Embracing Loss: The Hidden Power in Every Defeat and Heartbreak

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📚 Read Time: 9 Minutes 

In a culture obsessed with winning, from flawless social media feeds to corporate “win at all costs” mantras, we rarely talk about losing. We avoid it, fear it, even deny it. Yet loss is one experience every one of us shares. We lose loved ones, opportunities, competitions, and comforts. And while it hurts, loss is also one of our greatest teachers. It can break us or remake us, depending on how we handle it. 

This week, we’re exploring loss in all its forms, from the grief of losing someone dear to the sting of losing a game or goal, and how embracing loss can actually fuel resilience. 

What we’re breaking down: 

• What loss really means (and why it’s more than just “failure”)  
• The brain and body on loss, how heartbreak and defeat impact us biologically  
• Eye-opening stats on loss and losing, you’re not alone in these struggles
• A Tiger Resilience Lens on loss vs. surrender, seeing the differences clearly   
• Michael’s training breakdown: how fitness gains are lost (detraining) and how to come back stronger, plus using “losses” as data to hit your next PR  
• A spotlight on Andrew Garfield, and how we can reframe how we deal with personal loss.  

A journal exercise to help you process and learn from your losses, personal and competitive  

Because loss is inevitable, but growing from it is a choice. Let’s learn to lose well, and come back wiser and stronger. 

🌀 What Is Loss? 

Loss is often defined as being deprived of something or someone of value. But in everyday life, it comes in many flavors: 

• Personal Loss: The death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, losing your health or a job. These hit at our hearts and identity.   
• Performance Loss: Failing to win a competition, missing a goal or deadline, falling short of an expectation. These hit our pride and plans.   
• Loss of Self or Time: Sometimes it’s more subtle, losing your sense of purpose, or feeling like you “lost years” to a mistake or circumstance.   

We define loss as: 

• A significant change or gap where something valued used to be. It creates a void that can feel painful or disorienting.   
• A natural part of life’s cycle. Everything is impermanent, acknowledging this doesn’t make it easier, but it does make it universal.   
• A catalyst for growth or despair - depending on the response. Loss can lead to resilience, meaning, and new beginnings, or to bitterness and defeat.   

Loss is not: 

❌ Something to simply “get over.” (Major losses reshape you; you integrate them rather than erase them.) 

❌ A sign you’re not good enough. (Everyone loses. Even legends and geniuses have failed, often more than others.) 

❌ The end of the story. (It might be the end of one chapter, but the next chapter is unwritten, and loss can be the plot twist that leads to a powerful comeback.) 

In short, loss is painful, but it’s also profound. When we stop running from it, we can start learning from it. 

Michael’s Perspective: “Losing, Meaning, and the Space Between” 

Losing gets under your skin in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there. 

I’ve lost races. I’ve missed time goals. I’ve watched people unfollow or unsubscribe from content I put a lot of heart into. Sometimes the work you do, the hours, the intention, the effort, doesn’t connect the way you hoped it would. And when you care as much as I do, that stuff doesn’t just roll off your back. It hits. It lingers. And if you're not careful, it starts to spiral. 

There’s a tweet I came across recently that really stuck with me. It said: 

“Loss is part of the game. It’s not a reflection of your worth. It’s not an identity. It’s a sign you’re pushing boundaries.” 

And that hit me in the gut, because I’ve been there on all sides of it. 

It’s easy for someone to say, “Why do you care so much? You’re not a pro.” 

But if you’ve ever trained for something with everything in you, waking up early, sacrificing time, dialing in nutrition, saying no to things, then you already know: the pursuit matters. It’s not about a paycheck. It’s about proving something to yourself. It’s about seeing what you’re capable of when you stop playing it safe. 

I’ve got an 800m race coming up next weekend. And yes I want to win. I want to run a personal best. I want to go to the well and come out of it knowing I gave everything I had. 

But here’s the truth: if I lose, it won’t be the loss that defines me, it’ll be the way I respond. Losing, when reframed, isn’t just about not being good enough. It’s a mark that you were willing to step into the arena. That you cared enough to risk the outcome. And that in itself is meaningful. 

But loss isn’t only about competition. It also shows up in quieter, more painful ways, relationships that fade, opportunities that slip away, people we love who are no longer here. It forces you to reckon with your time and what you’re actually doing with it. 

I’ve been thinking lately about something I read, about how, when you die, your gravestone shows the year you were born, the year you passed, and in between… a dash. Just a little line. 

That dash is your entire life. 

All the losses. All the wins. All the things you never said. All the moments you showed up. All the times you could’ve turned away, but didn’t. 

And that’s what loss really reminds me of: not just what we no longer have, but how precious the space is in between. 

If you’re in a season where something hurts, where a door closed, or a dream didn’t unfold the way you wanted, don’t rush past it. Feel it. Sit with it. And then decide how you want to carry it forward. 

Because loss isn’t the opposite of meaning. Sometimes it’s the very thing that gives your life depth. 

Make the dash count. 

The start of the dash. One day this will be just a line, and everything it held. 

Bernie’s Perspective: Twenty-Three Seconds - The Weight of Sudden Loss

Twenty-three seconds. That's the chilling measure of time it took for the floodwaters to irrevocably alter the fabric of a Texas community this spring. In a fleeting moment, where families were engaged in the mundane ritual of preparing breakfast, everything changed as torrential rain transformed streets into raging rivers. There was no warning siren blaring, no weather forecast predicting the impending chaos—just a sudden, overwhelming surge of water that swept away lives and livelihoods without mercy. 

When I first encountered the devastating news of this tragedy, I struggled to fully comprehend the sheer enormity of the loss. The stories began to pour in, painting a vivid picture of heartbreak. One particularly poignant account was that of a father reflecting on his daughter’s excitement about attending summer camp—a cherished tradition. He recounted how he had envisioned dropping her off, filled with pride and anticipation for what was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, that joyful moment transformed into a nightmare as he faced the unimaginable—confronting the reality of an end-of-life experience for those who should have been making lifelong memories. 

The haunting echoes of grief permeated the community, shattering families and leaving indelible scars on those who remained. Each second of that fateful event rippled through the lives of many, an all-consuming flood of sorrow that no one could have predicted. 

Loss, when it comes suddenly, steals the breath from your lungs and the ground from beneath your feet. It’s not just about tragic headlines—it’s about the phone call you never see coming, the job gone in a blink, the relationship that ends before you can say goodbye.
We all know, deep down, that life is fragile. But when the storm hits without warning, how do we survive? How do we rise? 

This is for anyone who’s ever felt the shock of loss—parents, partners, friends, professionals. For those who’ve had the rug pulled out from under them, who’ve stood in the ruins of “before” and wondered how to keep going. Maybe you lost a loved one, a job, a sense of self. Maybe you’re still numb, still angry, still searching for meaning.
Sudden loss is a thief. It doesn’t care how strong you are or how much you’ve prepared. But you are not powerless. The Tiger’s strength and the Phoenix’s renewal live within you—even when you feel broken. 

I distinctly remember the day I lost my father, a moment etched in my mind with a clarity that time cannot erase. There was no looming warning, no opportunity for a final exchange of words filled with love or reassurance. It was a restless Monday night when I was jolted from my sleep at 11:00 PM by my mother’s urgent voice, laden with worry. “We need to get to the hospital,” she said, her eyes reflecting a depth of fear and urgency. My heart raced as she explained that Dad was slipping away, and we needed to be by his side. 

When we arrived at the hospital, a sterile world of bright lights and the beeping of machines surrounded us. My father lay unconscious in the ICU, fighting a battle against cancer that he was losing. The sight of him there, frail and so unlike the strong man I had always known, felt like a waking nightmare. My aunt joined us, her presence a small comfort amid the chaos. Being only 12 years old, I was ushered into a quieter nursing area where I could lay down on a worn couch, the fabric cool against my skin. There, I allowed myself to drift into a fitful sleep, grappling with the gravity of it all, aware that I still had school awaiting me the next day. 

I can still hear the ghostly echo of high heels clicking against the cold, hard tile floor—a sound that grew closer with each step. It was the unmistakable cadence of my aunt’s shoes, which always seemed to announce her arrival. As she approached, I felt a tight knot of dread coil in my stomach, an unshakable instinct that told me she bore news I feared. And then, with a heavy heart, she uttered the words I had dreaded most: my father had just passed away. Looking back, I realize that no words were truly necessary—the silence spoke volumes, and the weight of that moment pressed upon me like a tangible force. The world didn’t pause for my grief. I had to find a way forward, even as I carried the weight of what was lost.
Years later, as a behavioral health clinician, I’ve sat with people in the aftermath of every kind of loss—death, divorce, disaster, diagnosis. I’ve learned that pain is universal, but so is the possibility of rising.

"Before I ever knew what grief could take, I learned how to fall—and how to land. Skydiving taught me what sudden freefall feels like. Life would teach me the rest."

🧠🩺 The Science of Loss: What Happens in the Brain and Body 

Loss doesn’t just weigh on the heart, it alters the structure and function of the brain and body. 

The Brain on Loss 

When we experience personal loss, whether death, identity shift, or defeat, the anterior cingulate cortex and prefrontal cortex light up with distress. These regions help us make sense of social connection and regulate emotion. The brain essentially treats relational and existential loss the same way it treats physical pain, activating the same neural pathways. That’s why grief can feel like something breaking inside your chest. 

• Activates pain-processing areas  
• Triggers survival-level emotional response  

Meanwhile, the default mode network, tied to self-reflection, becomes overactive. This drives rumination, especially with ambiguous or unresolved loss. The more uncertainty, the more the brain spirals in search of meaning. 

• Overactive mental loops  
• Harder to process unclear or “unfinished” loss  

Add a surge of cortisol and norepinephrine, and the body enters a state of hyperarousal. Sleep, memory, and immune function decline. Long-term grief may shrink hippocampal gray matter, disrupting memory and emotional regulation. 

• Stress chemicals impair body systems  
• Grief may physically reshape brain structures  

The Body on Loss 

Physiologically, loss mimics trauma. Heart rate variability drops, immunity weakens, muscles tighten, and inflammation rises, especially if recovery is delayed or disrupted. 

• HRV ↓, tension and inflammation ↑  
• Systemic stress mirrors trauma response  

In training loss, like injury or detraining, the brain remembers patterns the body can’t currently perform. This mismatch can lead to re-injury or avoidance. 

• Brain/body disconnect  
• Risk of overcompensation or freezing  

But thanks to neuroplasticity and muscle memory, the body can rebound faster than most expect. Trained individuals often regain strength or skill 40–60% faster than beginners due to preserved motor pathways. 

• Recovery is not linear, it’s accelerated with history  
• Movement and meaning-making support both physical and emotional healing 

In grief, this is mirrored emotionally, meaning-making practices (like storytelling, movement, or ritual) can help rewire the brain’s response to loss and reduce physiological distress. The same systems that hold pain can also hold the seeds of adaptation.

• Emotional healing uses the same rewiring mechanisms
• Ritual, reflection, and expression support brain recovery
•  Grief and growth share neural pathways 

📊 Stats Worth Knowing 

Loss leaves a measurable mark, not just on the soul, but on systems, behaviors, and outcomes. 

Emotional & Personal Loss 

• 🖤 67% of adults report at least one major grief experience by midlife, yet only 15% feel supported in how to process it.   
• 🧠 People with prolonged grief show a 20% higher risk of developing anxiety and depression over time  
• 💔 After spousal loss, cardiovascular risk rises by 41% within the first 30 days, known as “broken heart syndrome”  
• 🧍‍♂️ One in three adults who experience significant personal loss also report a deep sense of identity disruption.   

Loss in Performance & Achievement 

• 🏃 Athletes who experience major loss (injury, failure, deselection) have up to a 45% drop in motivation and training adherence within 4 weeks. 
• 🧬 It takes just 10–14 days for VO₂ max and muscle efficiency to begin declining without training, but trained individuals retain cellular adaptations longer.   
• 💡 Muscle memory allows previously trained individuals to regain lost strength 40–60% faster than novices due to retained myonuclei. 
• 💥 In one study, 72% of elite athletes said a major loss or failure was the turning point that deepened their mindset and performance. 

🐅 Tiger Resilience Lens: Loss vs. Surrender 

Not all forms of losing are the same. Some are taken from us. Others are let go, consciously or not. At Tiger Resilience, we differentiate loss from what we call surrender, not in a spiritual or peaceful sense, but in the sense of being unintentional, unprocessed, or preventable. 

Here’s the distinction: 

This lens helps us ask: 

🔍 Did I truly lose this? Or did I slowly surrender it without knowing? 

Both hurt. But only one gives us a window to recommit. 

Sometimes loss is a signal to grieve. 

Sometimes surrender is a signal to rise. 

🏋️ Michael’s Training Corner: Losing It and Getting It Back 

Part 1: The Physiology of Performance Loss 

Here’s the truth: when it comes to physical training, you can lose progress fast, but your body doesn’t forget as quickly as you think. 

Within 10–14 days of total inactivity, you start to see measurable drops in VO₂ max, neuromuscular coordination, and rate of force production. Endurance goes first. Power and coordination follow. Strength actually holds out the longest,  especially if you trained consistently before the break. 

The biggest misconception? That you're starting over from zero. 

If you've built a solid training history, even as a recreational athlete, your myonuclei remain in your muscle fibers long after hypertrophy fades. These myonuclei are like dormant command centers. When you reintroduce progressive training, they reactivate quickly, allowing you to rebuild strength and size far faster than someone who's never trained. 

The same goes for motor learning. Patterns like sprint form, compound lifts, or breathing under load don’t vanish, they just get “rusty.” Once you sharpen the groove, performance rebounds fast. 

This is why someone who trained hard for two years, took a few months off, and comes back smart can rebuild in 6–8 weeks what took them a year originally. 

And if you’re coming back from emotional burnout, grief, or injury? The nervous system takes priority. Start by rebuilding the signal, not just the muscle. Restore rhythm. Restore confidence. Then chase load. 

Part 2: Training After Loss 

Training after a loss, whether physical or personal, isn’t about dominating your comeback. It’s about repatterning. And that starts with structure. 

Here’s how I approach it with clients and myself: 

• Lower the Barrier
  Start with 30–40% of your previous volume. Use movement to reconnect, not to prove anything. Your first week isn’t about “getting back”, it’s about showing up. 
• Prioritize Pattern over Output
  Rebuild consistency and movement quality before chasing numbers. Think: can I hit clean reps with breath control, balance, and intent? 
• Use Strength as a Re-grounding Tool
  Lifting under control, especially tempo-based movements, re-engages both the body and the nervous system. Strength doesn’t just return; it re-centers. 
• Apply the 1% Rule
  Compounding small improvements beats any crash diet-style comeback. Track reps, RPE, sleep, and mood. See what holds, what slips, and what adapts. 
• Don’t Train Around the Grief — Train With It
  Loss doesn't vanish when you lift. But your training can hold it. Even 20 minutes under tension can bring clarity. You’re not running from the weight, you’re moving with it. 

🌍 Real-World Spotlight: Andrew Garfield and the Grief We Carry with Love 

This week, I (Mike) kept thinking about something I saw a while back, a clip of actor Andrew Garfield on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. Garfield was speaking about the recent death of his mother, and I remember how quiet the room got, even on a late-night talk show. No jokes. No edits. Just raw presence. 

“Grief is all the unexpressed love,” he said. 

“The grief will remain with me because I will never stop loving her.” 

That line hit me hard. I’ve always respected Garfield as an actor, there’s a depth in almost everything he does, but hearing him speak about loss like that... it reminded me that grief doesn’t always look like breaking down. Sometimes it looks like carrying forward. With grace. With emotion still right under the surface. 

What made his words so powerful wasn’t just the poetic phrasing, it was how calm and honest he was. No performative sadness. No trying to “move on.” Just acknowledging that his pain was still love, just redirected. And he didn’t want to “get over it.” He wanted to keep it close, because that grief meant his mom was still with him. 

“I hope this grief stays with me,” he said. 

“Because it's all the unexpressed love I didn’t get to tell her.” 

In a world that pushes us to get over things, that clip gave me permission to sit with what I carry, not as weakness, but as proof of what mattered. 

That’s the kind of loss we don’t bounce back from. 

It’s the kind we build with. 

For your viewing: 

Andrew Garfield on grief – “It’s all the unexpressed love” (Colbert interview) 

✍️ Journal Exercise: What’s Gone and What Remains 

Loss has a way of blurring our sense of self. Whether it’s a person, a role, a goal, or a part of our identity, we often get stuck in the space between what we had and what’s left. 

This week’s reflection helps you gently explore that space, not to “move on,” but to move within it. Loss doesn’t erase you. It reveals what’s still true. 

🔍 Part 1: Reflection 

In a quiet space, sit with these prompts. No rush. No need to tie it all up with a bow. 

• What have I lost that still lingers in how I move through the world?  
• What part of me was tied to that person, role, or chapter?  
• Have I truly named that loss, or have I buried it under busyness, humor, or control?  
• What emotions do I avoid when I think about what’s gone?  
• Where do I still carry the love, the fire, or the meaning from that chapter, even now?  

Write without editing. This isn’t a eulogy. It’s a mirror. 

🔧 Part 2: Action 

Choose one of the following: 

• Create a physical reminder of what you’ve learned from that loss, a note, a photo, a journal entry, even a workout. Name what it taught you, and place it somewhere you’ll see it this week.   
• Re-engage one behavior or routine that the loss disrupted. It could be a walk you used to take, a song you haven’t listened to, or a ritual you dropped. Let it remind you that what’s gone doesn’t mean you’re gone.   
• Speak to someone, text, call, or visit. Loss isolates. Reconnection heals in small doses.   

Need a space to ground these reflections? 

👉 Use our Self-Esteem Journal — created to help you rebuild trust in yourself through practices like this one. 

🔚 Final Thoughts: What We Carry Forward 

Loss is not a sign that we’ve failed. 

It’s proof that something mattered. 

Whether it’s the loss of a person, a goal, a version of ourselves, what we grieve often points directly to what we most value. And within that grief lies the seed of what’s next: not a return to what was, but a rebuilding from what remains. 

At Tiger Resilience, we don’t teach people to “bounce back.” 

We teach people to rise forward, with presence, with depth, and with tools that honor the full human experience. 

Here’s how the Five Pillars apply when we face loss: 

🐾 Purpose 

Loss shakes our sense of meaning, but it also invites us to redefine it. We learn to ask not just why this happened, but what still matters. 

🛠 Planning 

We rebuild through small intentional steps. Routines, rituals, training, rest, these help us restore structure when life feels unmoored. 

🔁 Practice 

Grief doesn’t go away through reflection alone. We practice living with it, through movement, journaling, connection, showing up again and again. 

💪 Perseverance 

Loss is heavy. But so are the things worth carrying. Perseverance is not about pushing through; it’s about choosing to keep showing up, one day at a time. 

🌱 Providence 

Even when life feels out of our hands, we still have choices. This pillar reminds us that healing is not passive. We become active participants in our own restoration. 

You are not weak for feeling this deeply.

You are human. And you are not alone.

Stay Resilient

Bernie & Michael

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📚 References

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_u_TswLQ4ws 

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https://doi.org/10.1136/bjsports-2015-095630 

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