The Be Worthy Studio - Grief & Loss

The Be Worthy Studio - Grief & Loss For anyone navigating grief & loss. To be held, find ground and slowly find your way back to yourself. You don’t have to carry this alone.

Hosted by Becca Worthington | The Be Worthy Studio 🌿

Whose values are you living from? Yours? Or the ones you inherited without ever being asked? ❖ The Compass Within Values...
20/06/2026

Whose values are you living from?

Yours?

Or the ones you inherited without ever being asked?

❖ The Compass Within Values Workshop

The Tool — Sitting With ItFor a long time I couldn’t do this. Not because I didn’t know how — because I was too afraid.I...
19/06/2026

The Tool — Sitting With It

For a long time I couldn’t do this. Not because I didn’t know how — because I was too afraid.
I thought if I really let myself feel it, I wouldn’t survive it.

But here’s what I’ve learned. Slowly. Over eleven years and multiple losses.

The pain that you sit with moves through you. The pain that you run from stays.

Feeling it — really feeling it, in your body, in your chest, in your throat — is not weakness. It is the bravest thing you can do in grief.
So on the hard days. The birthdays. The anniversaries. The ordinary Tuesdays that ambush you from nowhere.

Give it space.

Journal it. Cry it. Scream it into a pillow if you need to.
And then notice — slowly, gradually — how it moves.

Because grief is love. And love always needs somewhere to go.

Sometimes it just needs a hell of a lot more space than we ever imagined.

What’s helping you make space for it today? Share below if you feel to — this is a safe place. 💙

It’s like my glasses finally have the right prescription.”That’s what a client said to me once, at the end of our work t...
17/06/2026

It’s like my glasses finally have the right prescription.”

That’s what a client said to me once, at the end of our work together.

She described it as walking around for years with the wrong lenses in — everything slightly blurred, slightly off. She could function. She could get through the days. But nothing was quite in focus. Life felt foggy in a way she couldn’t fully explain, even to herself.
And then, slowly, something shifted.

The mist cleared. The prescription changed. And she could see again — herself, her life, what she wanted, what she needed — with a clarity she hadn’t felt in a long time.

I’ve never forgotten that. Because it captures something that’s so hard to put into words: grief and loss don’t just hurt. They distort. They cloud the lens through which you see everything — your future, your identity, your sense of what’s even possible for you now.

The work I do isn’t about handing you a new pair of glasses. It’s about sitting with you while you find your own prescription. The one that’s true to who you are now, and who you’re becoming.

If your vision has felt blurred for a while, maybe it’s time to wipe the lens.

I have space for new clients. Send me a message or find the link in my bio to find out more about grief coaching with me.

The skill is to sit with itFor a long time I couldn’t do this. Not because I didn’t know how — because I was too afraid....
15/06/2026

The skill is to sit with it

For a long time I couldn’t do this. Not because I didn’t know how — because I was too afraid.

I thought if I really let myself feel it, I wouldn’t survive it.

But here’s what I’ve learned. Slowly. Over eleven years and multiple losses.

The pain that you sit with moves through you. The pain that you run from stays.

Feeling it — really feeling it, in your body, in your chest, in your throat — is not weakness. It is the bravest thing you can do in grief.

So on the hard days. The birthdays. The anniversaries. The ordinary Tuesdays that ambush you from nowhere.

Give it space.

Journal it. Cry it. Scream it into a pillow if you need to.

And then notice — slowly, gradually — how it moves.

Because grief is love. And love always needs somewhere to go.

Sometimes it just needs a hell of a lot more space than we ever imagined.

What’s helping you make space for it today? Share below if you feel to — this is a safe place. 💙

I'm Becca, a grief & life coach, and meditation teacher based in Headcorn.I support adults through loss, life transition...
14/06/2026

I'm Becca, a grief & life coach, and meditation teacher based in Headcorn.
I support adults through loss, life transitions, and those moments when life just feels too heavy to carry alone. My work blends coaching, breathwork, EFT, somatic practices, and nervous system regulation into something that actually meets you where you are — not where you think you should be.

Grief in particular is close to my heart. I know from my own experience that it doesn't have a timeline — and that the right support can make all the difference. I offer one-to-one grief support for those who want a more personal, held space to work through loss at their own pace.

For those looking at the bigger picture, I also offer longer-term life coaching programmes that help you rebuild, rediscover yourself, and move forward with clarity and confidence.
If you're not ready for one-to-one work, I have a growing library of guided meditations and digital resources designed specifically to support people through grief — available to download whenever you need them.

And if you fancy something gentle and local, I run a small meditation group every Friday at 1:45pm, right here in Headcorn village. Forty-five minutes of guided meditation, a cuppa, and good company. Just £5.

I also offer mindful creative workshops for children and adults, using art, movement, and simple creative practices to slow down, process emotions, and reconnect with yourself. No artistic ability needed. It's not about the end result; it's about what happens when you give yourself permission to breathe and just be.

Whether you're grieving, feeling stuck, or ready for something to shift — I'd love to help.

If you're in the early days of grief, I want you to know something.first — can we talk about what "early grief" actually...
12/06/2026

If you're in the early days of grief, I want you to know something.

first — can we talk about what "early grief" actually means? Because most people think it's the first few days. Maybe the first month or two. The period just after the loss, when everyone is still checking in and the flowers are still fresh.
But early grief is actually the first two years after someone dies.

Two years.

Let that land for a moment — because it changes everything about how we talk about grief, and how gently we need to treat ourselves inside it.

If you're in that window right now — whether it's been six weeks or eighteen months — you are still in early grief. You are allowed to still be finding it hard. You are not behind. You are not taking too long.

What you're feeling — the disbelief, the fog, the strange mix of numbness and overwhelming pain — that's not you falling apart.

That's you absorbing something your heart was never designed to carry all at once.

Early grief is disorienting in ways that are hard to explain. You might find yourself forgetting simple things. Laughing and then feeling guilty for laughing. Crying without warning. Feeling nothing at all, and worrying that means something is wrong with you.

Nothing is wrong with you.

Your nervous system is doing something extraordinary. It's protecting you. Managing an unbearable amount of pain in the only way it knows how — a little at a time.

You don't have to be further along than you are.
You don't have to make sense of it yet.
You don't have to have the words.

Early grief asks only one thing of you: that you let yourself be in it, without rushing yourself out.

If this is where you are right now, you're welcome here. 🤍

Did you know early grief lasts up to two years? Drop a 🤍 if this reframe helps, or share with someone who needs to hear it today.

If something small has hit you harder than you expected lately, it might not be about that thing at all. Old grief surfa...
11/06/2026

If something small has hit you harder than you expected lately, it might not be about that thing at all. Old grief surfaces when it isn’t ready to be quiet yet.

I still don’t know how I got here.I was looking at a photo of me and Oliver at his twelfth birthday recently. Both of us...
10/06/2026

I still don’t know how I got here.
I was looking at a photo of me and Oliver at his twelfth birthday recently. Both of us smiling. And I felt this strange, quiet shock.

How did I get here?
I know the answer, of course. I’ve lived it. i got support. I teach it. I walk alongside other people through it every single day. I know what grief does to a person, and I know what it takes to find your way through. I know because I had to find my way through myself.

But knowing something and feeling it are two different things. And when I look at that photo — really look at it — I still can’t quite bridge the distance between the woman who lost her husband and the woman smiling in that picture.

It’s like looking at photos of me before Chris died. That version of me, smiling, whole, completely innocent to the pain that was coming. She had no idea. And there’s a grief in that too — for her, for the life she didn’t know she was about to lose.

And then there’s everything in between. Every phase. Every version of me I’ve had to grow through, endure, become. The darkness. The years I can barely remember. The pain that still surfaces sometimes — not as sharp, but still real. Still mine.
And yet. There I am in that photo. Genuinely smiling. Genuinely living.

I won’t pretend I’ve fully got my head around it. I’m not sure I ever will. But what I do know is this: I worked hard to get here. Really hard. And that photo — that smile — is proof of what’s possible on the other side of the hardest thing you’ll ever go through.

If you’re in the thick of it right now, I want you to know: the distance between where you are and where you’re going is crossable. It doesn’t feel like it. But it is.

And you don’t have to cross it alone.
💌 Send me a message or find the link in my bio to find out more about grief coaching with me.

Photos of me
1) happily married, new mum on holiday, life couldn’t be better (only for another 2 weeks).
2) couple of months widowed, surviving, permanently teary eyed, trying to be a good mum and show up when I could.
3) 11 years and 7 months widowed, living with my grief, enjoying life and creating new adventures and memories.

There is no correct timeline. No point at which you should be over it. You are allowed to still be in it — and you are a...
09/06/2026

There is no correct timeline. No point at which you should be over it. You are allowed to still be in it — and you are allowed to want to find your way out of it. Both are true.

Do you actually know where you are in your grief— or does it just feel like chaos?Without support, grief can feel like b...
08/06/2026

Do you actually know where you are in your grief
— or does it just feel like chaos?

Without support, grief can feel like being lost in the dark. You don't know if what you're feeling is normal. You don't know if you're making progress or going backwards. You can't tell what you need because you don't know where you are. That confusion alone can be exhausting.

The Grief Wheel workshop gives you that direction. It's a gentle, guided session where we look at where you are in your grief cycle — without judgment, without pressure. People leave with clarity they didn't have before. And clarity, even in grief, is a relief.

It's free and runs quarterly. Follow this page to be the first to hear when the next one opens — or comment WHEEL below and I'll let you know directly.

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Ashford

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Monday 10am - 5pm
Tuesday 10am - 3pm
Wednesday 10am - 5pm
Thursday 10am - 3pm
Friday 10am - 3pm

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