Ending the Old, Embracing the Shift: When the Project Ends but the Body Remembers.

Right now, I am in Krakow on a rainy day, watching the rain outside my window. After a year of coming every month to work, to create, to learn, and, most profoundly, to participate in Family Constellation work—the very heart of my research MA project—I find myself in a space of deep reflection. The coming weekend will be the last of this chapter, a goodbye to a time that has influenced me deeply.

The emotional weight of sadness and loss has come to me gently but insistently. I am holding this space with intention, staying open to what wants to emerge rather than rushing past it.

I am staying not far from the Plac Bohaterów Getta (Ghetto Heroes Square) in Krakow, a place heavy with history and memory. Its presence feels connected — a reminder that endings, like this city’s stories, hold the power to teach us how to carry grief and transformation with grace.

This place, this moment, this rain—they anchor me as I begin to listen—to really listen—to the shifts unfolding within and around me.

While travelling, in these reflective moments, I am also reading When the Body Says No by Gabor Maté, a profound exploration of how our bodies reveal the hidden consequences of emotional repression.

This blog is born here, in this here-and-now, rooted in the tenderness and living through endings and beginnings.

Ending the Old, Embracing the Shift

You’ve just crossed the finish line of something that consumed you—a project, a relationship, a stage, a chapter. Maybe it was your creative endeavour, or an intense emotional process like family constellation work. You loved it, lived it, breathed it. You poured your mind, heart, and body into it until it became more than just “work”—it became part of you.

And now it’s over.

So what happens when the rush stops? When the structure that held your focus, your energy, your identity, dissolves? Why does the end feel less like a celebration and more like an ache — in your muscles, your chest, your very core? Why does the mind keep racing, and the body still hold the echoes of that fierce investment?

Because endings aren’t neat. They’re messy, liminal spaces where you’re neither here nor there. You don’t just let go—you have to un-learn how you held yourself, how you saw yourself. You feel tired. Your body might ache. You might find yourself pacing the edges of restlessness and grief.

My project has just finished, a journey I was deeply immersed in. Over these years, I also engaged deeply with family constellation work—emotionally charged, raw, transformative—and as this chapter closes, the intertwined weight of mind and body feels deeply clear.

But here’s the thing: this isn’t about being stuck. It’s about the work of transition.

You might not have a ritual to mark this ending as cultures do with death or loss, but isn’t that all the more reason to create your own? To give yourself permission to pause, to honour whatever is there and needs attention, the fatigue and the ache, to mourn not just after something is gone, but while it ends?

Consider this: in Polish, there is a saying — "żalobę trzeba dożyć" — you have to live through your mourning fully. What if we applied that wisdom to every significant ending—whether it’s the completion of a thesis, a relationship, or a way of being? To fully live the grief, the letting go, the unlearning, so the new can truly take root?

So here’s the question for you, the one that disrupts the easy narrative: How do you show up for yourself in the spaces between the old identity and the new? How do you respect the body’s wisdom when it aches to tell you that it’s tired of carrying this change alone?

This isn’t a call to rush forward or to stay stuck. It’s a hand extended toward the middle part—the pause that allows you to feel, to release, and to prepare to step into what’s next. Because of that pause... It’s not a weakness, a seatback or doubt. It’s an act of strength... and then next will emerge from within... always does if you are willing to wait... and listen to.

As I passed Plac Bohaterów Getta in Krakow, the 70 empty chairs quietly held the weight of absence and history. Their silence was profound—a stillness that spoke louder than words. Around me, life moved—cars, trams, people flowing through the square—but in stark contrast, the chairs stood with unwavering stillness. Amidst this living motion, I was deeply moved by that powerful silence.

Embodied Practices to Support the Shift

Ending something big often leaves the body holding tension the mind can’t easily resolve. After intense focus or emotional work, your body may ache, your muscles may feel tight, and restless energy may build. Here are three simple ways to support yourself physically and emotionally through this:

• Deep breathing exercises: Slow, diaphragmatic breathing—inhale through your nose for 4 seconds, exhale through your mouth for 6 seconds—helps recalibrate the nervous system (activates the parasympathetic one) and release stored tension.

• Gentle movement and stretch: Slow, intentional stretches focused on the neck, shoulders, back, and hips can alleviate tightness and signal the body to relax.

• Mindful body scanning: Sit quietly and gently notice where you hold tension, any emotions, without judgment. Let the breath soften those areas. This practice reconnects you with your body’s messages, inviting natural release.

This process is not simply about finishing something but living its ending—acknowledging the physical and emotional echoes it leaves in your system. Your story is not just what you achieved, but how you hold yourself through the transformation.

Does this resonate with you? How do you hold yourself when endings feel like loss? How do you create space for your body and soul in these transitions?

Ku moiemu zyciu.

Gosia Miernik