Held by Sound: How Grief, Sad Music and Somatic Therapy Intertwine

Philip Orchard
Jul 19
3 min read

In June, my mum passed away.

There’s no tidy way to put it. No poetic wrap-up. It just hurts. It lingers. It changes the shape of everything.

What surprised me most wasn’t just the emotional grief, but the physical experience of it. How certain notes and rhythms seemed to reach places inside me I didn’t even realise were holding pain. Since her passing, I’ve been drawn to the handpan more than ever. The melodies often feel like they come from somewhere ancient, somewhere outside of me. Like grief has found its own voice through the instrument.

Chanting has also become part of my practice. Sometimes soft, sometimes cracked with emotion. It’s not a performance. It’s something raw and honest. A kind of release.

And something else has shifted too. More people have been opening up in my soundbaths. Tears come more easily. People sigh, breathe, release. It's as if my own grief has created a bridge to theirs, not from a place of having healed, but from being right there in the thick of it with them.

So why does this happen? Why do we lean into sadness when we’re already grieving?

Why Do We Listen to Sad Music When We're Grieving?

There’s a psychological term for this: paradoxical media regulation. It refers to our tendency to seek out music or media that reflects our current emotional state, even if that state is painful. It’s not about making ourselves feel worse. It’s about feeling met.

Sad music validates what we’re going through. It tells us we’re not alone. It gives us space to feel deeply without being told to cheer up or move on. It makes room for the tears that might have been held in too long.

Rather than pulling us out of grief, it lets us move with it. And that’s the very thing that allows healing to begin.

The Science: Sound as Somatic Therapy

Grief is not just emotional. It is stored in the body. In tight chests, shallow breath, clenched jaws, disturbed sleep, and digestive changes. Our bodies react to loss by contracting, holding, bracing.

Sound, especially low-frequency instruments like gongs, Himalayan bowls and the handpan, travels through the body in a way that gently loosens this grip. These vibrations affect the fascia, bones, and fluids. They also stimulate the vagus nerve, which helps shift the nervous system from survival mode into rest and repair.

This is the essence of somatic sound therapy. It’s not about fixing. It’s about creating the right conditions for the body to unwind and the emotions to surface naturally.

When I play now, I no longer see sound as something I give. It is something that holds me. It speaks when I cannot. It reaches parts of me that I can’t reach through thought alone.

Perhaps this is why people in my sessions are beginning to open more. They’re not being told to get over it. They’re being invited to feel it.

Safely. Gently.

At their own pace.