Fear and grief are often seen as emotions to avoid—overwhelming forces that can paralyze us or push us into isolation. Yet, for many, they arrive together, particularly in the wake of profound loss. Clinical counselor Claire Bidwell Smith gave voice to this connection in her book Anxiety: The Missing Stage of Grief, highlighting what many already know in their bones: that fear is not just a byproduct of loss, but a central feature.

This truth is deeply felt by Myra Sack, who lost her daughter Javi to Tay-Sachs disease. In a recent conversation on the Fear Less podcast, Myra shared how she has navigated fear—not by resisting it, but by walking straight through it. Her story is not just one of survival, but of transformation, and of building a life that holds love, movement, ritual, and community in tandem with loss.

From Joy to Terror: The Arc of Anxiety

When Javi was born, Myra and her husband were overwhelmed with awe and joy—but, as many parents do, they also felt a creeping fear: Will we be enough? What if something happens? These quiet anxieties soon became embodied—tightness in Myra’s chest, heaviness in her legs—as Javi began missing developmental milestones. Then, at 15 months, came the devastating diagnosis: Tay-Sachs, a fatal genetic disorder. Terror replaced uncertainty.

But even in that unthinkable moment, Myra found a sliver of clarity: fear is not who we are—it’s something we feel. It can be engaged with, not simply endured. That realization became a turning point in her healing.

Movement: Rhythm as Regulation

In the months and years after Javi’s passing, Myra turned to movement—not just for fitness, but as a healing practice. Influenced by the work of Dr. Bruce Perry, she embraced rhythmic, patterned activity as a way to regulate her nervous system and reconnect with her body. Running became meditative, even sacred. She noticed the purple flowers that reminded her of Javi.

Through her nonprofit, E-Motion, Myra now offers grief cohorts centered around movement. Participants engage in gentle exercise alongside communal rituals, allowing them to process grief in a “dosed” way—bit by bit, rather than all at once.

This concept of graduated exposure resonates with approaches used at Mountain Valley Treatment Center, where rhythmic, repetitive movement is a foundational strategy in supporting anxious nervous systems. Whether in trauma, OCD, or general anxiety, small and intentional steps into discomfort build resilience without overwhelming.

Ritual: Anchors in a Shifting World

When Javi could no longer eat her favorite blueberries, Myra adapted—first into pancakes, then smoothies. After Javi’s death, making a blueberry smoothie each morning became her ritual. Not a performance, not a distraction—just an act of remembrance.

Rituals, Myra reminds us, create order in the chaos. They offer a sense of agency and allow space for pain. From lighting candles to journaling or even breathing exercises, these small acts can tether us to meaning, especially when the world feels unrecognizable.

At the same time, ritual must be used mindfully. In anxiety and OCD, rituals can become compulsions, offering only temporary relief while reinforcing distress. The challenge lies in choosing rituals that serve healing rather than avoidance.

Community: Holding Pain Together

One of Myra’s deepest insights is that grief should not—and cannot—be carried alone. The groups she leads through E-Motion begin with participants naming their loved ones aloud, then moving together in shared space. There is no hierarchy of grief, no pressure to perform. Just presence, compassion, and what she calls “psychological Teflon”—a shared belief in each other’s pain and memory.

This idea is just as important in the world of anxiety treatment. Peer support and connection are vital for recovery. Whether in therapy groups, school settings, or informal circles, the message is the same: You are not alone. Your story matters. We’re here with you.

Love That Outshines Fear

Despite their loss, Myra and her husband chose to grow their family. During the pregnancy with their second daughter, Kaia, fear returned—this time in the form of “future-telling stories.” What if it happens again? What if we can’t survive it?

Rather than push those fears away, they learned to acknowledge them and gently return to the present. They discovered that love—though vulnerable, though risky—was worth it.

“The love can be bigger than the fear… the risk of losing again is worth it, because the possibility of loving big is more motivating.”

A Practice of Presence

Myra’s story isn’t one of resolution or tidy closure. It’s about movement through grief, and a deepening into life’s complexities. Her journey invites us all to ask:

  • How can I move with purpose today? Feel the rhythm of your breath, your feet, the earth beneath you.

  • What ritual can I create or reclaim? Something small but meaningful—a daily act of love or remembrance.

  • Who can I walk beside—or ask to walk with me? Reach out, even if just to be heard.

Grief and fear will visit us all. But as Myra’s life shows, they can also become doorways—into presence, connection, and even profound joy.

🎧 Listen to the full conversation with Myra Sack on the Fear Less podcast: Embracing Fear and Grief