The pain of loss doesn’t follow a calendar.

It just pops up when it fucking wants to—when you least expect it. Or there are times when you dread for months that it will rear its ugly head, and then it strikes—sometimes worse than you had imagined, sometimes not. You just never know how it will land. This is why you must learn the journey of the warrior. Better be ready, or it will take you down. It's taken me down more times than I can count. I had not yet learned.

I had no idea how to be a warrior. Not until I stepped onto my yoga mat. And learned the Journey of the Warrior.

I am still learning, and practicing, and trying. And sometimes failing miserably. But still I try. Because I simply have to, or I'd end up on the floor. Again.

Especially now. For me, this time of year marks the onset of a deeply personal holiday season, beginning with my Angel Son Judson’s birthday on August 23, he would be 4 3 this year. Though time has passed, the sadness lingers, a poignant reminder of the love that forever binds us and the hugs forever lost.

In these moments, yoga becomes my sanctuary. The somatic healing from the physical postures helps me immensely, especially since meditation can be challenging as my mind continues to process the loss of my son, four years and three months later. I just can't seem to fully get back into my meditation the way I did before he died, but I keep trying. Yet, entering the sacred space of yoga allows me to breathe through the grief and feel—without judgment. This is pure healing ground. Each practice reminds me that while the pain might never fully disappear, I can learn to approach it with more compassion than the time before. Even if for just 30 seconds longer than I did previously, this is a win. This is the journey of the warrior, keep trying. I truly have to say those words to myself, "...just keep trying. Trying may not be "succeeding", but just keep on trying Jami, you can do this."

For me, Yoga offers a unique kind of healing—one that acknowledges trauma and grief but also invites solace through sharing with others. On the mat, I’m permitted to let the tears fall, release tension, and connect with the breath that sustains me, and looking into the eyes of my yoga students who look deeply into mine with beautiful compassion as if to say, "I am hurting too. Let's honor one another's pain, and celebrate with lovingkindness." Yoga is such a profound practice that teaches resilience and acceptance, and community, helping us navigate the waves of emotions that accompany remembrance, braving this territory while together, so that we can strengthen our resolve while alone.

As I move through this challenging season, yoga grounds me in the present moment. It allows me to honor Judson’s memory with love and try to embrace the full spectrum of my feelings, and sometimes I still get lost in them and have an epic melt-down, and other times I can breathe through them and feel it all. And I have learned it is okay to not be okay. It is okay to have a full meltdown and cry, scream, and be really really angry. And processing grief this way helps me arrive one step closer to healing.

Through yoga, with my wonderful yoga students, my community, my people, I find a way to celebrate Judson's life and the profound impact he continues to have on mine.

For anyone carrying the weight of trauma or grief, yoga can help. It offers a path to healing that doesn’t demand perfection, only presence. Even if for 30 seconds the first time, maybe one minute the next. Yoga encourages us to breathe, move, and find stillness amidst the chaos. In time, even amidst sorrow, we may discover moments of peace and grace.

Big love and huge hugs my fellow Warrior,

Jami

Judson Christopher Hanna, on Graduation Day from the Shasta College Fire Academy, where he won the Leadership Award. I miss him SO much.