Rituals

Rituals are as old as humanity itself. Across all cultures, religions, and phases of life, they mark transitions: birth, coming of age, farewell, loss, new beginnings. And that is no coincidence. Rituals help us complete experiences, give them meaning, and feel: this chapter is closed.

For our nervous system, rituals are not merely symbolic. They help the body and mind understand what has happened, allowing tension to settle and integration to take place.

Especially in challenging times, rituals offer support. They create a sense of containment, grounding, and connection—with ourselves, with others, and with that which is greater than us.

When a ritual is missing

Sometimes life moves too fast, too raw, too overwhelming. Think of missing an important ritual such as a funeral, farewell, or ceremony.

This can happen for various reasons:

• You could not be physically present (for example, because it took place in another country)
• You were mainly caring for others and forgot yourself
• The grief was too great to truly feel
• You were too young to understand it or to experience it fully
• Too much was happening at once to pause and reflect
• In that moment, you survive. And that makes sense.

But what often happens is that the body continues to seek that sense of completion. Later, you may notice:

• Unexplained restlessness or sadness
• The feeling that “something is not finished”
• Difficulty letting go
• Emotional reactions that are stronger than you would expect
• The ritual did not take place—or not in a way that truly touched you.

The body wants to complete the circle

From a psychosocial and hypnotherapeutic perspective, we know this: the body remembers what has not been completed. A ritual helps the nervous system experience: It has been seen. It has been felt. It has been acknowledged. It is complete. Without that experience, the system remains alert—not because you are doing something wrong, but because the body is still waiting for closure. The beautiful thing is: completion can also happen afterward.

Even if the original moment has passed, you can still create a letting-go or completion ritual. Not as a replacement, but as an addition. A powerful way to do this is through trance, using hypnotherapy. Why?
Because trance helps you not only think about what happened, but also experience it. Experiencing feels like doing. And we learn by doing—this is different from merely talking about it.

Trance as an inner ritual

In trance, someone can:

• Return to the missed moment
• Imagine actually being present
• Feel what could not be felt at the time
• Speak what was never spoken
• Say goodbye in a way that feels right

The body responds to this as real.  The nervous system does not distinguish between a physical experience and a deeply felt inner experience. That is why trance can be so healing: it finally gives the body the experience that the circle is complete.

A letting-go ritual for body and mind

An inner ritual might include:

• Consciously creating a safe inner place
• Meeting the person you are saying goodbye to
• Exchanging words, feelings, or symbols
• A clear completion: a gesture, an image, a farewell
  Not grand. Not dramatic. But genuine.

The goal is not to take away the grief, but to give it a place— so it no longer remains stuck, but can move.

In closing

Rituals are not a luxury. They are a psychological and physical necessity. When they are missing, the system continues to seek completion. The good news: what could not take place in the outer world can still be completed in the inner world. And that may be one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

Examples

“A month after my wife passed away, I began to feel ashamed of what I was experiencing. I had always had a good relationship with my in-laws, yet suddenly I noticed feelings of jealousy. They were given space for their grief. People listened to them, held them, comforted them. And I… I felt as though I was standing on the sidelines.

During her illness, I was focused solely on caring for her. Everything revolved around her. It all happened so fast—only three months between the cancer diagnosis and her death—that there was no time to pause or reflect. I went into survival mode. I organized, supported, endured. There was no room for my own emotions. After she died, that mode stayed switched on. I believed I had to be strong, that I wasn’t allowed to feel anything that didn’t seem ‘appropriate.’ So I blamed myself for feeling jealous of my in-laws, when in reality it was about something else: my own grief had never been given space. I projected my inner pain onto my in-laws.

In trance, I was able to return to that period—to the moment when everything came to a standstill. There, I could finally feel what I had suppressed at the time. Together with her—and with others—I was able to give a continuation to what had remained unfinished. Not to change the past, but to acknowledge my own experience. In trance, we held a ritual because that day would have been her birthday. I felt that I had agency again, that I could shape my entire emotional palette through a dinner we shared together. This helped me move forward in my grieving process, without the shame that had been holding me back.”

“I was born abroad, and in my early childhood my aunt was almost a second mother to me. During a time when my own mother could not care for me, my aunt naturally took on that role. She was my safe place. When she passed away, I couldn’t attend her funeral. The distance, the circumstances—it simply wasn’t possible. Still, I felt as though I had abandoned her. That sense of guilt kept gnawing at me, even though I knew rationally that I had had no real choice. Every time I thought of her, the same feeling returned: I hadn’t been there for her. It made grieving complicated, as if I had no right to my sorrow because I hadn’t come to say goodbye.

Only later did I realize that my grief had become stuck—not because the love was missing, but because I had never been able to say farewell. By creating space for that moment afterward—through trance, where it felt as though I could still speak with her and attend her funeral—the guilt gradually softened.”