600 Days of Sadhana: How Grief Became My Greatest Teacher

Yesterday, I reached a milestone that feels both deeply personal and quietly universal: 600 days of sadhana.

Six hundred days of showing up.

Six hundred days of breathing, moving, feeling, unraveling, and rebuilding.

What began as a fragile attempt to hold myself together after the passing of my grandmother has become something much more profound. It is no longer just a practice. It is a rhythm. A ritual. A way of being.

And as I’ve sat with this milestone, reflecting on the journey, it has come with many tears. Not just sadness, but reverence. Gratitude. Awe.

Because 600 days of sadhana also means it has been 615 days since my grandmother passed… and 616 days since I last held her hand.

Where It Began: Grief, Love, and the First 40 Days

In her final days, I was by her bedside.

We shared stories, recipes, laughter, and tears. The kind of conversations that feel like weaving threads between worlds. The day before she passed, I stayed with her through the night, holding her hand, singing softly as she began her transition.

I knew the end was near.

It was beautiful. And devastating.

That devastation still lives in my bones.

But it was also an honor.

After she passed, I struggled. Grief arrived not as a single emotion, but as a storm. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Frustration. Waves that didn’t ask permission before crashing through me.

So I made a decision.

I committed to a 40-day sadhana. Just 40 days to give myself space. To sit with my grief instead of running from it. To breathe when I didn’t know how.

Those 40 days quietly turned into 600.

What Sadhana Became

There is no single way my practice looks.

Some days are strong, fiery, and full of movement. A vigorous kundalini flow that shakes something loose inside me.

Some days are soft. Gentle. Yin.

Some days I lie still in yoga nidra, floating somewhere between waking and dreaming.

But every single day, I show up.

That is the practice.

Not perfection. Not intensity. Not discipline in the rigid sense.

Just showing up.

Over time, I’ve learned to listen. To really listen. To my body, my breath, my nervous system. I’ve learned that what I need changes daily, and honoring that is where the magic lives.

The Inner Landscape: Mind, Memory, and Transformation

Across these 600 days, I have watched my mind shift like weather.

Some days clear and expansive.
Some days heavy and storm-filled.

I’ve moved through layers of repressed experiences I didn’t even know I was holding. Memories resurfacing. Emotions asking to be felt instead of buried.

It has been challenging.

It has been beautiful.

It has been, in every sense, deeply tantric. A full-spectrum experience of being human.

Not bypassing the hard parts, but breathing through them.

A Quiet Moment That Changed Everything

The night before my 600th day, I was lying next to my daughter.

She was struggling to sleep, so I held her hand, just as I once held my grandmother’s.

And in that stillness, something opened.

I realized how time had folded in on itself.

How grief and love were intertwined in the same gesture.

How the act of holding a hand could exist across generations, across beginnings and endings.

And in that moment, my sadhana didn’t feel like something I do.

It felt like something that holds me.

Carrying Grief, Becoming Stronger

I once read that grief is like carrying a heavy stone.

The stone never gets lighter.
But over time, you grow stronger from carrying it.

That resonates deeply.

My grief hasn’t disappeared. It hasn’t softened into something small.

But through this practice, I have strengthened my body, my mind, and my spirit in a way that allows me to carry it.

Not just the grief of losing my grandmother, but all the grief I hold.

Sadhana has become my way of transmuting. Of alchemizing. Of continuing my evolution instead of becoming stuck in the weight.

A Practice of Falling Apart and Coming Home

This daily ritual has become something I look forward to.

It is:

• A time to reconnect with myself

• A space to transform

• A container where I can fall apart

• And a place where I gently put myself back together

I am far from perfect.

I still struggle. I still get lost.

But this practice has softened me. Opened me. It has given me a deeper compassion for the human experience, not just my own, but everyone’s.

This Story Isn’t Just Mine

I don’t share this to impress or to suggest I’ve reached some state of enlightenment.

This isn’t about that.

And honestly, it isn’t even about me.

It’s about all of us.

We all carry something.
We all experience grief.
We all lose our way at times.

Sadhana, in whatever form it takes, is simply a path back to yourself.

Your Path Might Look Different

Maybe your sadhana isn’t yoga.

Maybe it’s walking. Running. Lifting. Pilates.

Maybe it’s sitting quietly with your breath for five minutes.

Maybe it is yoga. There are so many variations, so many entry points.

The form doesn’t matter as much as the intention.

Consistency. Presence. Willingness.

There is immense power in these ancient practices. Not because they fix you, but because they remind you that you were never broken.

600 Days Later

I often wonder if I would have started this journey if my grandmother hadn’t passed.

I don’t know.

But what I do know is this:

Now, this feels like time I get to spend with her.

I feel her in my breath. In my movement. In the stillness.

She is woven into this practice.

And in a way, she always will be.

If you’re feeling the pull to begin, or to return to yourself in some way, follow it.

Start small. Start messy. Just start.

And if you need guidance, support, or someone to walk alongside you, I’m here.

After all… I have a couple hundred days of experience now.