Inspired Possibility Blog

Showing Up

2/4/2024

Guest Blog by Steve Aman
There is a shadow that lurks in me that often whispers “you’re not good enough.” That shady shadow might add “what makes you think you can do that?” or some other diminishing words of gloom. It has taken many years for me to learn how to speak back to that voice. Today I can tell it, “thank you, but I don’t need you right now. Step back and I will get to you later.” In the meantime, I discovered that when I just show up, things move along pretty smoothly and even incredibly.

Some time back I learned a universal truth. When we come into this world, we arrive with our own unique set of gifts and challenges. Truly, there is no one else on this earth with an identical mix like our own, and I have no doubt that this is no accident. When I compare myself to another, I automatically withhold some of my gold, and that is not what I came here for.

On the other hand, when I simply show up and open myself to the flow of energy, what I call Spirit, and I trust that flow, I cannot go wrong. Some folks call this energy intuition. I call it “hollow bone” energy. When I allow myself to become the conduit, or the hollow bone, between Spirit and this physical world, magic happens. The most challenging part of this for me over time has been to trust what I am hearing or feeling. “You want me to do what?” I have often asked. And, when I simply showed up, trusted that there was something bigger than me behind the scenes so to speak, it has never failed to turn out beautifully. Indeed, it seems that paying attention to that energy often turns out to be a significant gift for someone involved.

Please join the conversation:

Do you have internal messages that keep you from showing up?
What have you discovered when you've overcome the doubt or fear and shown up to give your gifts anyway?
Is there an opportunity for you to show up where you might feel a little hesitant? What will it take to do it anyway?

Please share with us in the comments below. Thanks for adding your wisdom!

Meet Steve:
Steve is a retired farmer and has been deeply in love with the Earth his entire life. He and his wife of 53 years, Mary, live on a wondrous bit of creation in upstate New York that includes woods, meadow, wetland, stream, farmland and pond.

Steve has been deeply immersed in teaching nature awareness and primitive skills for decades, and is currently co-developer for the Resilience and Acceptance in the Face of Collapse course (https://acceptingcollapse.com/) currently being offered across the globe. He strives to live by the maxim "balance is the key", and recognizes that absolutely nothing provides meaning like being of service.

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Going On...Even when Life is Forever Changed

5/5/2023

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Image by Dorothe from Pixabay

Nine years ago, I had just begun writing a beautiful little book of healing poems and prayers, or rather I should say I was being woken up by words that compelled me to get up and write them down. The writing was helping me to process life, and I thought the book was going to be called “Garden of Inspiration.” About 6 months in, it became clear that that title did not embody all that wanted to be written. That life was more than just sunshine and rainbows, and people needed to feel not alone even in the dark, horrible, scary, and sad times. The subtitle for what would become 111 Invitations, “Step into the Full Richness of Life” was born. It’s a not-so-cute phrase to reflect that sometimes life is horribly painful and sometimes beautifully wonderful and a lot of times kind of just meh… and all of it is part of this human experience we seem to have signed up for.

Last year after one of my closest friends, Mary Lally, died on Christmas Eve, I wrote about grief, trying to capture the grace and pain of it. When I wrote Good Grief, Gratitude and Grace and Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief, I thought I knew what I was talking about. Maybe I did for that particular grief journey. However, I am learning that grief takes many forms and shows up in surprising and profoundly non-linear ways. It’s slow, it’s sneaky, it’s exhausting and intense, and it permeates everything at times (much like pepper juice on half a pizza that seeps over and tarnishes the whole thing).

In the past 14 years, I’ve navigated a journey that has been deeply challenging and has brought a lot of grief, along with a huge amount of deep and enduring love. That love continues even though on March 29th, our beautiful son, Nate died. The pain from this loss is unlike any I’ve ever experienced and as many people in my life have reflected, “It’s unimaginable.” In the beginning the shock carried and protected us pretty well, getting us through the tasks that had to be handled immediately. And at the same time, the sense of sacredness landed in my heart as a clear truth - we didn’t have to rush to decide about many things. We could wait to create a service in a way and at a time that felt right to us. We did not need to conform to societal norms (Nate never did, so why should we!?) despite pressure from several of his friends who understandably wanted to pay their respects and memorialize him in some way.

Go ahead and do what you will, I told them. I can’t do this for you, and anything other than keeping my circle really close and small right now would have wrecked me. I pondered whether there might be value in grieving in community and maybe we should have a service sooner, but we were not ready yet. Even now, much remains unclear, and we will just take it one moment at a time.
What I can say with confidence now that I’m living this dreaded life experience, is that the practices and teachings I’ve been living and sharing for the past decade really are working for me. They have resourced me well and allowed me to somehow keep on going, to show up for life, to live, albeit with a lot of heartache and emptiness.

I am so deeply grateful I am that we had found compassionate, kind, and loving ways to be in relationship with Nate over the past few years, that we had many honest, deep, and healing conversations. There is no question for any of us how much love connected us all. That is in large part thanks to a meditation practice which built the capacity to cultivate a heart that can hold it all, expanded open-hearted compassion, and taught us to turn toward life as it is. It’s also in large part a benefit of Recovery Coach training which helped us to understand addiction and recovery differently than we had in the past. The Invitation to Change approach definitely helped us foster trust and a loving, respectful relationship. Thank God we had that approach alive and well in our lives. I cannot imagine the regret that would haunt me now had we not.

Now to highlight a few of the things that have helped over the past decade (or longer) that continue to resource me now. It would have been much harder to incorporate these things into my life now had I not cultivated them over time. I believe they are always helpful and especially when there is one big thing that might consume our lives, whether that’s a child who struggles, work that takes over, a parent or loved one who requires our care. There are big things that can begin to define us and our entire existence if we’re not aware. When they do, it’s time to find a way back to ourselves.

1. Getting Support - Though this list is very incomplete and the things I’m highlighting are interwoven and maybe this aspect couldn’t happen without the others, I think it’s clear to say up front that I could not be doing as well as I am through this grief without so much loving support. I am glad that I have learned to ask for what I need, so when my sister asked whether she should come to be with me or not, I could clearly let her know that yes, I would like her to be here. In the past there might have been more self-abandonment in not wanting to impose on her, denying my needs in order to accommodate what I imagined were hers.

Knowing what kind of support and when I am open to receive has been critical. If someone offered food or a healing session that I couldn’t accept in that moment, I’ve asked for rainchecks. When the time was right, I asked friends to set up a Meal Train for us because we still don’t have the energy or focus to think about preparing meals. People love to give, so I’ve allowed myself to receive and say, “thank you” without too much discomfort that I’m being self-centered and spoiled. When I hit a wall from too much peopling, I give myself a break. I’ve had to pace my interactions in order to honor my own bandwidth in this time. Learning how to respect my own needs and capacity, even as I invite others to walk alongside me has been critical (I don’t think I could have learned it in real-time so I’m grateful for the years of self-care and focus on developing this skill which allow it to kick in in a time of crisis).

Over the years I have been and seen others be “strong and independent”… putting off the vibe of the outstretched stop-sign hand, letting the world know, “I’m good. I’ve got this” and then wondering why no one was offering love or support. We, as a society, have become overly influenced by this idea of fierce independence and self-reliance. We need each other to walk through life. We need to open our arms and hearts and let others in when we’re struggling. We need to understand that vulnerability is not a sign of weakness and that allowing others to show up and lend their service or their listening ear is a gift to you both.

2. Pause - you’ve likely heard me tout the value of a pause a million times if you’ve been around for any time. The taking of a breath creates space for a supportive pause. Even that split second gathering can be the difference between a less-than-well-crafted reaction and a more mindful response. Practicing the pause over many years has allowed me to be gentler with myself in what is a huge pause now - allowing myself to step back and listen within to what I need and for guidance. It’s in the pause that we access a deeper wisdom. When we pause, we take life one moment at a time, which is really the only way to go. When we don’t pause, we are often overtaken by fear which leads to reactivity and chaos. In the pause, we gain a little perspective, a little space, a little breathing room.

3. Self-Care is Vital - Renee Trudeau has taught me to slow down, quiet down, put my hands on my heart and ask, “How do I feel? What do I need? What do I want?” At first it felt foreign and awkward and sometimes my answer was “I have no idea…” Over time this has become part of who I am and how I roll, thank goodness. What this simple inquiry has allowed me to do in this time is to honor the needs and wants of my body, mind, heart, and spirit. It has allowed me to respond to those needs and wants and to ask for help. It’s allowed me pace myself, to honor the sacredness of this time and push aside any outside ideas or pressure of how this should go.

Self-care will look different, moment by moment. Allowing this is critical. Sometimes what’s needed is a nap, other times a phone call with a friend, a walk in the woods, or a good car scream! It’s not formulaic, but rather arises out of the ability to tune in and listen to your own inner knowing. I am deeply grateful for almost a decade of integrating this into my way of being - I could not have learned it in a time like this.

4. Gentle Yourself - Many thanks to Jenna, a retreat participant years ago, for offering up this phrase and turning “gentle” into a verb. As soon as I heard it, I knew what she meant. Greet yourself with exquisite tenderness, kindness, and care - likely the way you would treat a beloved friend or child. Often, we are most harsh with ourselves and gentling may not come naturally, but it is a profound gift when we can greet ourselves with compassion, love, and respect. In times of deep grief or confusion, gentling allows us to be ok enough to keep showing up, one moment at a time.

5. Honoring each Soul’s Journey - My son and I have always been deeply connected and certainly our lives were interwoven, yet several years ago, it became clear that they were also separate. He had his path and I had mine. Related, but distinct. Not dependent on one another for our state of wellbeing. It’s why I knew with every fiber of my being that I could, actually, be happier than my unhappiest child. I would not lay that burden on him; I did not need him to be ok for me to be ok. Thankfully my husband wisely articulated, “Yes, there’s love for him, but there’s also love for me, for us…” meaning we didn’t have to give it all away in an effort to save him. We needed to live our life even while we loved him, supported him, and walked alongside him the best we could.

Had my wellbeing been completely linked to his, I may well be totally devastated now, unable to imagine going on. My heart is shattered, my life has a huge Nate-sized hole in it, and I often feel sick when I imagine forever without him in it. And, I am going on. I know I will find my way back to myself and into whatever this new reality becomes. I will show up to life and live because we still have work to do, because I am determined to make our journey and his life and death matter.

You too are more than the one thread that feels all-consuming. I promise. Who are you beyond that? It’s worth the time to explore. To remember that you were a person before this thing came into your life, or even if your thing is something that’s been a part of you all your life, there’s more to you than just that. Don’t let yourself be defined or boxed in by any one thing. Stretch to see what more is here.

6. Acceptance - NOT as in I’ve reached the (non-existent) final “stage” of grief, and I’ve got this, but rather an acceptance of what is here. This goes along with #5 and also goes beyond. Acceptance of what is, not being at war with reality, allows us to meet ourselves and our lives exactly as they are. When we stop wishing that things were different (and believe me, I’ve never wished that more than these past 5 weeks), we can begin to live here and now with the qualities of truth and presence. This is what is. Now what?

Part of the acceptance that has guided me over these past many years was knowing that we could not save my son’s life. That it wasn’t even our job to do so. We could only love him as he is for as long as he’s here, but how long that was wasn’t up to us. Accepting that limitation freed me to love him differently, less desperately. It allowed us to have more honest conversations where we were each safe to share. Accepting him as he was meant I didn’t need to impose on him what I thought he should be or how he should do things; at times I was able to consider his perspective, put myself in his shoes. What I wanted wasn’t necessarily what he did. I had to try to honor his autonomy and walk alongside him and try to avoid letting my fear throw me into a state of telling or yelling. Acceptance allowed him to feel seen, heard, loved, and respected and allowed a softening in me toward his life and what the outcome might be.

For months we’ve been pretty aware that we were watching our son die. We did what we could to explore better supports and treatment. We loved him fiercely. And we also looked at quality of life, honoring that he’d prefer to live on his own, have a job, be able to write and record his music (which he did) than be in an inpatient facility, even if it would keep him safe and alive. Acceptance allowed me to choose who I wanted to be and how I wanted to show up, even when I was terrified that he would die. Acceptance allowed us to have a closer, more loving and trusting, open relationship than we would have otherwise. And acceptance now allows each of us to grieve in our own way at a our time, knowing that we will need and want different things at different times. Navigating together, but individually.

7. Cultivating a Heart that can Hold It All - this is a phrase I first heard from Buddhist meditation teacher, Tara Brach, and it’s one I’ve taken to heart ever since. It’s the idea that seemingly contradictory states of being can coexist in a way that the mind can’t make sense of but the heart can. It requires us to get away from black and white, either/or, all or nothing thinking and to recognize that even in the most painful times, there is also beauty, peace, and joy. Making room in our hearts for it all to be there is exquisite, because it’s already all there anyway. Often, we are just overly focused on one or the other, squeezing one out because it doesn’t seem to fit, adding to our suffering by not allowing ourselves the full richness of this human experience.

A meditation practice that invites us to sit with the breath, to notice what we’re noticing, but not need to rush to fix or change it, helps us to develop this capacity to be with all of life. To turn toward even the pain and discomfort, to sit in it, not needing to rush past.

There are times when I’m sick and tired of this grief thing that has landed like a cloak on our world, and I’d like to just get on, get “back to normal,” but at a deeper level I know there is no going back. There is no normal any more. I can only go forward into what is next, and as exhausting and uncomfortable as it is, I don’t want to bypass the divinely human experience of a deep grief that reflects a profound loss and a deep love.

At times I’ve wondered if I’m doing this wrong because I see people look at me, expecting that I will be devastated all the time - how could I not be? I’ve lost my child. But I’m not. I mean, I’m on the verge of tears most of the time, thoughts of Nate and the ache and longing to hold him one more time don’t ever go away, but I can also take in the beauty of a magnolia bloom, laugh with a friend, find comfort in mindless TV, sleep at night, and be grateful for the lack of worry that comes with knowing where he is. When I think of forever without him, I get punched in the gut with a wave of nausea, I lose my breath… and so I ride that wave. I allow it to be here (because, as we’ve already acknowledged, it is here) without pushing it away. If I get sick and tired of saying the same things over and over again (which I do), I allow the sick and tired. It’s amazing how much our hearts can hold if only we allow them to.

8. Gratitude - I have been practicing gratitude for at least 12 years now and it truly has changed my experience of life. (You can check out the research on how gratitude actually rewires our brains). It hasn’t changed my life circumstances, because most of those are out of my control. But it has changed how I walk through life, what I focus on, what I notice. Gratitude is one of the simplest things you can weave into your life. In any moment you can pause, get quiet, look around and notice what you’re grateful for. Whether you speak it out loud, write it down, or simply notice, take a moment to breathe it in to your being. What does it feel like to feel grateful? Where in your body do you notice it?

I notice a softening and expansion in my heart, a fullness and deepening of my breath, a broadening of my perspective in that moment of “oh yes… this is here too.” The more we look for things to appreciate in life, the more it becomes part of who we are. Every day I take photos of beauty, inside and outside my home. It’s part of my gratitude. I also reflect every evening on what I’m grateful for over the course of the day. Sometimes I pause and reflect in the morning before I get out of bed. I’m grateful the sun came up again, and I have one more day. I’m grateful for my tears which give me the natural release for this grief. I’m grateful for the friends who let me carry on and share my raw feelings with them. I’m grateful for the birds singing outside my window, the sunlight, the stunning beauty of the sky and sunset, the fresh burst of blooms that remind me of new life, even in the presence of death.

9. A Huge Dose of Grace and Self-Compassion is always of benefit.

That’s what I have to offer today, 5 weeks into the most profound grief of my life. I’m here. I’m still me even as me is forever changed. The core of who I am and what I know have been deeply impacted by this loss, and yet they carry me still.

I hope that maybe there’s something here you can bring into your life to help carry you when times get hard as well as when things are flowing smoothly. I’d love to hear what resonates with you or what challenges you. Please share in the comments or drop me a note. I may not reply right away (or even at all) - that’s part of gentling myself right now. But you reading and responding always matters. Thanks for being here as we walk this human journey in all its richness.

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Carrying Pain

2/19/2023

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Pain. Fear. Worry. I’m noticing lots of us don’t know what to do with these very human, and very uncomfortable experiences. Many of us have been conditioned to push through pain. We don’t understand or don’t want to sit with it. After all, we live in a culture that says things like, “No pain, no gain!” (Which, by the way I call bullshit on!).

If we allow it, our pain informs us. It tells us when something is wrong. It lets us know we need some loving care. It begs us to rest and regroup - to nurture ourselves until we’re ready to consider what to do.

We all carry pain. One of the elements of mindful self-compassion is common humanity, reminding us all humans suffer. It’s part of our shared human experience, not a sign of weakness and not something that happens to you alone.

I have found myself living with some really heavy pain mixed with a lot of fear lately. At times I’ve found myself feeling flat and dull like a cardboard shirt liner. Some days it’s a slog to simply do the next thing. Other days I compartmentalize a bit and put the painful stuff aside to enjoy being with myself or with a friend. One thing I know for sure is the more I’m able to express or share my pain, the less burdened I feel.

When we try to carry it alone, giving it nowhere to go, no release, no expression, no tears or screams, it eats us up inside. It comes out - always - just maybe not in a healthy way. Sideways, misdirected, harmful.

What Helps

What helps me in these times is to talk about it with someone who simply listens without trying to fix or advise. It helps me to write about it. It helps me to cry, even if the tears come from an unrelated song or movie. It helps to get outdoors and look for beauty. Because what’s scaring me is so outside my control, it helps to find what I can control - picking one small task and seeing it through (I’m talking super small, like getting a load of laundry through the dryer or wiping down one kitchen counter).

I’m learning to be with my pain, and to not be with it alone. Give it space. Give it voice before its pressure builds up and blows, before I become so numb that I hide away and lose myself to the world.

Where did we learn to believe we have to be OK all the time? That it’s weak to admit we’re hurting or scared? Maybe from parents who held it all together as they went through hard times. Parents who did what they had to do to get through, who weren’t raised to talk about their sorrows or hardships and didn’t know how to care for themselves. Maybe from a world that feels hard and harsh - a world that instructs us to hide our tears and “get over” our grief.

Pain carried alone is like poison, slowly taking us down.

What if we faced pain together?

As we face our scary realities, I wonder what might happen if we can each let down our armor. Maybe we can be afraid together. Maybe in that fear, we can break through - maybe shared vulnerability will help us face what we need to in a realistic way. Maybe. Maybe if we trusted one another to be honest and open about what’s going on, we can face it together. Maybe if we stopped pretending we’re OK, maybe if we’d open our hearts to one another, take a breath, slow down long enough to be really real, maybe then we’d get somewhere. Stop pushing, stop running and let ourselves break down to break through.

Maybe we need to stop jumping too quickly to problem-solving and let ourselves admit just how scared we are first. Maybe we can admit we don’t know what’s coming or how things can change, and then uncover some fresh ideas. What if we could learn from each other’s fears as we share our own? Can we come together to find a way forward? It seems worth a shot.

Hurt people hurt people. Let’s be people who are healing to help others heal. It will take some time. We have time. It’s always better to slow things down than to try to operate from a place of reactivity. Our pain and our problems deserve our time, our attention, our love, and our full presence. Especially when things feel really dire. In those moments, may we open our hearts to one another, let our whole selves come through, and come together to find our way on.

To the One Who is Hurting
by Barb Klein

To you, Dear One,
                The one who’s not doing as well
                as you’d like the world to believe,
I see you
I feel for you
I know what it’s like -
                to armor up and soldier on
                to put on a smile when you feel empty inside
                to feel lost and alone, and oh, so scared
Where do you turn?
How do you let it out
                so you don’t carry this unbearable weight
                alone?
Please let yourself let down
                some way, somewhere…
Please…
Don’t carry this alone.
It will tear you up inside
And leave you as destroyed
                as the one you worry about.
Please, find someone -
                let someone walk by your side.
You don’t have to pretend to be OK.
Really.
In each of us there lies a secret pain -
                too big to let out, we fear,
                afraid it will take over the moment it’s revealed
You are not alone.
You are one of thousands of millions,
                pretending to be OK,
                shoving it down, this poisonous pain,
                burying it away,
                hurting and hurting and hurting some more.
Let it out.
Let someone in.
You do not have to carry this alone.
When pain is shared
                it becomes less heavy -
                perhaps.
Perhaps a new possibility might arise…
                if not, at least you can face it -
                together.
It’s too much for one person to bear, this poisonous pain.
I see you
I feel you
I’ve been there (just yesterday, in fact)
I wrap you in a love that reminds you -
                You do not suffer alone
Let’s carry this together
                as we step into this day,
Not pretending we’re OK
It’s OK
We’ll go on and find our way
Somehow
Some way
We will get through another day

Gentle yourself in whatever way you need. Rest when you need to. Know that pain doesn't have to be pushed through and that it's not weak to ask for help. Cry. Scream. Write. Whatever works for you to get out any pain you're holding. Let it out, get it out so that it doesn't tear you up inside. Please offer yourself tons of grace. Find your own version of what helps.

And if, in this moment, you're feeling peaceful, relaxed and full of joy! Great!! Soak that in - breathe it in to your bones so you remember you can find this feeling when you need it.

As always, please meet yourself with kindness, gentleness, tenderness, and compassion. And know that you are not alone.

I offer you this meditation, In Painful Times, as a practice to support you.

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Love IS Tough!

8/1/2022

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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Whether it’s love for a child, partner, family member, friend, or ourselves. Staying IN relationship is almost always harder than walking away. Being willing to have the tough conversations, to admit our hurt or misunderstanding, to ask “what happened? What did you experience?” and share what’s going on for us, however imperfectly the words might fall out of your mouth.

Personally, I almost always bumble my words in real time. They don’t come out nearly as coherently or smoothly as they sounded in my head when I am face to face with this person with whom I’m having some kind of struggle. I didn’t grow up learning how to express my anger or hurt or how to ask for what I need.

I grew up hiding from conflict, avoiding it like the plague. Love and anger did not compute – in my mind they negated one another. I couldn’t be angry with someone I loved. If they were angry with me, that must mean our relationship is over. Anger has always been a little scary for me – mine as well as others. The silent treatment riles me up - I sometimes provoke just to get some kind of interaction going, even if it isn’t pretty.

Love, my friends, is tough. It’s so much easier (in some ways) to ice someone out, cut them off, be “done” with them. Walk away and stop trying to mend what’s been damaged or heal the hurt.
It takes effort to be willing to muddle through a conversation when both of you are hurting and/or upset. As we learn to take good care of ourselves it can be hard to figure out how to do that AND stay in relationship, honoring that we both have needs and at times those needs might be in conflict.
It takes learning new ways to wait and new ways to communicate in order to reconnect after there’s been a mishap. It’s painful. It’s often ugly, and may involve some tissues, some big sighs, some exasperated gestures or voices. It’s tricky to stay out of defensive posture, hear the other person, while also sharing our thoughts and feelings.

Self-compassion is also critical, as I tend to beat myself up, imagining what a terrible person I must be if this person I love is so upset. I hate hurting people and would far rather blame myself than someone I love. Self-love can be tough.

If we are wise, we allow time and space for each person to think things through, to look at our own stuff, to feel what’s bubbling within us, before we try to come together. However, in the silence, alone with our thoughts, we conjure up stories that may be far worse than what’s really going on. Someone avoids us or doesn’t take our calls, and we give it all sorts of meanings. How quickly we go from sadness and hurt to fear to “F@#& you!” depends on our own personal boiling point or how often we’ve been abandoned before.

I do not believe in “tough love” as too often prescribed for families and friends of loved ones who struggle with mental health issues like substance use, eating disorders, or other problematic behaviors. No, I don’t. These people are already hurting and misunderstood enough. Trust me, they pile onto their own suffering and adding to it is not going to help them heal or change. Just, no.

But I do know love is tough. Hanging in there in a way that works for you as well as the other person is tough. We fall in love with our babies and our partners so easily, we may not grasp the reality of the work and care required to stay in relationship with these people as we all grow and change.

I am discovering the gift in the relationships that require extensive work. Each time we make it through another round or problem, we deepen our connection. We add to the evidence that we will last. We learn to trust the relationship, and we remember (at least for a minute) not to take it or this person for granted.

Love is tough. It requires a willingness to be clumsy, a commitment to be honest, an ability to show up and speak up, even when it’s uncomfortable. The ability to take a risk because the relationship matters. It requires that we show up fully and authentically – not pretending that all is ok until we somehow get beyond whatever happened. True friendships and deep relationships require honesty and for each of us to be true to ourselves. I am not interested in superficial connections. I want to dive deep with my people. Diving deep is going to get messy at times.

It's tough. And in the end, it is so worth it. As we grow together, we learn more about one another. If I can begin to look at you and really know and accept that your behaviors make sense (based on your history, your personality, your style, your way of thinking and being), I can more easily accept you and make room for our differences. I can appreciate that we are not the same, and that’s ok. Hopefully you will learn a bit about my wounds, my triggers, my reactions, and my messed-up thinking as we talk things out. We will both realize that everyone acts like an ass at times… including me and including you.

I don’t have to take it all on. Relationships are made up of people. Whatever is going on here, we’ve created it together. We may not have meant to – things are often not personal or intentional, but here we are.

How do we find our way back to the surface to begin again? Together. One moment and one breath at a time. Through reaching out and asking or inviting a conversation. Through allowing space and time for that green light moment to reveal itself. Through finding “our way,” which may not be entirely yours or entirely mine. Getting beyond a need to blame or punish – ourself or the other. Remembering our heart connection and coming with deep compassion and an open heart so that we can reconnect.

Love is tough. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows. It requires deep vulnerability, the courage to say “I am sorry. I was wrong. I wish that hadn’t happened. I don’t ever want to hurt you" (but I likely will if you stick around long enough, because, hey… I’m human and so are you).

Love is not always laughter and joy, even when we think it should be. Life is always happening, and in the end, love is tough...so it endures. Love is the way.

**PLEASE NOTE: Not all relationships are healthy or worth fighting for - if you are being abused in any way, please get the help and support you need to take care of yourself and keep yourself safe.**

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Feeling Blah...

7/13/2022

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I don’t know about you, but I seem to cycle through phases of feeling energized, very on purpose, in flow, and then dropping into “What is the point of it all? Why do we do what we do? What is my purpose? Do I even have a purpose, or is this all for nothing? Who am I?”

It’s pretty unsettling and disorienting in the floundering times that hold such big, heavy questions. I think it’s pretty natural. My counselor says it’s ok, so that reassures me. There will be times of feeling blah, needing to turn inward, to shut out the world, to give more to myself than to others. It’s called nourishment, nurturing, true self care, and it’s vital to our sustainability as humans.

The world is a lot right now. Whatever might be going on personally, we each need to add multipliers to it that are weighing on us, consciously or not. The pandemic goes on, the debate about the pandemic goes on, injustice, violence, discrimination, threats to life and liberty are everywhere. Maybe the world is always a lot. I’m feeling the accumulation of it pretty heavily right now, along with the collective weight of years of personal stuff.

So, there’s been a bit of blah lately. Not a lot of energy or motivation. A strong desire to pull in, to slow down, to quiet down, to say “no” and to not be too available to others. The clarity is strong, and the good news is I’m listening despite the inner struggle that wonders if that’s really ok or if I’m at risk of becoming a hermit.

I teeter between telling myself it’s ok and wondering if that’s really true. Mostly, I’m leaning into only doing what I want, what feels doable and reasonable given my current bandwidth, letting go of, or rescheduling non-essentials, releasing things that feel like more hassle than they’re worth. As I write this it feels like a pretty healthy approach. It just seems that I need this more and more these days, years, months. Didn’t I just give myself a little sabbatical last year? I did. And this year.

And now I need one again in the form I am able to create it – I will gladly see my clients, I will co-facilitate my group, I will continue to write… and I will put off things that do not call to me or do not need to happen. I will cancel memberships to groups I don’t participate in – I feel the low-level pressure when I’m not being honest with myself.

I showed up for yoga class on Sunday and thankfully the theme was tuning into and trusting our inner guidance. Love when that happens! So, as I practiced, I took a few notes.

Here’s what I took away – what I was reminded of:

We all have inner wisdom, inner guidance, inner authority.
When we are depleted, overwhelmed, stressed, or in crisis or survival mode, we lose touch with it.
To connect with it we need to be willing to feel. This may be why we over-busy ourselves or find other ways to numb or distract ourselves. It can be uncomfortable to feel what our inner wisdom is telling us.
Escaping, distracting, and numbing take us away from our natural connection with our inner knowing. Work, alcohol, substances, food, activities, social media, our devices, and over-giving to others serve this purpose. This purpose of protecting us from the discomfort.
Integrity comes from living in alignment with our inner knowing and guidance.
Slowing down, coming into breath and body helps. Quieting down. Connecting to something larger than ourselves through prayer, meditation, or getting out in nature helps. Opening up space, breathing room allows us to hear and see more clearly.
There are going to be these moments when we feel unsure. When we feel like we are flailing, lost, and confused. Times when we release the last version of ourselves and our lives to step into what’s next. In between steps there is often a pause – a time to cocoon in order to transform. It’s not always pretty or comfortable. It’s worth going there anyway.
To fully experience the richness of this human life, we need to be willing to feel it all and to be with ourselves in these moments of not knowing, of discomfort, of questioning. When we can be with ourselves in these times, come home to our heart and soul for guidance, we allow ourselves to grow and become. It isn’t flashy or pretty until it is. Think caterpillar to goo to beautiful butterfly. We too are like this. We just need to give ourselves permission to go into the darkness, to huddle up, to rest, to integrate, to release any need to perform or prove as we become.

The vastness of the ocean, the immensity of a redwood, the expansiveness of a canyon can take us away and beyond our own smallness to help us connect with the sense that something larger is at play. In these spaces we can feel both our own insignificance and our interconnection to all things on earth. We can find our belonging within the Universe and believe somehow that even when we can’t see it, there is a reason we are here. We do matter. We can remember that we are not alone. We matter. We are needed. Our voice, our ideas, our creations… unlike any other.

Whenever you find yourself doubting that, I invite and encourage you to listen to Brandi Carlile and Alicia Keys sing “A Beautiful Noise.” Something in this song wakes me, shakes me, and reminds me to hold on even when I’m not sure where I’m going. It pulls me back to trust that the way will become clear (or at least clearer). It reminds me that I have a voice. I have unique stories to tell, perspectives to share, lessons to teach, invitations to offer, and gifts to give. So do you. Each one of us does.

How are you doing these days? Where is your inner guidance leading you? Talking with a wise woman the other day she aptly noted, “I think people are fried.” I think she’s right. If you’re feeling fried right now, how do you recharge? How do you reconnect with your inner wisdom and guidance? What works for you? Please share with us so that we can add to our own ideas. In the moments of darkness, it can be hard to see a path forward. We forget this current state will, at some point, come to an end. It will.

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Many & Mixed Emotions

7/1/2022

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Image by Pixaline from Pixabay

Whew! It’s been a week of many emotions, from the pits of despair, to peace, to joy. Memories, moments swirl within, weaving together, making up my reality. Healing is happening. Growth is happening. Layers peeling back. Heart breaking open. Trauma being released.

Car screams help. Tears help. Laughter helps. Saying “yes” to spontaneous invites help. Reaching out helps. Conversation and connection help. Pausing to notice change and growth and to acknowledge it helps. Holistic healthcare helps – a lot. Grateful for all of my practitioners who have ideas and an understanding of how to help that seems to be beyond the scope of Western medicine.

I have felt myself swirling down into the too familiar drain of doom… taking one data point and projecting it into a future reality, that I obviously have no idea if it will ever come to be or not. Our minds are so quick with the stories, find such reassurance in certainty, think they know it all. They don’t.

But the old triggers awaken the automatic responses – before I even know it, I’m back in the old ways, swirling in the old thoughts, feeling the old fears. I don’t have to stay here. I am grateful for the reminders that change is not a smooth linear upward path. It never is. Growth happens in fits and spurts, in setbacks and hesitations, in erratic and unpredictable ways. The path is rarely clear.

So, keep my heart open. Allow space for what’s here in this moment. How can I be with myself? Who can support me? It’s clear I need to expand my network. My immediate desire is to call Mary… and, of course, I can’t. And though she plays me music to let me know she’s right here, it’s just not the same. Thankful for the friends who do call. Who ask, “What can I do to support you?” or who simply offer their care and love. Thankful for talking with my family. Thankful for hard, honest conversations that reflect so much. Thankful when I can help another.

This week has hit me in so many ways, from mundane and simple overwhelm from trying to do too much in too little time, to self-criticism for doing that, to more extreme situations. I’ve had moments of absolute divine flow and grace, sailing smoothly through with no rushing or lateness – definitely a rarity! And I’ve had moments of forgetting things like money to pay my acupuncturist or important documents to share with my coach. Oh well… move on through. I can pay her next time and bring those papers in a couple of weeks. We work with what’s here.

Driving through our old neighborhood the other day brought up so much… dreams of what was to be and the reality of what wasn’t. A mix of sweet memories of my kids’ childhoods twirled and danced with scary, disappointing, and terribly sad ones of later years. I felt my heart ache for it all, felt my throat clench as sobs started to rise, and I took myself to the park. I sat in the car in the parking lot and I journaled… I let everything come through my pen onto paper. I let myself cry. I let myself feel and release what had been stuffed tightly down for too long as I claimed all of it as part of this reality that is my life.

I know for me healing includes walking through the fire, facing what’s before me. As I can face it, I can release it. I can see where I’ve been and where I am now. I can reckon with the horribly hard stuff, embrace the sweet stuff and I can accept all that falls in-between.

Contemplation sometimes moves to action too quickly for my being to keep up. I love our spontaneity overall. And, sometimes it catches me off guard. We decided to sell our boat. It took less than 72 hours and it will be gone – whisked away to some other lake to cart grandkids around. That makes me happy. We had a nice run over to Beachcomber the other night for the classic summer dinner by the lake while they play beach volleyball. One of the things we’ve always loved doing with the boat! This morning we took our last spin around the lake. Getting to be captain one more time, I soaked it in. Tears ran down my face for all the reasons – mostly because this dream ever came into reality! All my life I wanted a ski boat. 9 years ago, we got our first one and it’s been a wonderful thing. Savoring the memories and at the same time relieved to be done with any hassle. Knowing there will be moments I will miss it and long for it, and knowing overall it will be a relief.

Why in the world am I carrying on about such an inconsequential thing at a time when the world is raging with so many consequential and incomprehensible things? Because it’s all part of it… each one of us is affected by the small personal things, the big personal things and the collective stuff of the world. I don’t know anyone who’s not feeling some level of weariness right now.

It’s a really good time to take good care of ourselves. And it begins, for me, with allowing the many mixed emotions to move through me. Tears, laughter, delight, agony… they can all come through in any given day. What I try to remember is that “this” won’t last. Whatever this is… it will change, morph, release, move on, and something else will quickly fill its place.

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"You'll Be Fine..." "You Don't Know That!"

4/29/2022

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Seven years ago, I was scheduled for a needle biopsy. I was scared, and we did not know what the results would show. I didn't care that this was a "routine procedure." I was grateful that not too many people hit me with “You’ll be fine,” because that would have really pissed me off! I was grateful there were people who listened and gave me space to be honest about my fear. It would have felt like a lie in some ways for anyone to say “you’ll be fine.” It would have felt dismissive. It’s a form of toxic positivity. A reflection of their discomfort with my discomfort.

Here's a bit from a post I wrote at the time, “I Know a Woman:” (Hint: I was this woman)
“Right now this woman is having a mini-wakeup call – a small awakening to what could be a new reality for her body. She is so very grateful for the doctor and the people in her life who take time to listen, but don’t venture to offer the false reassurance, “You’ll be fine.” Because we don’t know.  We don’t know what they’ll find. So, please, she asks, let her be in the space of uncertainty, the space of unknowing.

Right now she has a lot of questions.  Does she put her life on hold? Hold her breath till she knows? How does she lovingly support herself through this time? Who can she lean on for support? Who are the people who are really able to be there for her, rather than needing her to comfort and reassure them that she will be “fine;” that it’s “nothing?”

I trust she will be fine one way or the other simply because of her peace, her trust, and her faith that she is living her life as it comes. She will be “fine” because she will face what comes to her with courage, with love, and with the same belief in possibility that she usually has.  And, at times “fine” might include tears, anger, and fear.

…This woman enters these next few weeks of uncertainty wanting to be very real about it, and with as much grace, dignity, and ease as she can muster. She will welcome all of the many feelings and thoughts that may dance through her days.”

How often do we find ourselves not knowing what to say when someone is scared, angry, grieving, or lost? Blurting out things like “You’ll be fine. You’ll get through this. You’ve got this!” Maybe we say these things because we’re afraid too. Or we want to smother the person in comfort, to take away their fear or pain as quickly as possible. Or we want to cheerlead with a strong vote of confidence.

We mean well. We care. We are not bad or insensitive people, and we probably haven’t been taught how to be with uncomfortable emotions. We can do better. Because these messages can leave people feeling even more alone, misunderstood. Sometimes it’s better to do as my friend, Lori, says and take out the duct tape and zip it… just listen. Say nothing. Sometimes there are no words.

When someone you love is struggling or suffering, what would it be like to simply sit with them, allow them to feel what they’re feeling, let it be ok to admit that what’s coming is unknown and scary, and be uncomfortable together?

How do you want people to show up for you in these moments of uncertainty?

Brené Brown has a fantastic short video on Empathy. “Empathy fuels connection. Empathy is feeling with people,” she says. And she highlights what a gift it is when we don’t need to try to make things better.   I highly recommend you take a few minutes right now to watch it and then think about bringing this into your way of being. There are endless opportunities calling for empathy.

This is what the #AtoZChallenge has me wondering about today. What things have people said to you that you wish they hadn’t? What’s been helpful instead? What words or action fuel connection? Which ones leave you feeling more alone?

Want to read another blog about this? I think Kevin Thompson does a nice job in “You Don’t Know that I’ll Be Fine.”

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Unknown and Uncertainty

4/25/2022

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Sitting with these ideas for today’s #AtoZChallenge. We live in a world of uncertainty, and we are always stepping into the unknown, individually and collectively. Depending on what that unknown is can fill us with excitement or anxiety, hope or dread.

Sometimes it’s clear that we are in a state of transition – leaving a job or relationship, graduating college, getting married, moving across the country, having a baby… in these cases, we know we are leaving behind a familiar life to enter into a new one. What we don’t always see so readily is that we are always in transition. Our bodies, our reality, our relationships, minds and ideas are continually morphing and evolving.

Other people fill us with their fears, worries, or faith, which may or may not be helpful. Each of us is living in the unknown, uncertain of what’s to come. Most of us don’t like to admit or accept that. So, we do what we can to control, to create some level of imagined certainty.

We make decisions and choices, take actions trying to ensure the outcome we desire, unwilling to admit we can only take the next best step for the best chance of the things we hope for. There is freedom in accepting that truth.

The only things that are known or certain are those things that have already happened.

And, so, what keeps us going? Why do we continue to show up? I guess because the unknown also offers the possibility of things beyond our imagination. Our negativity bias causes us to focus on what could go wrong, but at the same time our spirit and soul call us to what could be wonderful or amazing.

Knowing is actually way less interesting than we admit. Who would watch a multi-hour sports event or movie if they knew how it was going to end? (Well, unless, like me, you’ve seen it before and you don’t remember or you don’t care because the story is so enthralling!).

We spend hours of worry about how our lives or our loved ones’ lives will go. We humans are fascinating! Playing this game of strategy and faith, effort and flow, making moves, taking chances, riding on hope. And, there it is again, that mighty force that some call weak.

Hope encourages us, supports us to say yes to the proposal, to take the stage, to leave the toxic relationship and head out on our own. To put down the drink or drug that has consistently brought comfort to see if there might be a better life without it. The hope that tomorrow will be a better day nudges us forward. Something has to push us, pull us to leave the known and risk the vast uncertainty of the unknown. To wake up and step into a new day and see where it takes you.

“When you walk to the edge of all the light you have and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown, you must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for you to stand upon or you will be taught to fly.”
― Patrick Overton, The leaning tree

My favorite days are “Let’s see where the spirit takes us” days. Days with absolutely no plans, and where we let go of control, just checking in moment by moment to see what we’d like to do. What we want to eat? Is this a time to rest, read, or go for a walk? What adventure calls to our hearts? What might be fun? What would feel comforting and nourishing?

To find the ability to flow with it, gently, sweetly, one moment at a time. Not needing an agenda. Not needing to know. It can be uncomfortable, but it can also be wonderfully delightful when I pause and listen within, feel into the longing of my heart and soul, let go of the worry of wasted time.

This is where I sit right now. Is this a day to relax and write? To bake? To go to a movie? In the sweetness of no schedule, I don’t know. And, I am savoring the unknown. It gives me permission to decide, to choose, to see… These are my favorite days. The ones not dictated by meetings, classes, work, commitments, or appointments. They are a rare gift in a busy world. “Seizing” this day does not mean it has to be productive or anything other than what it is. It only asks me to show up and be with it, as it is, as it unfolds.

And, yet, feeling the uncertainty of our future, having just watched the memorial video of a young man gone too son, compels me to invite us all to live a life we will remember. To love openly, to care deeply, to hug our people, to capture memories, and make new ones. This life is so precious because of its uncertainty. We don’t have to strive to make things happen, but we don’t want to miss what’s here.

What grounds you as you find yourself swirling in the midst of uncertainty? What helps you stay steady as you step into the great unknown? What practices do you have that hold you most reliably when times are tough? For me, meditation, morning pages, yoga, getting outdoors in the beauty of nature bring me home, and connecting with those I love is critical.

What does it mean to you to live a life you will remember? What’s calling you? What feels most meaningful and important these days? Has that changed over the years? I know, for me, I have little desire to go back to how I used to be when I was much younger. And I do long to step into my next chapter from a place of purpose and joy.

A few recommendations and invitations for you:
Katrina Kenison writes beautifully about life and its various stages, looking at transitions and life changes. I have recently finished Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment, a beautiful book for women in midlife, changing roles and relationships with growing children, finding themselves again after career and parenting change. I highly recommend this as well as The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother’s Memoir of Letting Go. Both books and her blogs, which are beautiful and thought-provoking, call us to be present to the everyday moments as our lives and relationships grow, evolve, and become their next version.

Here are a couple of musical accompaniments for this life journey:
The Nights by Avicii – “Live a life you will remember!”
I Did It All by Vince Myers

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Bodies, Bumps, and Bulges (Oh My!)

4/2/2022

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The questions that come up for me as I think about bodies and how we relate to our own and others are numerous… Why are some bumps and bulges good (and to be highlighted, enhanced, pumped up, and shown off) and some bad (to be squeezed to death, hidden away in shame, or to feel embarrassed about or apologize for).

As I walked along the beach in Hilton Head, I took a scientific stance… observing and taking mental notes about this topic. Please know these are not my own ideas or judgments, though I surely have been conditioned to believe some of them.

As I share them, I invite, beg, plead with you to question each and every one of them… let’s break these ideas and find a kinder, gentler way of compassion, acceptance, and appreciation!

But, from a simplistic observation, here’s what the common understandings and agreements seem to be:

boob bulges are good, show them off…
belly bulges (at least on women) bad,
butt bulges good – bring on the thongs and let those cheeks out! (unless you’re old, and then, please get the skirt suit!)
thigh bulges gross, especially if they also happen to be dimply and then they should be suctioned
lip bulges good and maybe they should even be injected

And, so I’m confused. So much of this depends on age and gender identity. Kid bellies are adorable! Pregnant bellies are adorned and adored. Guys can pat their beer bellies and chuckle…

Yet, most of the time, women better cover up any extra lumps or bulges. Or squeeze the life out of them – have you ever tried these torture devices meant to contain a body that wants to flop around? No thank you!

There are also cultural preferences. If I had been born in a different place and time, there are certainly other characteristics I’d be judged for and longing for. Which would suggest there is no right or wrong body, wouldn’t it? That maybe we could let go of these ideas of too big, too small, too grey, too wrinkly, saggy, or bulgy… Wouldn’t that be amazing!?

And so, I find myself wondering… when did I learn to judge every bit of this body of mine and who taught me to hate the belly I now have and wish for the flat one that was here when I was 20. Why do I think it’s reasonable to expect this body that has carried me for almost 6 decades, birthed and fed two babies and then cared for them as they grew, held the stress of the terrifying and uncertain times… to look like it did in the days of my youth?

Who taught me the numbers on the scale would lead to a good or bad day? That buying a pair of pants with a certain number on the tag was to be dreaded and avoided? That I should count calories or points? Deprive myself or push myself to try to sculpt a certain desired (and possibly unattainable) shape? Think that I should look like the woman over there who’s built entirely different from me? Believe that she’s more desirable because she fits some preconceived norm?

What would it be like to truly act in a loving and kind way toward this body that is the only one I have in its current iteration? What would it be like to not look at myself in the mirror or in a photo and name something that I hate about so many bits of me? What would it be like to move through a day without excessive thoughts about how I look or how others see me, about what or how much I should or shouldn’t eat?

What if, instead, we could honor the body that we have. The one that’s lived through whatever it’s lived through in this life? What if, we could accept that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and appreciate this diversity among us?

I recently joined an Intuitive Eating program and was horrified to see how often my thoughts go to food, body, or weight, more often than not in an unkind and judgmental way. I am not a person who has gone from diet to diet throughout my life or who deprives myself of the pleasure of the food I enjoy. BUT, what I have noticed is the pervasive thoughts that I should be doing it differently. Even as I’m eating something delicious, the narrative, “Oh, you’re being BAD” is running…

In this moment, I’m really not liking what I see when I look in the mirror or what I feel when I put on my clothes. Not usually a fan of “fake it til you make it,” I’m trying to do that with this idea of meeting myself where I am. I’m even wearing a shirt that says “Be Kind” while the thoughts running through my mind are anything but. And, I want to make some changes (but clearly not badly enough). I want to do that from a kind place, with gentleness and compassion. Harsh and cruel aren’t the way.

I find myself now in a place of simply trying to be ok with the body I have so that I can work with it. Trying to establish a genuinely trusting and loving relationship with this vessel that houses me so that I can know when it’s hungry or full, what will truly be nourishing in this moment. When it needs rest and when it needs to move. What works for it, today, in this reality of who I am?

It’s not easy in a world where the cultural messaging is strong and omnipresent… and damaging. Ideas about body image are intense, and they keep us from liking or loving ourselves. They lead us to do things to our bodies that are harmful.

Going back to my A post about Answers – I wish someone had taught each of us to find our own way, to be ok with who we are, and to respect the differences among us.

Are you at peace with your body?

If so, I’m really happy for you! Please let us know how you’ve gotten to this point. How have you worked with your mind and heart along the way to feel ok, good, or great about how you look and feel? I’m very much a novice and work in progress in this area.

I’m going to begin with sending loving kindness to each part of my body, intentionally appreciating them for what they do for me… these (big) feet and legs for carrying me through my days, this (big) belly for housing all the digestive organs that nourish and fuel me, that brought two babies into this world, …

OK, OK, that was a rough start… I’ll go back and take out the judgment and begin again with a genuine loving offering to my feet, my legs, my heart, my internal organs, my brain, arms, and hands, my eyes and ears… there are so many miracles here. Let me pause to appreciate that just for a minute. Seriously…
Here's a recording to Loving Kindness for the Body meditation if you'd like to join me.

This post sent me into quite a spiral after writing it. How about you? What does it bring up? Share in the comments below and let's learn and grow together! #AtoZchallenge

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Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief

1/18/2022

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I intended to write a blog last week. I wanted to.   I intended to record a meditation. I wanted to. I did. And, I just didn’t have it in me. Somehow time went by and I hadn’t done it, day after day. That’s what’s true. I wish I could have pushed through and maybe even inspired myself in the process, but I just didn’t feel like it. I am trying to be gentle with myself with this thing that has inhabited my being for the past few weeks, surprising me with how and when it hits in a way that just takes me down.

I was going to write about moving with grief, living with grief, being with grief… because that’s what I felt like I was doing last week. I had the good fortune of tapping into a gift practice that Paul Denniston of Grief Yoga had shared with his email list the day before Mary died – Grief Dancer.   I practiced two days in a row (surely, that’s enough, right!?)… I cried, I laughed, I looked at Mary’s picture, I said her name out loud, I dedicated the practice to her and I let myself sob and bring up what had been pushed down. I felt like I was doing a pretty good job being with my grief in a world that doesn’t do this well. I talked to a couple of people who I hadn’t already burdened with my story, because I don’t want to weigh anyone down with hearing the same thing over and over, when there’s nothing new to say.

One Day of Grief (Yesterday)
Damn, this grief stuff can be very lonely. I wish I lived in a community that knew how to grieve together. I wish I had people I could spontaneously call and just cry or vent with. I probably do, but when I feel like this it’s hard to find the energy to figure out who that might be or to have the resilience to deal with needing to schedule a time, with voice mails or unanswered calls.
And so I turn to my writing… because reliably and consistently this is an outlet for my heart to express what’s going on. To discover this myself as it pours itself onto the page. I know there isn’t a person out there who can really hold this with me in a way that will feel satisfying because there are no words to describe the ache within.

I tried to sit down to meditate, and I wanted to explode. My whole being was way too agitated… being still wasn’t what I wanted or needed right then, but I didn’t really know what I wanted or needed so I headed outdoors to take a quick walk in the brisk wind. I talked out loud to Mary, risking appearing to be a crazy person talking to myself. I told her how pissed I am – not at her, but at so many things (and everything right now because that’s just what’s brewing in my belly and heart). I’m pissed at the people downstairs who yell at their screaming kids all day and night. I’m pissed at myself that I skipped yoga to take a phone call that didn’t even go well. I’m pissed that the cookie didn’t make everything ok. I’m pissed that my husband can be in the guest room and laugh with a friend while I’m locking myself in my room and going through 4 tissues (even though yesterday I tucked myself away for several calls where I did laugh).

Today I feel a little jealous. And I feel sorry for myself. I hate feeling sorry for myself. I want to jump out of my own skin, but of course I can’t get away from me. Can you see all the #@^& that I’m swimming in?? I’m pissed that I can’t call Mary. I’m pissed that I feel so alone and don’t know where to turn to talk through the hard things coming my way. I’m pissed at systems that are so messed up. I’m pissed that so much is uncertain in the days and months ahead. I’m pissed at Covid and how it impedes my desire or ability to plan. I’m just pissed.

Only it’s not just pissed because I’m also sad… really, really sad in a way I don’t remember feeling before though I’m pretty sure it’s familiar. Probably times I’ve blocked out of my memory. Sad in a way that leaves me feeling lost and not caring that I’m lost. Sad in a way that buckles me and takes away the light. Sad in a way that just leaves me feeling flat and like I just don’t care… but that’s not true. I care very much about so many things and people.

“Grief can have a quality of profound healing because we are forced to a depth of feeling that is usually below the threshold of awareness. “ – Stephen Levine

It’s confusing, this grief thing… It eats away at me at times and other times it’s a silent resident, letting me live a more normal life. I can play cards, eat meals, go to the beach and enjoy the playful dogs, I can talk with my husband and friends. At times I can even get out of my own stuff and listen to them. But not always. And I worry about being a burden. I worry that no one wants to hear this. I worry that they’ll dread my calls or texts. So, I keep it to myself until someone asks and then it comes leaking out or gushing out – depends on the day. Put me in a space with a tender loving heart, and I lose it. If someone could actually hug me, I don’t know what that would do – melt me, support me, or break me. It wouldn’t break me, but I might just have a big old ugly cry for a long, long time. If I actually had the space to do that.

Lots of the time I feel numb and flat. Not sad but not happy or inspired. Just here. Existing. Getting by. Taking one step at a time – left foot, right foot, as my friend Steve says. And maybe that’s all we can do in this world called grief. Keep on slogging forward, feeling alone, but knowing we’re not because we know there are others grieving along with us. We try to find inspiration. We try to find healing. On my way back from my chilly walk I picked up the mail – Healing Through Yoga: Transform Loss into Empowerment by Paul Denniston is waiting for me. I smile wryly at my ongoing pattern of thinking someone else has an answer for me – thinking it’s “out there” in some book, podcast, social media group, or program. I keep searching, even though I know that this is a time when the real work is an inner journey. There is no magical anything out there that will make this any easier or quicker.

I know there’s no easy fix. I know that the only way to heal is to feel. I know I have to move through this, one icky bit at a time. And I know it sucks. No one can take this pain from me and maybe I don’t even want them to. I don’t know what I want. I want my person back. Beyond that… I just don’t know.

Joyful Ease(?)
Today I had signed up for a workshop on Joyful Ease – I log in even though I’m not feeling it. Maybe I’ll get a little something. Mostly I don’t. I can’t really connect with the idea of joy so coming up with a plan for how to bring joy in each day just doesn’t land. I’m tired after those 90 minutes. So, I lie down. I close my eyes and give the weight of my body to the bed… this feels nourishing. I rest but don’t quite sleep. It’s weird because I can feel the relaxation in most of my body yet inside there’s still an energy that feels like a trapped wild animal. I want to scream until I have no voice, but I am aware that there are people around. I could scream into a pillow… and I can’t even gather the energy to do that. So, I lie here… I rest. I take a break and I do relish a brief period of peace and quiet. Momentarily the furnace muffles the ticking clock. Blessedly the screaming kids and yelling parents from downstairs go away for a while. I can breathe. The hours have ticked by and somehow, I’ve made it through another chunk of time. Another day is almost over. I feel wrung out. And, somehow, I did it. I made it. One moment at a time. Maybe I did find some degree of joyful ease within the pain.

Stages of Grief
The “stages of grief” aren’t something we move through in a linear way. They are not things we can experience once and check off the box. They come in and out and overlap. My husband came to talk with me while I was in the midst of all of this today and together, we looked them up and tried to identify where I am in this moment… seems like I’m swimming around in denial, bargaining, depression, and anger right now according to this chart. The first week as I learned the end was near the denial was intense. There have been moments of acceptance, but not peaceful acceptance. Acceptance as in, “OK. I know she’s gone. I know I can’t pick up the phone and call her. I know there are no more days ahead when we will laugh or play together.” But not acceptance that comes with ease.

Today…
All of that was written just yesterday – less than 24 hours ago. That’s important to note because it highlights impermanence – the truth that nothing lasts. Nothing. Not the way you feel right now. Not the way you see the world. Not the weather. When we stay awake and aware we can remember that and lean into it with confidence. Not as a panacea, but as a gentle reminder to hang in there when it feels like we can’t.

Today I woke up feeling some of the residue of yesterday’s slog, but not nearly the heaviness that I was carrying then. The sun coming up each day sometimes annoys me, because it feels like the world should stand still when you’re facing a loss such as this; mostly it reassures me by reminding me of the natural rhythm of things, of one thing we can count on day in and day out. Today it reminded me that I could begin again this day.

I get to choose how to greet each moment. I set my intention to be gentle with myself. I get to choose to not skip yoga, but to do the recorded version so that I can talk to my son when he calls and then finish my practice which feels like the best of both worlds.

Today I can talk with my son about what I didn’t like about yesterday’s conversation, what troubles me, what I need us to do differently going forward. Today we can talk it through, and I can hear his perspective that wasn’t nearly as dire as mine.

I can see that it wasn’t any one thing that set me off yesterday. It was a collection of many things. Missing my boys and wishing we could talk more easily and often. Missing my friends and the ease of being together. Grateful for Zoom, but so tired of this way of having to be together. Remembering that Covid has put an ongoing level of stress and feeling unsafe on all of us as it’s added a layer of complexity and contemplation that makes daily life exhausting. Grief. Loneliness. Angst. It all came together in a perfect storm. And, I was able to ride it out in my own imperfect way.

Today I can see all of the many things I could have done yesterday to help me cope better or maybe to move through all of the struggle more easily. I have a ton of practices and tools that support me. And I see that I didn’t want to use any of them. On some level I knew that I needed to wade through the swampiness yesterday. I needed to cry. I needed to rest. I needed to let myself be miserable. It was part of my healing. It was part of the journey. I knew I was ok even as much as I didn’t like it. It reminds me that I can live through moments that feel unbearable. It reminds me of the ground upon which I stand that knows it’s not about jumping over the hard stuff to get to the good feels again. I don’t want to go for the silver lining or even relief too soon. Yesterday there was no comforting me, and that’s ok.

Together
I don’t even know if I should share this with you. I worry that you’ll worry about me or think I’ve fallen apart beyond repair (I can say with confidence that I haven’t). After talking with a lovely colleague yesterday about the value of being REAL, I’m going to hit “publish” in hopes that maybe it will resonate with someone. Maybe someone out there needs to hear one little bit of this. Maybe there’s some value in what I have to offer. I know there’s value for me in getting it out of my head and being able to take it in in black and white. Maybe one grieving heart will connect with my words and feel a little less alone or misunderstood. Maybe, just maybe, we will grieve together for a moment. If this is you, I’m sending love your way. You do not walk alone. We are in this messy human life together.

Want a little further reflection on grief? I invite you to read my last post, Good Grief, Gratitude, and Grace.

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