'I lost my brother when I was 4. 28 years later, I got the worst phone call of my life.'

This story discusses suicide. 

Sam wasn't just my big brother. He was the very definition of a safe space. Not only my mate and my rock, but also my biggest cheerleader who actively encouraged me to grow and step into the unknown. 

From Tasmania to Perth, to Melbourne and back to Tassie again, we followed each other across the country. Sometimes share housing together, sometimes living separately. But always connected. His friends were my friends and vice versa. On more than one occasion, a friend awkwardly confessed to a cheeky fling with my charismatic and charming brother. 

So when I got the call that he had died by suicide at 34, life changed in an instant. It was completely unexpected. I felt like I was falling as my world bottomed out from underneath me. In the following weeks, I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, crippled by persistent stomach cramps that felt like they'd never go away.  

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Now I can recognise it as a deep and profound shock but at the time it felt like I didn't know what home was anymore. 

My parents were, and still are, fantastic. But a sibling is the person who gets you. Who gets your family and all their quirks. Who has been there from day one. Often a sibling understands you like no one else and without Sam, I didn't know who I was in the world or where to turn to for comfort. 

Grief is the ultimate paradox. It’s harder to put into words once you've experienced it. In hindsight, it's a period of extreme transformation, the harshest way of life letting you know that everything you knew will never be the same.

But on some level, I recognised the pain. This has happened to me before. 

When I was four, my little brother Luke died of SIDS. He was only eight weeks old. As a preschooler, I didn't have the language or the memory to make sense of the tragedy that had befallen my family. But my body knew. 

Children don't store traumatic experiences as memories. They store them as feelings. I didn't know it at the time but following Sam's death, I'd also have to unpack losing Luke all those years ago.  

Up until this point, I'd been a high achiever. I'd completed two degrees, cycled up France's steepest mountains, completed triathlons, and started my own physiotherapy business at 28. I was known for saying 'I can do this.'

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But grit, stoicism and collecting accomplishment wouldn’t help here. I needed to work with this pain in a different way. I needed to process what was happening. And start the long process of healing.  

So three weeks after Sam died, I booked a one way ticket to the US.

I'd worked as a physio for over a decade. Over time, I'd become more interested in the mind-body connection and was becoming increasingly convinced that treating my patients' physical symptoms was only half of the story.  

I'd closed my clinic three weeks before Sam died with the intention of completing a certification in mindful meditation that looked at the connection between the body and the brain.

Then Sam died, and it only strengthened my resolve to take this next step.

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Over the next two years, I'd study under Tara Brach and Jack Kornfield in the US, find myself in France, overwhelmed by sadness, isolation and insomnia, googling 'grief retreat' in a moment of desperation and attending a silent retreat where I'd kick start the process of helping my brain comes to terms with losing Sam and Luke. 

I met amazing people. Only after the silent retreat came to an end did I discover the woman I'd been sharing a room with for two weeks had also lost a brother. Others had lost children, spouses and friends. They all understood that while navigating grief, it's not necessarily about what you say but about being with others that will help you through it. 

I learnt so much about the grieving process. How at first it feels like a tsunami, an overpowering force that won't allow you to come up for air. But gradually there are breaks between the waves that get longer and longer. And while the waves never completely disappear, they don't consume you like they once did. 

I also started the training in neuroscience, neuroplasticity, interoception and vagus nerve regulation that would mark the shift from traditional physiotherapy to a broader focus on the nervous system. 

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Once I came back to Australia, most of my patients were in a state of nervous system dysregulation. 

They were experiencing everything from grief and trauma to feelings of powerlessness and burnout. Their emotional distress was manifesting in intense physical symptoms such as gut issues and chronic pain.  

So much conventional wisdom focuses on either the body or the brain at the expense of the other. My training in interoception concentrated on the link between the two. By helping patients recognise that pain in the mind and body are one and the same, they could play an active role in their healing. 

This often looked like observing physical sensations in the body (heat in the chest, clammy palms, restlessness) and recognising the coinciding emotions like anxiety, anger or shutdown. Then we could work together to develop strategies such as breathing exercises, dietary changes or massage, to realign their nervous system. 

What I wish everyone knew about grief and stress

What I do know is that while no two experiences are the same, everyone will experience grief, trauma or stress at some stage. It's the price we pay for living a wholehearted life. So we need to be ok with this. And develop the tools that will help see us through the tough times. 

The biggest tool in our arsenal is our relationships. We think resilience is about being strong but it's about being connected with others when times are hard. By building community with people who have your back and can tune into your emotional state, you’re able to access the regulated state needed to process difficult emotions. 

And by raising awareness of what's happening in your body, you can feel empowered to ask for the support you need. Ultimately, if you want to feel different, it's about connecting with your body.  

These days I don't practise as a physio. Instead, I offer teach people all over the world how to regulate and repair the nervous system. It's my life’s work, the result of losing two brothers and coming out the other side. 

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Navigating the nervous system

• Dorsal vagal state: characterised by 'freeze' and 'flop'. You may feel numb, exhausted and have trouble getting off the couch. 
• Sympathetic state: energy is mobilised into feelings of anxiety, anger and overwhelm. You might feel like the on button is jammed. Spending prolonged periods in a sympathetic state can lead to physical pain, gut issues, insomnia. 
• Regulated state: you feel calm and in control. You can tolerate and observe your emotions and bodily sensations and make decisions in line with your values. You feel safe and social, open for connection with others.

Jessica Maguire is a former physiotherapist, educator, author of the Nervous System Reset, TEDx speaker and mother on a mission to free people from nervous system dysregulation and all its painful side effects.

If you think you may be experiencing depression or another mental health problem, please contact your general practitioner. If you're based in Australia, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14 or beyondblue on 1300 22 4636. 

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