Hospitals hold so many emotions—hope, fear, relief, grief—all woven into quiet moments between strangers.

Today, I was at the clinic for a routine appointment. In the lift, I shared a polite smile with another woman. I asked if she was visiting a clinic or a ward, and she told me she was visiting a family member. As I was about to step out of the lift, I wished them a smooth recovery.

And then her words fully landed.

Her family member was being put on a driver—a device that continuously administers medication, often used for pain relief at the end of life.
"I’m so sorry", I said as I felt a wave of compassion reach out from my heart to her and the person she loved.

I took a deep breath as I booked into the clinic then as I sat in the waiting room, memories came rushing in—my dad, my sister, my mum, my brother—all in their final stages of life. A sharp, raw grief rose up, hot tears stinging my eyes. A lump in my throat. I barely made it to the toilets before the sobs threatened to take over.

So I did what I knew to do—I tapped.

Gently moving through the face, body, and finger tapping points, I allowed myself to stay with the grief, rather than push it away. As I tapped, the images shifted. My loved ones’ faces became peaceful. The sadness softened… but then, anger took its place.

Anger at the driver.

It didn’t make sense. But I kept tapping anyway.

And as I did, I remembered.

Other family members had used a driver—not just at the end, but much earlier, to ease pain and help them keep living their lives. The anger faded. The resistance melted.

And with that, I felt calm again.

After my appointment, I stepped back into the lift.

And there she was. The same woman. Just the two of us again.

“I’ve been thinking about you and your family member,” I said gently.
She smiled. “I told my brother about our meeting. We were both touched.”
Now, she was on her way to get them both a drink. A simple, human act of care.
We smiled again as we parted ways.

That lift ride was no coincidence. It was a reminder of the deep and invisible threads that connect us to one another. A moment of recognition between two strangers, each carrying their own emotions through the sterile hallways of a hospital.

Grief can surprise us, rushing in at unexpected moments. But what I was reminded of today is that emotion is fluid—it shifts when we give it space, when we acknowledge it without resistance.

That’s what tapping does for me—it allows emotions to move through, so they don’t get stuck. Today was a reminder that healing isn’t about making feelings disappear. It’s about allowing them, honouring them, and letting them find their way through.
If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by emotion, know this: you are not alone. And you are not powerless.

✨ Have you ever had a moment where emotion caught you off guard? Feel free to share in the comments. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

💛 If you’d like to explore how EFT can help with grief, anxiety, or emotional overwhelm, I’d love to support you.