Pilates Thoughtful Tuesday: When We Lose People and Parts of Ourselves

A vast glacier fractures, echoing how loss reshapes the landscape of our lives.

There are some subjects that never become easier to talk about, no matter how much life experience and Pilates we have. Loss is one of them.

As we get older, it becomes more present. More frequent. There are simply more people we have known, worked with, shared time with. And over time, we begin to lose them. Family, friends, colleagues, clients. It can start to feel like it surrounds us. But if I am honest, this is not something that only comes with age. I remember losing grandparents, aunts, uncles when I was younger. It has always been part of life. The difference now is how it feels.

It is not just the person who is gone. It feels like a part of your own life has gone with them.

This week, I lost someone who played a very important role in my early years. Ben Stevenson was the artistic director of the Houston Ballet when I was working there. He was a significant influence during that time. Losing him has not only brought sadness, but also a strong sense of that period of my life shifting further into the past.

I often think of the image of ice breaking away from Antarctica. You see a huge section fall into the sea. It is no longer there. That part has gone. That is what loss can feel like. A piece of something solid suddenly disappears.

But what that image also shows, if we look more carefully, is that the glacier remains. Changed, yes. But still there.

So how do we deal with this?

First, we have to accept that it is not something to fix quickly. Grief is not a task. It does not follow a neat timeline. Some days it sits quietly in the background. Other days it feels much closer. That is part of the process.

Second, we can allow the connection to remain. Losing someone does not mean removing them from our life completely. The people who have influenced us continue through what they taught us, how they shaped us, and how we pass that on to others. In teaching, in conversation, in the way we approach our work, they are still present.

Third, it is important to stay grounded in where we are now. There is a risk, especially with repeated loss, of living too much in the past. Our history matters, but so does everything we are still building, teaching, and experiencing today.

Fourth, we should stay connected to the people who are still around us. Loss can create a sense that everything is slipping away. The balance to that is to recognise who is still here and to value those relationships fully.

Finally, we need to allow meaning to develop in its own time. There is a tendency to try to make sense of loss too quickly, to find a reason or a lesson. Often, that clarity does not come straight away. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes it remains unclear. That is also part of life.

What I have come to understand is that loss does not necessarily become easier. We simply become more experienced at carrying it. And perhaps that is the point. The fact that we feel it deeply reflects the depth of the connections we have had. It shows that our lives have been full of meaningful relationships and experiences.

It may not feel comfortable, but it is a sign that those moments, and those people, truly mattered.