As a beauty editor whose career has largely involved a forensic dive into the superficial of our outer (and to be fair, inner) shells, I’m often dismayed by the relentless tide of commentary dissecting women’s appearances. The irony isn’t lost on me - and yet I do believe the two can co-exist. But the recent speculation about Kelly Osbourne’s appearance, particularly following the Brit Awards, has cut deeper.
We are a society that still takes unseemly delight in scrutinising the changing frames of the A-list, with GLP-1 jabs only fuelling the frenzy. Knowing she lost her rock-legend father Ozzy Osbourne last year from a heart attack after watching him battle Parkinson’s makes this fixation on her looks feel especially uncomfortable. To anyone who recognises the profound markers of grief, the signs are unmistakable. It’s a cliché, but it really is a club that no one understands until they’re in it – and I can spot a fellow member instantly.
© Getty ImagesThe 41-year-old hit back at what she called ‘cruel’ remarks, saying this is “a special kind of cruelty in harming someone who is clearly going through something.”
She spoke of the lack of compassion in being dehumanised during the hardest period of her life. I recognise that anger; a key feature of grief and not merely a neat stage we pass through – along with the deep sense of injustice.
“The mind-body link is undoubtedly there when it comes to grief and symptoms in the body can either be visible or invisible”, says Counselling Psychologist Dr. Candice O’Neil. "Grief often shows up in behaviours like agitation and extreme tiredness. A weakened immune system, headaches and frequent upset stomachs are also common. These symptoms can persist for short periods or years if the grief is not properly processed and integrated with professional support."
© Getty ImagesI lost my own mother at the age of 31, and, despite some token counselling, largely buried my grief because it was simply too overwhelming to face. When my father died a couple of years ago, that unresolved sorrow resurfaced, presenting itself as a double whammy of grief that dredged everything back up.
Like Kelly, it showed up on my body. Despite being naturally (and not entirely comfortably) rail-thin all my life, I lost even more weight, and my periods stopped for five months. I didn’t lose my appetite; I’ve always had a fast metabolism and knew I needed to keep my calories up while raising two small children and spinning all the plates of daily life.
But grief has a stealthy way of hijacking the body at an almost cellular level – something my acupuncturist reminds me of every June, the anniversary of my mother’s death, when I inevitably feel low and wheezy. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, grief is not merely emotional but deeply physical. Left unexpressed, it’s believed to become ‘stuck’ in the body’s energy or Qi. In other words, you can push it down like a beach ball under water but it inevitably surface somewhere else.
© Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for TheHolistic, wellness and business coach Sonia Magnier often sees the way that grief lives in the body in her work. “When we experience loss, our nervous system becomes overwhelmed. Cortisol levels rise, sleep becomes disrupted and appetite often shifts dramatically,” she explains. “In these moments, nourishment and movement become powerful companions, not to fix grief, but help us move through it. As a coach, I see firsthand how the body holds our emotional stories.”
It’s this physical manifestation of grief that I found profoundly uncomfortable when people commented on my weight loss. They meant well, but it felt exposing, as though my grief had become something visible and therefore open for public discussion. And once you’re in the public eye, it seems our bodies become fair game. We’ve (mostly) learned that commenting on a pregnant woman’s body isn’t particularly sisterly. But what about a grieving woman’s body?
Grief is visceral. It is lonely. Even among siblings – and like Kelly, I have both a brother and sister- the burden of personal grief can’t truly be shared. Kelly described it as a ‘heavy’ and ‘ever-present’ weight that changes shape rather than disappears, calling it the hardest period in her life.
That resonates deeply. Because here’s the thing; her father may have died a year ago but in my experience the first year is often a strange limbo of numbness. And there is no neat timeline for feeling ‘better.’
"Processing grief often involves a temporary loss of self in many forms; self-care, self-prioritisation, self-preservation and self-awareness," says Dr Candice. "We can find ourselves grounded in the reality of what’s gone, rather than in what still needs nurturing, and this can keep us trapped in our emotions instead of connected to our bodies."
So what does self-care look like when mourning the loss of a loved-one?
“Nutrition and movement are not acts of discipline, they are acts of self-compassion,” says Sonia. “They remind the body that even in grief, you are safe, supported, and still here. Healing begins with these small, nurturing choices; food, breath, presence, and movement.” Grief can begin to soften, but it can’t be rushed and needs to be supported one meal, one breath and one step at a time.
