Peeps...

My trauma yoga journey has come to an end, and I wasn't quite prepared for how sad I would feel walking out of that final session.

Somewhere over these past seven weeks, Tuesday evenings became more than yoga. They became a space to breathe, to reflect, to heal, and to simply be. Letting go of that routine feels like saying goodbye to a chapter that quietly changed me.

It is difficult to put into words what this journey has done for me. Nothing dramatic happened overnight. There wasn't a single moment where everything suddenly felt better. Instead, the changes have been quiet—almost invisible. My thoughts feel less tangled. My shoulders don't carry quite as much tension. I breathe before I react. I notice when my body begins to brace itself, and I now know how to gently bring myself back to calm.

My body is slowly beginning to relax, and although my heart still breaks from time to time, I find that the pain now carries meaning. It gives me purpose. It reminds me that love never disappears—it simply changes shape. That purpose gives me the courage to keep moving forward, even on the hardest days.

Tuesday also marked nine months since Paige left us.

Nine months.

Somehow, that number felt heavier than I expected. Time continues moving forward, even when part of your heart still longs to remain where your child was. There are no words that truly capture that feeling. You simply learn to carry it.

Adding to the emotional weight of the day, my mother-in-law became ill with pneumonia. Her oxygen levels were low, but she was determined not to go to hospital. She came to stay with us so we could keep a close eye on her.

Having her with us wasn't a burden—it was simply an adjustment. We had just become accustomed to being three, and suddenly our household was four again. Together, as a family, we cared for her, monitored her closely, and thankfully managed to keep her safe and out of hospital.

Despite everything the day carried, Tuesday evening was also our final Trauma Yoga session.

Our final chakra.

The Crown Chakra.

Crown Chakra — Sahasrara

Our final session focused on the Crown Chakra, or Sahasrara.

Located at the very top of the head, it represents our connection to something greater than ourselves—spiritual awareness, wisdom, clarity, and peace. Its colour is violet, symbolising transcendence, enlightenment, and unity. Rather than encouraging control, the Crown Chakra gently reminds us that peace often comes through openness, trust, and surrender.

The affirmations we worked with were:

• I am connected to the divine source of the universe.

• I trust the guidance of my higher self.

More than any other session, this one invited me to let go. Not to give up—but to stop fighting every emotion that came my way. To breathe. To trust. To simply exist without needing every answer.

The session felt incredibly calming.

Exactly what I needed after such an emotionally draining day.

For the first time in a long while, I felt my entire body relax.

We drove home mostly in silence, each of us reflecting on the journey we had just completed. As I looked out of the window, I realised something had shifted inside me.

Questions that had circled endlessly through my mind suddenly felt quieter. Not because I had found every answer, but because I no longer felt the need to chase them.

There was clarity.

There was peace.

There was simply enough.

It was rejuvenating—if that is even the right word.

The week itself remained incredibly challenging.

Alongside caring for my mother-in-law, we also received Paige's final autopsy report.

I wasn't quite prepared for how deeply it would affect me.

Seeing her life reduced to clinical words reopened wounds I thought had begun to scar. It reminded me that grief doesn't always arrive loudly. Sometimes it comes folded inside an envelope.

Our whole family felt the weight of it.

I could see Lincoln carrying more than he knew how to express.

He tried so hard to be brave.

Then one evening, he quietly admitted that he felt like he was drowning. That the sadness had become heavier. That he didn't fully understand what he was feeling anymore.

For the first time, he asked if he could speak to someone.

We acted immediately, reaching out to our psychologist.

We are now beginning a new chapter with him—one that supports him gently, without overwhelming him.

Many people forget that children and siblings grieve too.

Their grief often looks different.

Sometimes it appears as silence.
Sometimes as anger.
Sometimes as withdrawal.
Sometimes as simply trying to grow up too quickly.

This deserves a blog of its own, but for now I will say this...

We have never forced Lincoln to talk.

We have simply created a safe place for him to speak when he was ready.

Nine months later...
He was ready.

And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

Too many boys are taught that showing emotion is weakness.

The truth is quite the opposite.

One of the bravest things Lincoln has done all year was simply say,

"Mom... I think I need help."

That wasn't weakness.

That was courage.

He doesn't need sugar-coated words.

He needs honesty.

He needs guidance from someone who understands how to support a fourteen-year-old boy through unimaginable grief.

And now...

He is asking for it.

To me, that feels like hope.

Since completing the yoga journey, I find myself automatically breathing and grounding whenever difficult situations arise.

The practices have become part of me without me even noticing.

Because I have experienced such peace and clarity, when Lincoln opened his heart to me I immediately began creating something I hope will become one of the greatest gifts I can ever give him.

A Journal.

Not about grief.
About Paige.
About Lincoln.
About us.

It isn't a self-help book.

It isn't a guide to healing.

It is a collection of memories, stories, photographs, laughter, and moments that deserve to live on.

A place where he can meet his sister again decades from now.

There will also be space for him to write—to remember, to reflect, to ask questions, and perhaps one day to answer them.

My hope is to complete it before we reach the one-year mark.

On Saturday, 1 August, we gave Lincoln something deeply meaningful—an anchor to Paige. A tangible reminder that his sister will always remain part of his life and that his connection with her can never be taken away.

Something remarkable happened.

Almost immediately, some of the heaviness lifted.

For a little while, he stopped carrying the weight of grief and simply became fourteen again.

He laughed.
He smiled.
He relaxed.

He has also shared this yoga journey with me, and although the changes are subtle, I can see them.

Perhaps others would simply call it maturity.

Some may even call it magic.

As both his mother and a yoga teacher, I see something different.

I see awareness.
I see a young boy learning to notice his breath.
His body.
His thoughts.
And slowly learning that all three work together.

For me, the journey has brought similar changes.

Small, quiet shifts that gently whisper,

"That was the trauma yoga."

Each chakra offered its own lesson.

Grounding.
Creativity.
Strength.
Compassion.
Truth.
Clarity.
Transcendence.

Together they have helped me breathe more deeply, think more clearly, and carry both grief and love at the same time.

Looking back now, I realise this journey was never simply about learning yoga.

It was about learning myself again.

For years I have been the teacher.

The one guiding others through movement.

Encouraging them to trust their bodies.

Reminding them that healing takes time.

Yet over these past seven weeks...

I became the student.

I learned to slow down instead of rushing ahead.

I learned that stillness can be just as powerful as movement.

I learned that healing isn't measured by how little you cry, but by your willingness to keep showing up.

Most importantly...

I learned that teachers never stop learning.

Sometimes the greatest lessons come when we are brave enough to sit quietly on the mat and simply begin again.

If you ever find yourself needing grounding...

If you need permission to feel happy, sad, angry, numb, or simply overwhelmed...

Please know that you don't have to walk that road alone.

Reach out.
Connect with me.

If I cannot help you directly, I will gladly guide you toward someone who can.

Dale created a space where every emotion was welcome, every breath had purpose, and every session gently reminded us that healing doesn't need to be rushed.

His guidance has changed me more than I can adequately express.

Because of this journey, I now find myself excited about dreams, possibilities, and adventures that once felt impossible.

Not because I miss Paige any less.

But because I am finally learning that I can carry both profound grief and genuine happiness in the same heart.

Dedication to Paige

This journey, from Root to Crown, has been walked with Paige in my heart.

Every breath.
Every posture.
Every moment of stillness carried her presence.

Though she is no longer here in living form, she has remained my constant companion through every chakra, every lesson, and every quiet moment of reflection.

This blog—and the healing it reflects—is dedicated to her.

My beautiful girl.
My guiding light.
The reason I continue to seek peace, clarity, and love.

Epilogue — From Root to Crown

As I look back on this journey, I can see that each chakra offered me a gift.

A lesson that gently carried me through grief, healing, and transformation.

Root Chakra taught me grounding. Even when my world felt unstable, I found safety in my breath and in the earth beneath my feet.

Sacral Chakra reminded me of creativity and joy. It allowed me to soften, to feel, and to rediscover the parts of myself that had been quietly waiting to emerge again.

Solar Plexus Chakra taught me strength and personal power. It showed me that resilience isn't about never breaking; it's about finding the courage to rise again.

Heart Chakra opened me to love and compassion. It reminded me that grief and love are not opposites—they exist together.

Throat Chakra gave me truth and expression. It showed me that while silence can sometimes heal, speaking our truth can also set us free.

Third Eye Chakra brought clarity and intuition. It taught me to trust the quiet wisdom that often whispers long before it shouts.

Crown Chakra invited me into surrender, stillness, and connection. It reminded me that peace often begins the moment we stop trying to control everything.

Together, these seven lessons formed a circle.

They grounded me.
Opened me.
Strengthened me.
Softened me.
Clarified me.
And finally...
Connected me.

This journey did not erase grief.

It did not take away the pain of losing Paige.

But it gave me something just as valuable.

It gave me the tools to carry both love and loss.

To breathe through the hardest days.

To find moments of peace.

To believe that healing is not forgetting—it is learning to keep living while carrying love with you.

It has also given quiet gifts to my family.

Lincoln found the courage to speak.

Our family discovered a resilience we didn't know we possessed.

And together we have learned that healing doesn't always happen in extraordinary moments.

Sometimes it happens over coffee.

Sometimes during a conversation.

Sometimes while laughing with old friends.

On Sunday, Lincoln and I spent time with Paige's best friend and her mom—friends we have known for thirteen years.

We bowled.
We had coffee.
We talked.

What touched me most wasn't what we did.

It was watching Lincoln simply be himself again.

Grounded.
Safe.
Free to laugh.

Perhaps it was the yoga journey.

Perhaps it was the comfort of lifelong friendship.

Perhaps it was both.

For the first time in a very long time, we spent time with friends without pressure, without burden, and without heartbreak taking centre stage.

We simply breathed.

We simply lived.

That afternoon reminded me that healing is found not only on the yoga mat, but also in the gentle return of ordinary joy.

The chakras became more than lessons from yoga.

They became milestones in my healing.

Gentle reminders that healing is layered, deeply personal, and always ongoing.

Although this series has come to an end,
the journey itself continues.

One breath.
One movement.
One week at a time.

Be gentle with yourself.

With love, Gala‑Jean Howes 💗

My mantra remains: “Movement creates momentum.” Even the smallest step forward is a victory.

“Karate for courage, Pilates for stability, Yoga for peace — together, they carry me, and perhaps they can carry you too.”