannot tell you what is causing a particular symptom. Grief is a human response to loss, and having an intense response does not automatically mean you have a trauma disorder.
I also want to be clear about physical symptoms. New or severe chest pain, trouble breathing, fainting, or other concerning symptoms deserve prompt medical attention. Please do not assume that everything happening in your body is grief or anxiety. Caring for the nervous system includes taking physical health seriously. There is no need to prove that you can manage a medical concern with a coping skill.
The National Institute on Aging describes grief as something that can affect emotional life and everyday functioning. The National Center for PTSD also discusses how grief and trauma reactions can overlap, especially following traumatic losses. These resources help us make distinctions. They do not give us a timetable for your relationship with someone you love. Feeling sorrow again after a better day does not erase the care you have given yourself. You can have a tender morning and an ordinary afternoon. You can laugh and later cry. You do not have to turn either experience into a verdict about your healing. Sources & context ↓
Here is a gentle reflection, if you would like to try it. Look around and choose one ordinary object: a lamp, a window, a cup, or a door. Notice its color and shape. Feel the surface supporting your body if that is comfortable. Let your breathing remain natural. Ask yourself: What would make this moment a little more manageable? You might need water, a quieter room, a different position, or another person nearby. You do not have to feel calm for this moment to count. We will leave a little space here. You can skip the quiet if you prefer.
[Reflection pause: 30 seconds.]
When I talk about a safe space for healing, I am thinking about how people are treated. A space can be beautifully decorated and still leave someone feeling unheard. Consider what happens when a grieving person says, I do not want to talk about that today. Is their answer respected? Can they ask a question? Do they understand who will hear their story? Can they leave, change the subject, or ask for support without being shamed? A safe space has practices behind the promise. It includes permission, respect, clear expectations, and a willingness to repair mistakes.
Here is what that might sound like. A friend says: Would you like me to listen, sit quietly, or help with something practical? A family member says: You can join us for part of the gathering, and you can leave when you need to. A supervisor says: Let us discuss what support and workload adjustments are possible. A clinician explains confidentiality and its limits, asks about your goals, and gives you choices. These are invitations to participate in your own care. They leave room for differences in culture, spirituality, family history, and the meaning of the relationship that was lost.
When I think about resilience, I think about my mother finding her way in this world with resourcefulness and wisdom. Carrying that forward can mean considering what is available, asking for help, and choosing a next step with care. It can mean resting when we are tired and letting someone else support us. We can honor a resilient person while acknowledging how much we miss them. There is no requirement to be strong every moment. A legacy can guide us without becoming a demand to hide our pain. We can carry determination and tenderness together.
Consider a simple care circle. In the center, write your name. Around it, place three kinds of support: someone who can listen, someone who can help with practical needs, and a professional or community resource you could contact. One person does not have to fill every role. If the circle is sparse, that is useful information about what needs building. You might begin with a bereavement group, a trusted faith or community leader, or a licensed clinician. Ask about the setting before sharing. You get to consider whether the approach feels respectful and whether it meets your needs.
Journaling can offer another kind of space. You might write three short lines: Today I miss; today I need; today I can accept help with. Leave any line blank if it asks too much. You do not have to describe the death, revisit a distressing image, or find a positive lesson. Close the journal when you choose. For some people, writing increases distress; stopping and seeking support is a reasonable response. A private reflection should remain yours to share or keep. Let us take a short moment for one word, one sentence, or quiet observation.
[Reflection pause: 30 seconds.]
My mother wanted to help others and enjoy life. In her honor, I want to leave room for both generosity and joy. Helping someone can be meaningful, and we can also receive help. A moment of laughter, a favorite meal, or an afternoon of ease can sit alongside sorrow. For your reflection, consider one quality of someone you love that you want to carry forward. Choose one small expression of it this week, only if that feels right. You do not have to turn grief into a project. Remembering can be quiet, and love does not depend on completing an activity.
If grief is making daily life difficult, a qualified professional can help you explore support that fits your needs. You can ask for help early. As we close, I honor Dorothy Griffin: my mother, a wise, resilient, resourceful, free-spirited woman who wanted to help others, enjoy life, and make her way in this world. Mom, this opening moment is in your honor. To everyone listening, may you have room for remembrance, trustworthy company, and care that respects your pace. I am Dr. Veronica Griffin. Your grief deserves respect. Your healing deserves room. And when joy finds you, there can be room for that, too.
This has been a MindShift moment with Dr. Veronica Griffin. I am a Clinical Social Work Researcher, Licensed Clinical Social Worker, and Certified Clinical Trauma Professional with Protect Each One Consulting, LLC. My work connects research with trauma-informed practice to support healing, resilience, and personal growth. Thank you for taking this moment to pause, reflect, and care for yourself. Healing begins in a safe space—Protect Each One.