A while back, during a Zoom check-in with colleagues, it was my turn to give an update.
“I sleep a lot,” I said simply. But before their smiles turned into elevated eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads, I added, “The good kind. Like when you’re healing after a big accident.”
I went on to tell them it wasn’t quite the same as relaxing sleep. Not invigorating. Definitely restorative.
So today, and because sleep is so crucial to our health, work, and the quality of daily life, I’d like to delve into the many different flavors of sleep—especially as they relate to grief, and to pet grief in particular. For example:
There’s the kind of sleep forced upon you (like when I make my children take naps and fantasize about someone doing the same for me).
Then there’s the kind where you passively drop into bed because there’s not much else to do and another day is right around the corner.
There’s also the sleep where you’re so stretched past your physical limit you don’t even remember your head hitting the pillow.
These are the common ones. Most of us have a mosaic of these throughout our lives.
But then there’s a whole different kind of sleep, the kind where you’ve checked out mentally, emotionally, and physically. Where you really just don’t want to be here because something—grief, usually, or pain, is draining you so fast that you can’t keep up.
So you give up, tuck in, and hope to wake up a year or five later when the nightmare is over.
It’s different from suicidal ideation, because you’re not actively planning your exit. But you do maybe entertain the thought that a massive asteroid plants itself on your house, or that some conveniently airborne biological agents soundlessly creep through the window screens.
I’ve slept that sleep. It is not restful. You wake up feeling heavier than when you started and balk at the idea of wading through another day.
Then there’s the sleep that comes after that agony.
After you’ve weathered the pain and started to heal.
But just as it takes a long time to rebuild when you’ve loved and lost…
So does it take ages to restore your nervous system to balanced and to feel normal and whole again.
This is what I’ve come to call the Grief Sleep Cycle.
The Physical Signs of Grief
We talk often about grief as an emotional experience. The tears, the guilt, the sadness that seems to permeate every pore.
But there’s much less said about what grief does to the body.
The exhaustion I referenced above is different from the ordinary kind of tired. It’s not related to “I didn’t sleep enough” tired. Think of it more as “my entire system is running on backup power and that’s about to combust” kind of tired.
In this strain of tired, food is no longer a means of sustenance, but rather something you avoid entirely—or the flipside, where you immerse yourself in too much of it.
Maybe your immune system gives up and you catch cold after cold.
Your ability to care about things that once seemed important, like locked doors and paid bills, goes missing.
And so sleep either won’t come or won’t stay or is laced with nightmares, and is more draining than reviving.
The Physical Reality of a Broken Heart
Even having been through deep grief and knowing just how unpleasant it is, I find it fascinating to really look at what it does to your body.
First off, there’s the stress response. Significant loss, pet loss included and maybe especially so, triggers a rise in cortisol and an increase in inflammatory markers. Your nervous system goes into high alert and might stay there for weeks or months.
In fact, researchers have documented a whole array of physiological effects in those suffering from loss.
It includes changes in heart rate, blood pressure, immune function, sleep quality, and even a potential hormonal imbalance.
One landmark study identified proof of what’s been labeled “broken heart syndrome,” which is a real, documented increase in cardiac risk in the days immediately following a significant loss.
Meaning the concept of a broken heart is not just metaphorical. It’s physiological and measurable. Your chest aches for a reason.
The loss of the steady, constant presence of an all-loving, ever-welcoming pet can trigger this, no question.
But physical demise following pet loss isn’t imminent, even if it feels and looks like you’re about to crash and burn. According to research published in Psychosomatic Medicine, bereaved individuals who maintained even moderate physical activity showed faster recovery of their immune function.
This was true even when their emotional grief was as equally intense as their physical symptoms.
Think of it as your body needing motion to process loss in ways your mind can’t do on its own.
And while most of the published research on the physical aspects of grief focuses on human bereavement, the grief response in pet loss can activate the same physiological pathways.
Why?
Because your brain doesn’t distinguish between different kinds of love when it comes to loss. Pain is pain. Grief is grief.
Gifts For Your Body
Now back to grief sleep…
When grief has taken up residence in your body and is affecting your sleep, there are small things that can genuinely help. None of these should be considered cures or steps to rush your way through.
Think more along the lines of basic maintenance while your nervous system does the hard work of absorbing the reality of your loss.
Some things that can help you weather grief sleep:
Protein. Go for whatever’s easy. Greek yogurt, nuts, maybe an egg. Protein supplies amino acids that help regulate your blood sugar and produce sleep-promoting brain chemicals. (But how do you eat with no appetite? I get it. Just start with a single bite.)
Water. Crying is more dehydrating than you might realize. And when you’re dehydrated, everything is harder, from focus and mood to pain tolerance and sleep. Take it one sip at a time. Try a water enhancer or water flavor drops.
Light movement. As mentioned above, it’s a way to move the grief out of your body. The less cortisol you’re carrying, the better you’ll sleep. I’m a big fan of long walks with sunshine on my face.
Sunshine. And speaking of, morning light has a documented effect on cortisol regulation and sleep quality. Since grief messes up both, counteract it with a fifteen-minute walk in the morning. It’s okay to go slow. It’s okay to cry the whole time.
Consider This Permission to Lower Every Bar
Also, don’t look for a quick fix. Grief, like healing after a big accident, takes time to wade through. (And believe me, I understand how aggravating this can be if your life requires efficiency and effectiveness and it’s hard-hard-hard to stop and take time for yourself.)
The first goal is to get past the zombie sleep where you’d rather not wake up.
The second goal is to let yourself sleep as much as your body asks.
This means you’re allowed to cancel plans, to not volunteer or say yes to anything, to eat as simply as possible, to let the house go to pot, to ignore the to-do lists…
And to just allow yourself to work toward healing. Hopefully while sleeping. 💗