Mindful Minute: Finding the Sun Behind the April Clouds: Navigating Grief
By Koryn Sheppard
April reminds us of the proverb that “April showers bring May flowers.” In our personal and professional lives, however, the “rainy seasons” are rarely so predictable or brief. For many in high-pressure fields like the legal profession, there is an unspoken expectation to remain an immovable pillar of logic and strength, regardless of the emotional weather outside. But as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once wrote, “Into each life some rain must fall,” and for those navigating a sudden deluge of loss—losing multiple loved ones in a short span—the weight of that rain can feel less like a shower and more like a permanent storm.
This topic is deeply personal for me this April, as I have recently lost three close relatives in a very short timeframe. This experience has been a stark reminder that “resilience” requires that we acknowledge our own humanity and vulnerability, even—and especially—when our professional environment expects us to be at our most analytical and composed.
From a physiological perspective, the “rainy days” of profound sadness are not just a state of mind; they are a systemic biological event. Science shows that acute grief activates the body’s “threat response,” flooding the system with cortisol and putting a significant strain on the cardiovascular system. Research from institutions like the University of Arizona has highlighted that bereavement can lead to a measurable drop in immune cell activity, making us more susceptible to illness just when we most need our strength. In the high-stakes environment of law, where deadlines and mental loads are heavy, trying to “power through” this biological state without acknowledgment can lead to burnout and extreme emotional stress.
A strategy to manage an emotional climate is known in psychology as “Radical Acceptance.” This doesn’t mean liking the situation or surrendering to despair; rather, it is the practice of acknowledging the reality of your pain without judgment or resistance. When we fight our sadness—telling ourselves we “should” be over it or that we “must” stay productive—we create a secondary layer of suffering. Some may recognize this as the “second arrow” in Buddhist philosophy. The initial pain of loss is often described as the “first arrow”—an unavoidable event that causes suffering. However, we often strike ourselves with a “second arrow” by judging our grief, telling ourselves we should be “stronger” or “more productive.” This secondary arrow is the emotional tax we pay when we resist our own reality. Self-criticism can significantly worsen the biological toll of stress.
On the other hand, accepting that you are in a season of “rain” allows you to adjust your expectations and resources. For a legal professional, this might look like delegating non-essential tasks or being honest with colleagues about a reduced capacity for a time. It is a biological necessity to allow you to oscillate between processing the loss and focusing on “restoration” tasks like work or routine, giving your brain much-needed breaks from the intensity of the storm.
Ultimately, the most vital lesson of April is that no season is permanent. As the cult classic film The Crowpoignantly reminds us, “it can’t rain all the time.” Or, as my Father frequently reminds me via an ancient Persian adage: This too shall pass. (Admittedly, it might pass like a kidney stone.) This adage serves not to minimize our current pain, but to remind our nervous system that emotions are transient by nature.
Resilience is not about avoiding getting wet; it’s about learning how to stay buoyant until the clouds inevitably break. By maintaining small, grounding routines—like a consistent sleep schedule or five minutes of mindful breathing—you provide your nervous system with the “anchors” it needs to regulate itself. These tiny acts of self-preservation are the seeds that will eventually bloom into a new sense of peace, even if the landscape of your life has been permanently changed by the storm.
To help you navigate your own internal weather this month, our wellness subcommittee encourages you to practice the art of noticing “flowers”—those small, micro-moments of peace or beauty that exist even in the midst of a heavy season. While the legal profession often trains us to look for risks and potential problems, this challenge asks you to intentionally look for the “flowers” blooming in the storm: a quiet moment of reflection, the physical comfort of a warm meal, or a brief, genuine connection with a colleague. Scientifically, this intentional focus helps regulate the nervous system by signaling to the brain that, despite the current hardship, there are still pockets of safety and nourishment. This practice doesn’t wash away the rain, but it provides the vital perspective needed to sustain your spirit and protect your health until the sun returns. Personally, I had a moment like this amid the family grief, and it soothed my soul’s ache and inspired a new family tradition. This “flower” was born from the “rain” of loss and it made all the difference.
