Grief Embodied Comes to The Nursing Way

We are always seeking meaningful offerings that truly support the well-being of our community. That’s why we’re so honored to introduce a new partnership with Tara Rynders—affectionately known as The Dancing Nurse. While the name may bring to mind lighthearted movement, Tara’s work reaches far deeper. She weaves the art of dance and other forms of creative expression, even joy, together with the tender work of healing from loss and grief.

Her 3-part program, Grief Embodied, invites us to explore the sorrow we carry with curiosity, compassion, and care. It's a beautiful opportunity to transform heartbreak into healing together. During these programs, we learn to honor our pain while opening space for joy, connection, and celebration. The program is designed to welcome those who want to explore alone, those who benefit from community, and those who would like one-on-one guidance.  Whether you are in direct care, education, active in caregiving or retired, here is an opportunity to invest in the care and expansiveness of your heart.

The Nursing Way Team

The Grief Embodied Journey - An Invitation

By Tara Rynders

My body is trembling and I have the worst headache of my life,” my sister said through the phone. That was the last time I heard Hannah speak. Within hours, I was on a plane. When I arrived at her ICU room that evening, the harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows across her face. The rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the sterile air as I saw her there - unable to move or speak, barely keeping her eyes open. This moment would be the beginning of two months in a coma, leaving her a person with quadriplegia. Hannah was an incredible roller derby player, physically fit, with an eight-year-old daughter and no previous medical history except migraines.

I was working per - diem as an ER Nurse and I was preparing to return to my second year of my MFA Dance program that fall. Instead, all this was put on hold, and I moved into Hannah’s small rehabilitation room in a city where I knew no one. My world shrank to match hers - she was trapped in her body, and I was trapped in that sterile room, both of us far from family and friends. In a way, caregivers often mirror those we care for - I found myself as isolated as she was, our worlds reduced to the rhythm of medical routines and beeping machines.

The rhythm of our days and nights became a study in contrasts. During daylight hours, I held Hannah as she wailed - deep, guttural cries as she realized she was trapped in her own body. I bathed her, helped her relearn to swallow, and watched the clock tick through endless consultations with doctors. The days were heavy with the weight of what was lost - her voice, her movement, her independence, and in many ways, my own.

But we found ways to break free, even within our constraints. When a Nurse noticed my isolation, she generously brought me a bike. Those afternoon rides between Hannah’s therapy sessions became my escape - wind in my hair, legs pumping, finding moments of freedom outside our shared confinement.

As evenings approached, our small room transformed. When the fluorescent lights dimmed and the hospital corridors grew quiet, we created our own world. Every night without fail, we would play her favorite song, “Party in the USA.” I would dance around her room, using her chapstick as a makeshift microphone or twirling with her IV pole as my partner. The more ridiculous my movements, the harder she laughed.

This contrast taught me my first lesson about grief and joy - healing happens in cycles, like day and night. Some moments call for holding space for grief, others for creating pockets of joy. Through those bike rides and late-night dance sessions, I discovered a truth that changed everything: I am worthy to be cared for, as I care for others.

Those long days and nights taught me that healing happens in both the tears and the laughter. I danced in her room every night, not because it could cure her, but because sometimes presence is more powerful than procedures, and I danced because I was also healing myself at the same time. Our body remembers joy, even when we have every reason to never find it again. By honoring this truth, even in crisis, I discovered that resilience isn’t about being strong or bouncing back - it’s about having someone willing to sit with you in the darkness, then slowly and softly dance you back into the light.

This experience, alongside other losses in my life, is why I started the Grief Embodied Journey: to create collective spaces of care, because we were never meant to carry all this grief on our own. And this is why I am joining The Nursing Way to make this happen, because their simple mission is everything: Nurses Supporting Nurses.  We are the healers we have been waiting for. We are the community we have been waiting for. We are the innovators, the disruptors, the visionaries we have been waiting for. We are the joy we have been waiting for. Together in both our grief and joy, may we come together and reflect back the brilliant and resilient humans we already are.

I invite you to join me, a Nurse, dancer, artist, advanced grief recovery specialist, mother, and above all, a human still figuring it all out, and together let’s create courageous spaces and containers for our grief and our joy. 

I would be so honored if you would join me on the Grief Embodied Journey, where we’ll create our own rhythm of healing together. Like those hospital room dance parties, we’ll find unexpected joy in the midst of challenges. Like those afternoon bike rides, we’ll discover pockets of freedom within our grief and caregiving roles.

Through movement, art, storytelling, and shared experience, we’ll explore what I learned in that small rehab room: that true healing happens when we honor both the day and night of our journey - the grief and the joy, the giving and receiving, the breaking down and the dancing back up. Remember, dear humans, you are worthy to be cared for as you care for others. I hope to see you soon.

To learn more and begin your healing journey, view the Grief Embodied Landing Page (click link).

Learn More about Tara at TaraRynder.com (click link)