A Different Kind of Resilience

Singing in the Suffering

I remember when I heard her heart stop. It was 5:30 am and I was lying next to her in bed; all night I had been listening to her breath go in and out as the pauses between each breath got longer and longer until the next breath never came. I placed my ear to her heart and I listened, but I heard nothing. This unconditional pulse of love that had been beating my whole life—the unconditional love that had been guiding me, nurturing me, caring for me—had suddenly stopped. I gathered my brother and sisters, and we held my mother and sang her favorite song, together holding hands as she left her body.

As a Nurse, I thought I understood grief. I thought I knew what resilience meant. It was about being strong, wasn’t it? About bouncing back quickly, taking on more, saying yes when everything inside screamed no. But after my mother’s death, something broke open inside me. I couldn’t bounce back. I couldn’t be resilient in the way I thought I should be. The tears began and didn’t stop for three years.

That’s when I discovered something that would transform not just my grief, but my entire understanding of what it means to heal. It wasn’t in pushing harder or being stronger. It was in softening. In movement. In creativity. In allowing myself to feel everything.

I went per diem in nursing and returned to school to earn my master’s degree in dance. What I discovered there changed everything: resilience isn’t about bouncing back unchanged. It’s about softening enough to feel, to find gentle spaces of support to land. It’s about seeking out joy in the midst of sorrow and running to it with everything we have.

In dance, we have a movement called plié - a gentle bending of the knees. I’ve come to understand that this softening, this bending, is where we gather our true strength. It’s in these moments of yielding that we find the power to rise again, transformed.

As Nurses and caregivers, we’re facing unprecedented challenges - short staffing, grief, burnout, and fatigue. We’re taught to be strong, to push through, to care for others at any cost. But what if there was another way?

What if, instead of forcing ourselves to bounce back quickly, we created space to honor our grief? What if we could find healing through movement, through art, through connection with others who truly understand?

I believe our hearts are urging us not to bounce back quickly from all we have experienced, but to soften, to cry our tears, to listen, to slow down, to dance, to sing, to paint, to reflect. To grieve and, when ready, to use our soft landing, to plié and wholeheartedly embrace the next leap that transpires.

About Tara

Tara “the dancing nurse” Rynders RN MFA, BSN, BA is a keynote speaker, nurse researcher, dancer, Advanced Grief Recovery Specialis, and the CEO of The Art and Heart of Healthcare. She is known world-wide for her (Re)Brilliancy workshops offering courageous spaces for nurses to feel seen, heard, and cared for through play, movement, and the arts. Rynders offers group and individual coaching to help nurses and caregivers rediscover their brilliance and create brave spaces to process grief, build community, and find joy in one another. She lives in Evergreen, CO with her partner Tim, her 9 year old twins Soren and Femka and their pup Haarlem. To book a free consultation please visit: www.tararynders.com

A Note from The Nursing Way

The experience of grief deserves our full attention—felt, honored, and supported. We are thrilled to partner with Tara Rynders to expand access to resources that guide nurses through loss, sorrow, and healing. The Nursing Way in partnership with Tara Rynders will be launching her signature program, Embodied Grief Journey, offering an embodied, compassionate approach to processing grief. A new cohort begins soon—if interested please contact [email protected]