Inspired Possibility Blog

Yes, and... Life is One Big Improv

8/14/2023

I got together with a friend/teacher/mentor/coach the other day and I’m so glad I did. As we sat outdoors, enjoying our coffee and lemonade, we talked for over 2 hours about life, death, struggle, and joy. We shared our truths and our hearts. So grateful for precious 1:1 time like this - real conversation, heartfelt connection and care for one another, true interest in what’s going on in each other’s worlds. This man and I do not shy away from the hard topics. We dive right in. But we don’t wallow in the misery, by any means. He also reminded me about joy and the ability to choose.

He reignited within me a desire for joy by sharing his commitment to only take on work that brings him joy. Even in important, life-altering work, joy is possible. Even with something as heavy as supporting people around substance use and recovery, joy is possible. I want to work with people who are open to wonder, awe, delight, even in the hardest and heaviest of times. No doubt watching a loved one struggle, fearing for their life, or losing them certainly are some of the hardest, scariest, heaviest times I’ve known.

And yet, even after Nate’s death, there are turkeys in wildly unexpected places, owls everywhere, feathers dropping out of nowhere, song lyrics, people appearing out of the blue to amaze and delight us, to touch our hearts, to wake us up to the mystery beyond what our little human minds understand. Even now he reminds me to be touched by the life we shared, the moments of joy and delight, the laughter, the not-so-serious times before things got so serious, and even the joy we found while they were very serious.

I don’t need to carry the yoke of his death around my neck forever because the delights of life are also still available to me. Wonder and awe are everywhere if my eyes are attuned to look for them. Joy dances in my heart, waiting to be set free. At a campfire, watching grown women blow bubbles, listening to heart-wrenching music with my sister while coyotes yip and yap in the nearby hedge, feeling both invigorated and a little terrified all at once. Dancing and singing at a P!nk concert, surrounded by glitter, boas, pink tie-dye, and neon landscapes, holding my breath while she soars overhead, praying that cable and harness hold. Taking in the early morning sun as it casts its light on the hills, on the lake. Appreciating moments of silence, the stillness of this day. The fact that I get another day. That I get to have time with friends who are delightful rays of sunshine. Getting to connect with one of Nate’s close friends, and being able to bake for her and get to know him through her heart and eyes. Time for yoga, time to clean if and when I feel like it. Making time to write and letting go of any rules I might have once held about what a blog should be. All these things carry their own kind of miraculous wonder and awe.

Yes, there is a lot of shit in the world. A lot of angry, scared, exasperated, and aggressive people out there. I see them every time I hit the highway - their energy shouts at me from their window stickers and their rapid pole-positioning. I see them online venting their frustrations and accusations. People who are afraid act out; they try to control because too much feels out of control. I get it. I’ve been there.

And yet… music is still being made, gorgeous cakes are being baked and decorated, birds still sing, butterflies dance unaware of this craziness, campfire flames leap and kiss marshmallows to golden perfection, stories are shared, memories held, poems melt hearts, dreams ignite, and beauty is everywhere.

If only we slow down enough to notice, even when our hearts are broken, love and wonder, awe and delight are everywhere, available, waiting. Each day, each moment offering a new beginning. We do not need to buy into the story that life must be a slog. We do not need to take on the “poor me” persona that comes when people know you’ve had a devastating loss, are facing a dire challenge, or are in treatment for a disease they’re calling fatal. Hope can remain. Miracles abound. Truly.

Sometimes it’s a game to catch Nate’s signs and to simply delight in them. I let him know I get it. I see him. I hear him. I feel it. I laugh. I thank him.

Life does not have to be a burden to bear. Couples do not have to play out the sitcom roles of annoying and being annoyed with one another. Workers do not have to surrender their joy for a job they hate, be available for it when they have nothing left to give or when they’re supposed to be done for the day. No one is obligated to be on call all the time. Turn off the damn phone and be present with the people right here, to this moment offering itself for your delight.

We can take back the joy. Even after the unimaginable has pierced our hearts. Our hearts still long for love, laughter, excitement, delight. They really, really do. Don’t worry. It doesn’t erase the pain or negate the loss. But, living in endless suffering honors no one. Living in constant fear serves no one. Pushing beyond the point of exhaustion is good for no one. So, bring on the joy. Show up to life and embrace it wildly.

Let life live through you. Yes, I am broken hearted at the loss of my son, and still I get up each day and engage with life. Yes, I wish he were still here and we had one more chance, and we don’t, so I choose how I will continue to live.

Where can you find ways to say, “Yes, this bad thing has happened or is happening, and… still I will ____ (have fun, find delight, rest, create peace, etc., whatever is true for you).” or “Yes, I do have this responsibility/commitment/obligation, and still I can_____________”

Where can you free yourself to live life a little less burdened and a little more playful? Where can you get curious? What opportunities might you give yourself? Because one thing I now know for sure is that life is one big improv. We don’t know what will be thrown our way, and so it’s up to us to choose, moment by moment how to respond. How to engage.

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Finding Stillness

4/11/2023

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Often, we move through the ocean of life as if we’re riding the surface - tossed around, bobbing and rocking with every wave. We may be floating safely enough, but in this constant churning, we’re also thrown about by life, by people, responsibilities, and demands that pull on us. We are tossed and turned - at the mercy of things outside of our control.

Yet, beneath the crashing waves, the dark depths of the ocean offer a place of profound stillness, some distance from the surface turbulence. Similarly, deep within each of us, at the core, there is stillness available. The trick is to find it. Once we’ve found it, we only need to return there, time and again.

In this space, receive and allow yourself to be nourished and fed. Life continues at its frenetic pace, but you can find your own agency within it. In this space, feel both your separateness and your connection with others - not splitting off, but coexisting, maintaining your own steadiness, even in the waves. We become fluid ourselves as we flow with life a bit more smoothly, grounded and solid in the knowing, the sensation of our own body.

In the Stillness
In the stillness
the answers come,
truths are unearthed,
promises remembered.

In the stillness
prayers are answered,
hearts are restored,
dreams fostered,
visions captured.

In the stillness
the oneness becomes clear,
connection to self deepens,
universal threads intertwine.

In the stillness
the magic lies
waiting for you to visit
and reside here,
for however many moments.

© Barb Klein, 2016, from 111 Invitations: Step into the Full Richness of Life

What do you think? What does stillness offer you? What might become possible or evident if you took the time to find some quiet, some space?

Lao Tzu asks, “Do you have the patience to wait
                            Till your mind settles and the water is clear?
                            Can you remain unmoving
                            Till the right action arises by itself?”

Such a great and powerful reminder to get out of the chaotic spin, the tendency to react and jump into action without even having fully formed thoughts or ideas about what would be wise, skillful, or helpful to you, to the other, or to the situation.

Patience - they say it’s a virtue, and I suppose that’s true. Yet when we’re confronted with urgency, it can be terribly hard to access. Taking a pause. Finding our place of internal stillness helps.

What helps us get to that rich place of stillness? Pausing. Gathering ourselves up in our own loving presence. Granting ourselves grace, stepping back, stepping away before needing to take any action at all. Remembering that rarely anything good comes from the instantaneous fight, flight, freeze, or facade response.

It’s far better to slow things down, find our bearings by finding ourselves in this moment - take stock through our senses. Notice what we see, hear, smell, taste, and feel in this space. Awareness anchors us into the present moment. In that moment we can find and claim the stillness, remembering that even in a hurricane, there is the center of the storm, the eye that is relatively untouched by the raging winds. When the storms of life are raging, take yourself to the eye. Find yourself standing firm in the strength of who you are… not rigid, but strong and supple, able to bend and flow as the willow does. Bending, but not breaking because you are allowing the storm to happen around you, choosing not to step into it or resist it.

In the stillness, close your eyes, touch your heart, and ask the most important question: What do I need in this moment? Allow yourself permission to ask, knowing that your needs matter. Allow the answers to come. Allow yourself to hear, even if it’s uncomfortable. And then, from this grounded stance, begin to get curious about the ways you might be able to tend to whatever needs arise. What could you try? Who could you ask for help? What can you let go of? Is there anything here that is not yours? What can you turn over to someone else or to God or the Universe? Are you trying to carry too much? What can you put down, dear one?

In the stillness, take stock again. What do you see, hear, feel, taste, and smell now? Have your senses opened? Perhaps now you hear the bird song that wasn’t there in the crashing waves of panic. Maybe your eyes have softened to notice the yellow wren swinging on the feeder or the warmth of your lamp or even the light within the mostly grey sky. Maybe your heart and breath have slowed a bit. Maybe. Maybe not. What’s true for you?

The stillness offers us, invites us, into intimacy with our heart and soul. The stillness washes over us, enveloping us like a warm bath. The stillness opens our hearts and minds to fresh possibility - to see what wasn’t there before. To try something maybe we’ve never done before. Stillness offers spacious room to breathe, to stretch, to grow.

Stillness reminds us we do not have to rush, and that when we let go of the rushing, we are far better equipped to face whatever challenges await. It doesn’t take long for this medicine to work its magic. For it’s not really magic at all. It is the natural way of being - the essence of who we are. All the outer busyness and craziness - that’s conditioning, learned behavior from our society. The sense that we must be on or available all the time, that we must respond in an instant - that’s nonsense. It makes no sense except when there is an immediate danger, which is fairly rare.

There’s almost always more time than we think, and if we allow ourselves even a few moments of pause, of quiet, of stillness, what will emerge is so much richer, wiser, skillful, effective, supportive, helpful. So much more likely to be grounded in who we are and what we believe in. So much more aligned with what really matters to us. So much more likely to lead to fewer mistake and fewer regrets.

Let’s dive beneath the surface to tap into this deep anchoring of still, quiet nourishment. Imagine what could be if we all did that a little more often. Imagine a world grounded in stillness before action.

Please enjoy Leah Kent's beautiful guided meditation, Anchored Stillness, as a support toward finding your own stillness in this moment.   Leah Kent is a book coach and author who helps wisdom keepers and visionaries write and publish transformational books about their work in the world. She’s the creator of the Wild Embodied Writing method, and the author of Awakening the Visionary Voice. To learn more, visit leahkent.net or connect with Leah on Instagram @leahkentco

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Losing Yourself and Coming Home Again

3/21/2023

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Photo by Renee Veniskey - https://immaginephoto.com

You may have heard me use the phrase “coming home to yourself,” in part because it’s what clients have said they’ve felt after coaching or retreating with me. But what does it mean and why is it so important?

To me it means getting solid in the core of who you are. Knowing yourself - your likes and dislikes, your desires, and your needs - so that you can honor them. It sounds simple, yet it seems there’s a disconnect that happens over time that takes us away from the core of who we are.

This disconnect happens for a lot of reasons. As children and young adults, we take in messages from others about who they think we are or who we’re supposed to be; parents, teachers, friends, coaches see something in us and push us in a certain direction. On the flip side, there are parts of us we’re encouraged to hide away - we’re too sensitive, too talkative, too energetic, too quiet, too eccentric, etc. We begin to show up as a mix of who we really are, who we think we’re supposed to be, while erasing parts of us that don’t feel lovable or welcome.

As we get older, our roles as spouse or parent add to the confusion. We’re just Nicky’s mom or Joe’s wife. Our career defines us and may box us in with its labels. Societal ideas tell us what’s acceptable behavior (e.g., no crying in the workplace). Over time, parts of our true self get covered over, whittled away, or buried.

Intense relationships or situations, like loving someone with a mental health condition, facing a scary diagnosis, or caring for a parent with dementia, may consume us and portray the entirety of who we are. We forget or lose touch with who we are beyond this one (huge) aspect of life. We forget the person we once were and we let go of the dreams and passions that once called to us. Perhaps they feel irrelevant in the urgency of crisis after crisis or they feel impractical given everything else on your plate. Understandable.

Without the time and space to step away and gain perspective on these aspects of life, it’s easy to continue on autopilot. In our new norm, we become defined and absorbed by this identity. Or we’re simply sleep-walking through our days with no real sense of self at all, responding to the needs and demands of others, while ours vanish into the ethers.

I’ve found contemplative, reflective time and space are the foundation for one’s return to self. Time for quiet, to sit with ourselves without the interruption of other voices, time to journal or meditate. Time to commune with trees and birds. Time to slow down and soften into the flow of our natural rhythm. Time to catch our breath and then breathe fully on a regular basis. This time, this space is a rare gift. It is the essential container for coming back into alignment with true self. It allows us to open to the quiet loving voice within.

How retreats play in:

The richness of this kind of time and space is one of the reasons I value retreats. I know they are so much more than simply a nice weekend getaway. Retreats are a vital opportunity to refill, refuel, and reconnect. They offer the chance to ask great questions while allowing the answers to come. They provide space to try new things and new ways of being as you get to know yourself more intimately. They create a container as well as a spaciousness for inner inquiry, exploration, and discovery so that we can feel clarity and strength grow within us. Retreats allow us to be in community with others on a similar quest, sharing practices like yoga, meditation, contemplation, and reflection. Almost always they also offer a chance to immerse ourselves in nature’s beauty and grounding, to be held by the trees and the land as we feel our place in the greater scheme of life along with our own smallness.

These past few months have been filled with intensity and crisis upon crisis, both personally and on a global scale. I’ve had to pull back from work I love as I found myself with little to no energy for anything beyond the basics. I felt myself going into a dark cocoon to dissolve into goo before coming through the other side. In the darkness, I felt myself disappearing, not at all sure when I would re-emerge. I am grateful to feel the re-emergence happening now, slowly, one baby step at a time.

I am grateful for what is being left behind in the shell of the cocoon. I am grateful for the clarity of what no longer fits in this chapter of my life. And I am struck to see how the work I’ve done over the years to build a strong inner core connection has held me, even when I didn’t feel it in the moment. Feeling the foundation that’s allowed me to move through these deeply disruptive and triggering events, I see that they have moved through me as well. Sitting in the darkness, I have let myself feel everything from nothingness to fear to anger and disappointment. I have been taken down and out temporarily, but not for good. I am emerging, not into certainty of what will happen in my life, but with a stronger sense of certainty of who I am as a woman in the world right now.

This period of losing myself in other people’s emergencies and urgencies and feeling the slow return has illuminated my desire to prepare and plan this July’s Come Home to Yourself Retreat. Its significance fills me and pulls me. I am grateful to be able to invite other women into this spacious retreat as an opportunity to connect more deeply with their own hearts and souls, to hear the wisdom that springs from within in the space and stillness, when we are inclined to listen. Summer gifts us 16 hours of daylight each day! Imagine what is possible in that vast opening! Light on the Hill offers a stunning space to immerse in nature, with floor to ceiling windows and skylights that all but plop us into the middle of the valley, sun streaming in, bathing us in her glow. This season in the Finger Lakes calls us to lie in the grass, to walk through the trees, to gaze at the clouds, to stop in the middle of what can be a fun and busy season to slow down and go within. It gives us a chance to integrate the lessons life has brought our way as we simultaneously open to what lies ahead, to what is emerging, and to who we want to be. This retreat is a gift to me and to all who will gather and co-create it along with me and our yoga goddess, Carol Moon.

A special offer for you:
For you and your loved ones, for being part of this community, I am offering a special gift through March 31st - you can take an additional $50 off the early bird rate ($150 off standard rate) as my gift to you by using coupon code MARCH when you check out. That’s $625 for 3 nights and 4 days of private room accommodations in a gorgeous setting, delicious, lovingly prepared vegetarian meals, as well as all retreat offerings (including yoga, meditation, journaling, campfires plus lots and lots of space and time to follow your heart and soul!). I hope you will consider joining us for what will surely be a magical time. All the details and registration are here.

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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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The Gift of Presence

12/29/2022

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This Christmas I had the opportunity to experience the gift that mere presence brings. What’s possible when I shut my mouth and just listen. Listen with an open heart and open mind, setting aside my own ideas and agendas.

Presence like this opens doors, builds trust and safety in a way that allows others to come forward - to open up and give me an idea of what life is like for them, what is going on inside of their experience.

When I stop nagging, badgering, interrogating, and lecturing (which, let’s be honest, NO ONE likes! It is never helps connection or makes anything truly positive happen), love enters in. Hearts open to one another. We can relax into being together and be a little more real…

It comes down to who I want to be and how I want to be. This is where I have agency and choice. I am not pre-programmed or unable to control my own behavior and words. Based on my values (what really matters most to me), based on my story of who I say I am, it’s up to me to do more than just pay lip service to what I say I’m all about.

It’s up to me to actually BE the way I aspire to be. I can also bring in lots of compassion and grace when I slip up (which I most certainly will!) - this is not about perfection. It is about generous compassion for all.

When I step back, silently, and allow myself to observe and see what’s going on, I might recognize the struggle someone is having. I realize that it’s not their fault or choice. They don’t choose to be in this struggle. I can have compassion. I can offer a calm presence for someone who’s feeling a little jangly to regulate with rather than adding to the angst or presenting something to fight against or feel bad about.

I can simply offer my truly loving presence. This allows me to hear how surprised someone is by how well they’re doing. I can hear the self-doubt that lives so close to the surface. I can hear how little they believe in or trust themselves. How they’re finding their way, tentatively beginning to form a new story. Inviting, allowing them to soften to me - to trust that I am a safe place to land. That I won’t use their admissions against them.

I can look for what’s going right, what there is to celebrate, rather than focus on what is missing or what could be. I can follow the rhythm and flow of this group I’m with in this time… not impose my idealized story of what “should” be.

Over the years I have ruined many special events for myself and others by letting my expectations or ideas of how things should be cloud the reality of what and who is here right now.

I’m the one who still feels the pang of guilt over how ungraciously I responded to my sister’s massively generous gift of a handcrafted framed Holly Hobbie needlework (50 years ago!). I was too young to appreciate what it meant for her to pour her heart, soul, and time into this beautiful piece just for me. It wasn’t a toy. I was a brat. And. I responded with the appropriate bratty pout for the rest of the day.

I am the one who hit my friend, Steven. when he gave me a beautiful Breyer horse for my birthday. The gift was more than I could bear. Pretty sure that was the same year - 8-year-old me had some issues…

I am the one who often feels let down after the holiday is over - the days and weeks of build-up falling hollow when everyone leaves. Wanting more. Wanting different. Regret at what wasn’t. Disappointment.

Not this year. This year I chose differently.

I reminded myself in my journaling and asked my husband to help me remember to appreciate what’s here. I stayed present to the miracle we were given in being able to all be together for 2 nights and 3 days, sharing one house, sharing meals, visiting, talking, laughing till bedtime. Wiggling through the tense moments but not blowing them up into more than they needed to be. Staying kind even when I had to have an uncomfortable conversation. Resting gradually in each other’s presence. Honoring the rhythm and flow of this family. Noticing when the “what should we DO now?” anxiety temporarily poked at me… allowing things to unfold organically rather than forcing a reading of The Grinch, a making of the gingerbread house (that is still waiting patiently in its box for when the right time), watching an old holiday show that no one but me enjoys. Let that go. Open to what they want. Invite everyone into something new. Just breathe. Just be. Play the kids’ Christmas music rather than my mom’s old playlist. Be playful, lighthearted, enjoy. Them. For who they are. As they are. As we are. In this moment.

That way of being opened up something in me that still touches my heart. I can almost cry as I soak in the deep appreciation for this precious time with my husband and grown sons. There wasn’t anything too profound in our being together except that it was all profound. To witness the initial discomfort and awkwardness melt away as we settled in to being together. To relax into noticing and allowing each of us to have our own unique ways and needs. To hug, smile, laugh… to really stay in a place of appreciating what was, what is, what’s here, what’s true, what’s real, what’s good and wonderful. Holding back judgment or inclination to offer unwelcome suggestions or unkind observations. Allowing others to find their own way in life in their own time.

Letting love guide the way, be the true foundation for our time together, for our life. The generosity of presence is the truest gift we can offer another being. It is the greatest gift we can offer ourselves. To listen deep within, to remember who we want to become in this next iteration, to show up to what we say we want to create with others, to be sincere in our efforts and digging in to show up in that way. Not expecting it to be easy, perfect, or even comfortable, but allowing the unfolding.

This Christmas I was given the gift of connection with my family, getting to know them in a way I had not before. Together we created the gift of presence. My heart remains full. ❤

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Boundaries... Tough, and So Critical!

6/16/2022

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Recently I’ve become really aware of my accumulated depletion from years of hyper-vigilance, and over-giving. Certainly, this has been me for the few decades, since the time I was pregnant with my oldest son.

Most likely it’s been me my whole life. Even as a pretty young child, there was care-giving I had to do. Always on alert, always doing what I could, working hard to make sure my people are safe, the household runs decently enough, friends are ok, clients well-cared for… carrying a lot of people and their needs in my head and heart. No doubt the stresses of our time is also weighing heavily on me.

It’s like the fish in water who doesn’t know they’re swimming in water – I didn’t know or couldn’t see what I’ve been swimming in. I have so many wonderful grounding practices, that mostly I do pretty well. I thought I was ok. And, overall, I really AM OK! I share all of this only to lay the background, not for anyone to worry about me – really.

At the same time, it’s catching up with me, so I’m finding I need more space, more time, more quiet, more slowing down, more breathing room in order to return my nervous system to calm. It’s not as calm as I’ve thought it was as often as I’ve thought it was. And, so, enter the need for boundaries. Boundaries do not come easily or naturally to me, but I’ve learned how vital they are to one’s well-being.

Enter boundaries

Enter the need for boundaries. Boundaries do not come easily or naturally to me, but I’ve learned how vital they are to one’s well-being. I resonate with Brené Brown’s definition of boundaries as “what’s ok and what’s not ok.” When we can be clear about this and communicate it to others, we actually strengthen relationship and clarify roles.

Boundaries allow me to stay connected. They help me to preserve my energy and well-being. Without boundaries, I might need to pull away completely, shut down all together, and go into isolation, making connection impossible.

Boundaries bring me into integrity with what is true for me and allow me to honor what I really have to give. Without boundaries, I can easily over-give, over-extend, and burn myself out… That serves no one. Without boundaries I show up, but I am later exhausted or resentful… That gets in the way of relationship.

Boundaries allow you to trust me. You can count on me to say “yes” when I am available and “no” when I am not. You no longer have to worry or wonder about taking care of me. You can trust that I am taking care of myself. Please know that even if I say “no” or “not now,” I still care. I care enough to not give to you when I am not able to.I hope you understand, and I don’t need you to understand.

This isn’t about you. It’s about integrity, truth, and honoring. When I hold a boundary, I honor both you and me… even if it doesn’t feel that way in the moment.

Of course I want people to like me (don't we all?), but I am no longer willing to let that override my love for myself. For too many years I put others first and abandoned myself on a regular basis. This is not sustainable, healthy, or good for either one of us.

With boundaries, we can develop a strong and healthy relationship. I trust you to have other resources and to find your way even when I am not available. I believe in you which is why I don’t have to turn my world upside down to save you. I honor your wisdom, power, and ability to tap into whatever you need to get you through this moment. I know your well-being does not depend on me.

Please understand, I also know how hard it is when someone isn’t available for me when I really feel a need for connection and support. This makes it hard for me to say no when I feel that need coming from you.

And at the same time, I love, respect, and honor those who are able to say no to me even when I say “I could really use a friend…“ This happened once with one of my oldest and dearest friends. It stung in the moment. It was also painful for her, but she felt the truth of having nothing to give. And, it taught me an invaluable lesson and modeled for me what’s possible.

Somehow, she knew that I would be OK even though I felt like I was falling apart in that moment. She knew that even if I didn’t find anyone else to talk to, I was able to be with myself and make it through the deeply painful and awful time.

Here I am…so, clearly, I did. I will never forget that moment. Not because of the pain I felt or because I was angry with my friend, but because she taught me that it is OK to be honest with yourself and with other people, even people you love deeply. It is ok to say, “I don’t have it in me to give you what you need. I don’t have the bandwidth.” Or, simply “No. I’m not available.”

And so, when I am not available, I trust you. I remember that I am not God or 911 and so I can’t expect myself to be the one to save you.

Will I be there when I can? Absolutely! Will I give of myself generously when I’m filled up? Without a doubt. It’s who I am. And yet, in this moment my own health and vitality depends on me saying yes to me. Not splitting myself in two trying to honor me and others. I must begin here, with this vessel, this heart, this being that needs my devotion and care.

Boundaries are an Act of Radical Self-Care

Boundaries are an act of radical self-care. They take courage and awareness to set. They require us to be quiet enough to hear the inner wisdom that guides us.

Boundaries can feel awkward, clumsy, and imperfect as we begin to express them to others. We may worry how they are received until we learn to let go of that worry and begin to trust instead. If a relationship is based on over-giving, is this a relationship worth continuing? The relationships I want are with people who will understand and respect my right to take care of myself.

I’ve got a long and complicated relationship with boundaries. In the past I didn’t know what they were and had a hard time setting them or knowing what they should be.

Boundaries are particularly important when you are in a care-giving role, personally or professionally. If you’re someone people look to and lean into, they will naturally want your support, advice, wisdom, calm, or listening. We owe it to ourselves (and to them) to be honest about our availability and our limits.

Boundaries are about Respect – for Me and for You

Without respect for yourself, it’s nearly impossible to have or honor boundaries. They help me to trust myself and to know that I have my own back. To know that I will listen when I feel a reaction in my body that tells me yes or no, now, later, or, in fact, never.

Boundaries let you and I know what I can do and what I can’t do. More accurately, what I am willing to do and what I am not willing to do. I have proven over the decades that I am more than capable of pushing through and doing more than is reasonable.

After 58 years on this planet, I am no longer willing to live that way. I love and care about so many people. I am pulled in so many directions. I have so much and so many people and things weighing on my mind at any given moment. I take these things on without even being asked. It’s up to me to free myself.

It’s up to me to respect and love myself enough to take the risk to take a stand. It’s up to me to draw a line in the sand and then to dance with that line moment to moment. It’s up to me to learn how to ask the wise questions of myself, to give myself a pause, in order to hear my inner guidance and wisdom. It’s up to me to take care of myself and not expect you to be able to read my mind.

Boundaries are about Compassion

If we are friends or family, I need to trust you and to trust our relationship - to know we will find our way through even when I say no or not now or I won’t. Boundaries empower everyone. They liberate us. They do not have to be harsh. In fact, honest boundaries allow for compassionate, honest conversation and communication.

In this short (and very worth your time to watch) video about boundaries, Brené Brown shares her shock at learning that the most compassionate people she interviewed were also the most boundaried!

Boundaries allow me to honor my heart, soul, and energy. Boundaries are about respect, trust, and integrity. They do not come easily or naturally, and I may forever be on a quest to learn how to do them better. I’m willing to learn because so much depends upon it.

Because I know that my energy, time, and resources are limited, as are my days, I want to love open-heartedly and live as beautifully as possible. With that in mind, boundaries are going to be critical or it’s going to get ugly.

Your Turn

What’s your experience with boundaries?
When and why do you need them?
Are you comfortable setting them?
How does it feel when someone holds one with you?
Have you found a kind and compassionate way to communicate them?
Do they feel important to you?
Are you able and willing to flex with them as circumstances change?

Please share with us! We can learn so much from your insights and experiences!

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Obsession, Overwhelm, and Opening

4/18/2022

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Obsession
Ah, yes, Obsession – From Oxford Languages: ob·ses·sion – the state of being obsessed with someone or something. "she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession"
- an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind.

Waking this Saturday morning with the awareness of my own obsession. Noticing how even something you’re passionate about can become too much. Can lead to overwhelm. Recognizing that when you work in a field that’s linked to a deep personal and ongoing experience, there often is no break.

I live and breathe addiction and recovery. I immerse myself in learning more, joining groups where I read and comment on people’s confusion, fear, anger, and loss. Not a day goes by where at least one parent shares the loss of their child. Every day is full of posts of people saying they can’t take it anymore, asking for advice from strangers who don’t know their family, but who are more than willing to chime in. I extract myself from groups that perpetuate messages that I find harmful and unhelpful. I stay in those that spread fresh ideas, compassion, and hope, but even those spaces can be too much.

Many of the books spread around my home relate to the topic, reflecting my ever-present desire to learn and grow, to be the best mom, the best coach, and best support person I can be. I want to know all there is to know in an unknowable field. As I glance around and see the titles, I feel the weight. It seems somehow the more I learn, the more inadequate I feel.

Working for myself from home also contributes to this sense of overwhelm. There’s never a distinct separation between work and home – no physical distance, especially in such a small space. No clear ending time unless there are other plans. It’s too easy for work thoughts, topics, programs, and conversations to seep into my “off hours.”

Overwhelm
o·ver·whelm – verb - bury or drown beneath a huge mass.
Similar: swamp, submerge, engulf, bury, deluge, flood, inundate, clog, overload, overburden, bring someone to their knees
give too much of a thing to (someone); inundate.
"they were overwhelmed by farewell messages"

Phew, ok! Thanks, Oxford Languages for that clarity… yes, today, I feel the overwhelm brought on by my (very devoted and very well-meaning) obsession. I feel a need to unbury myself, to emerge from the swamp, to unclog and unload the weight I’ve been carrying. I have the ability to shut out the deluge of information and input. I get to choose how I spend my time, where I devote my energy, what I read and listen to, and to pace myself in a way that feels sustainable and onward-leading.

Before I am brought to my knees, let me remember that I have the choice for how I spend my time, where I put my attention, and who and what I allow into the sacred spaces of my heart and mind.

Opening

And, so my question for today’s #AtoZChallenge is: How can I create some space to nourish, nurture, and replenish myself? Not just immediately, but on a more regular basis. But, I’ll begin with today, this moment, because that’s what’s here. Then I’m sure that will inform my consciousness about life overall.

I need a break – a break that has nothing to do with travel or vacation; I have had plenty of that recently. I need a break in my own head, heart, and home, so I am giving myself a two-day break this weekend (after this piece is written).

Before I even wrote my morning pages, I deleted Facebook and Instagram from my phone for these days in order to resist the temptation to mindlessly grab, scroll, and get hooked in for an hour or more without even noticing. I immediately felt lighter. I know I might find myself checking the weather app more than usual, but that’s ok. It won’t hook me for too long!

I put my phone on Do Not Disturb, allowing only calls and messages from immediate family and close friends to come through. I need some breathing room. I’ve been way too cranky lately, on edge, unsettled… feel like I’m caving in on myself.

Thankfully some spark of inspiration showed me the way out! Thankfully, I remember that I’m in charge of my schedule and my environment.

I will choose to spend time doing things that uplift and inspire me. I will choose time with people I enjoy, doing things that are fun and unrelated to work. If I read, it will be a novel. If I listen, it will be to dance or sing or be inspired. If I watch, it will be to laugh or to cry, but it will be for pleasure (yes, I do love a good cry).

I will bake, I think. It’s a grey rainy, almost snowy day here, and so filling our home with warmth and good smells of cookies or corn bread sounds wonderful. We will cook a nice meal to enjoy with our son. I will change the tablecloth from fall colors to butterflies – that alone lightens up the space. I will clear the counter of its excess. Why do horizontal surfaces so quickly and easily get cluttered? Why are they so inviting for all the things I can’t immediately decide what to do with?

I will also work with my husband to continue cleaning and clearing space. We both feel the Springtime desire to purge. We need more room to breathe. There is simply too much stuff in this space. Sometimes I enjoy going through my wardrobe, dresser, and drawers to find what is ready to leave us. Something that will delight someone else, and choosing to let it go. That energy is alive within me this season, so I want to lean into it and let it support me in making the tough choices to release and let go.

I will devote time for practices that nurture my soul. Meditation has somehow slipped to the wayside too often lately. Tai Chi too. Yoga far too seldom. I need to flood myself with these things that calm my nervous system, that soothe my soul, that relax and restore me. Instead of 20 minutes doom scrolling, don’t you think I’ll feel better if I come into gentle presence with myself? I do!

So, how about you? Where do you feel overwhelm? Any obsessions that are getting more of your time and energy than they deserve? How might you create a little spaciousness in your heart, mind, and home? What is opening for you?

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The Heart Revolution has Begun...

3/3/2022

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Drew a heart in the sand to mark the moment - BFK + TFK 3-2-22

Two posts in two days!? What?? Yup! This one couldn’t wait – it’s bursting to be shared! (I think maybe, just maybe the heart revolution which I invited you to join yesterday has begun – I can feel it!).

Ah, I have to say, yesterday was absolutely perfect… even though Mary’s dead, Nate’s in the hospital, Adam wasn’t here, and I could “only” share the day with Tom. It was amazing and my heart is still bursting to overflowing.

Even though there were no gifts to unwrap, no cards to open, no flowers to receive. It was absolutely perfect. Why? Because I felt loved – because I loved myself and showed up for me and asked for what I wanted (pretty uncomfortable and not always the norm). Because we created a glorious, heartfelt, magical day.

And the moments matter way more than a mountain of material things ever could.

I got to be with Tom. I got to talk to Nate, Adam, and Steve, and listen to messages from Mindy and Kare – and, even though they were the only ones who called, that was enough.

And, here’s the thing. I KNOW my experience in this moment could be vastly different if I narrowed my focus onto what wasn’t rather than what was. What was missing or lacking rather than everything that filled my heart. It’s an unwritten rule in my life that cards matter, and yet, there was not one single card, even from Tom. But, what I had instead was his complete, undivided attention for an entire day, from sunrise til bedtime. I’ll take it!

Now, I can write about this because I allow myself to notice and to choose what I focus on – what really matters. Time – wild horses – blue sky and sunshine – bird song, a starlit night, the sweetness of a loved one’s voice or message (and the effort they took to let me hear it or feel it). Money can’t buy these things and these things bring tears of gratitude and break open my heart… Truly.

This is not me settling or compromising or making things be ok. This is me landing solidly in a deep, deep contentment that life is so very good event though not every bit of it might be exactly perfect on the surface.   In my heart and soul it is absolutely Divine, heavenly, magical, and I am so grateful.

Maybe this is the wisdom of the years or the heavens speaking in this moment. Tomorrow I might be a resentful bitch about something else, but it won’t be about my birthday. Honestly, it was the best birthday ever because:
A. We created a day for me – that made one more of my little girl dreams come true – I got to see wild horses!!
B. No work. No productivity. No squeezing one thing in even on the drive. Only time for what really mattered – delight, connection (with Tom and also through birthday messages via text, Messenger, email and Facebook), and
C. I let more of me free into the world with yesterday’s Heart Revolution newsletter and blog, which felt risky and was well-received, at least by some.

Birthday Mantras:
Tom asked me if I had any birthday mantras. I said, “To take nothing for granted and to be more me!” To choose to savor life – truly from deep within my heart. To choose to just live and enjoy as many moments as possible, and to savor life’s sweetness and focus there. To risk being called Pollyanna or too positive or pissing people off who would rather I hide my joy.

This is the ground I stand on. One where I don’t need to hide away my joy or delight. One where I can dance and sing when I hear great music, even if it’s in a restaurant or on the beach or mall in a crowd of people. One where I smile and tell a stranger I love her shirt or offer to help someone. One that deepens connection because I am not locked away in my own discontent.

Does this mean I won’t ever feel sad or angry or disappointed? Does it mean that my heart isn't also breaking for the people who are suffering? Does it mean I'm not seething with anger at unjust acts of war? Hell no! It means my heart can hold it all. It means from this heart-centered place I am grounded and ready to act. It means that fierce compassion can rise up to take the steps that are mine to take.

I will more honestly, more openly, more fully feel all that I feel and then decide where to dwell – which feelings to hang out with and for how long. I will choose what actions are mine to take.

And, you might say, “But, clearly you were disappointed with no cards or you wouldn’t have mentioned it.” And I say with full honesty, and not to convince anyone, “No. That was just my mind noticing the story that I’ve lived with all these years, and my heart is discovering a new reality, a new truth. I’m actually not disappointed at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I don’t care if Hallmark ever makes one more cent on a card for me!” I am so very happy and grateful and I choose what’s good, what’s right in life. That’s where I want to hang out.

I am just not going to hold back any more. Unlocking me feels so very good, and I do believe it’s part of this heart revolution. I hope you join me in setting yourself just a little more free today! This is what's possible when you do!

Some Songs to Support this Feeling:
Oh, and here's this morning's playlist to reinforce all of this! (You want another way to tap the wisdom of the Universe? Create a playlist that awesomely fills your heart and put it on shuffle! Amazing what comes through at just the right time!) Click the links for today's songs. Enjoy!!

All My Life - Linda Rondstadt and Aaron Neville (an anthem of our relationship)
You'll Never Walk Alone - Marcus Mumford
Both Sides Now - Judy Collins (listen to the words... perfect accompaniment!)
What Light - Wilco (thanks, Carol Moon, for this gem!)
Here We Go - WILD (thanks, Jen Louden!)

Wild Horses on Cumberland Island, GA

Birthday sunset from Saint Mary's, GA (of course, St. MARY's!)

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What Does it Mean to "Fill Your Own Cup?"

2/15/2022

2 Comments

We hear it all the time… “You can’t pour from an empty cup!” And, no one disagrees. But, the problem with these simple pithy phrases is that we all know them, recite them and hear them with a “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know…” attitude, brushing the words off as quickly as they land on our ears. We don’t really take them to heart, and if we do, we think they’re meant for other people. In fact, we probably offer this sage advice without stopping to take a look at what it might mean to us in our world!

This might be especially important if you:
- live in service to others
- tend to over-give your time, energy, resources, and attention away to the point that you are feeling drained and depleted. You frequently give to and do more for others than you do for yourself.
- consider yourself to be codependent
- are grieving. Grief takes time and an enormous amount of energy and naturally saps you of your usual resources.
- live in a situation that brings a lot of chaos and unpredictability (or you’ve had a significant amount of this throughout your years).
- don’t allow others to support you, or even let them know what you need. Maybe asking for help feels too vulnerable or you aren’t even sure what you do need.
- are one of the many, many workers who don’t stop for a lunch break, who don’t really check out from work, even during “off work” hours or on vacation.
- are someone who feels guilty just considering taking time for yourself.
- are immersing yourself in good and important causes (think opioid epidemic, climate crisis, social injustice, anti-racism, to name a few of many).
- find yourself continually worrying and fretting about things that are out of your control or beyond your influence and you find the feeling of powerlessness only adds to your anxiety.
- have been a human on this earth for the past couple of years… yeah, you. This is for you!

Filling ourselves up, regularly and repeatedly, not just a few times a year with a retreat or vacation is critical. With the steady onslaught of anxiety-producing news and information coming at us, we need a consistent way to bolster ourselves up and resource ourselves. Living in a pandemic has exacerbated this need!

Living in a way that is sustainable, realistic, and enjoyable is worth aiming for. Otherwise, we become like a sieve that is leaking energy everywhere.

What will fill you up?
Let’s explore this a bit. Many people, including me, don’t have a lot of ideas. Do you know what is fun, relaxing, nourishing, restorative, or comforting for you?

If not, you might consider this list of Pleasant Activities (disregarding all that clinical stuff at the top – this is just for you!) and see which ones resonate with you. There are more than 130 ideas here, so if you need a kickstart to explore some fresh ideas, give it a go! We begin to be able to make changes when we get to know ourselves better!

When you engage in an activity or hang out with a certain person, does it leave you feeling energized or exhausted?

When you read or listen to something, what effect does that have on you? We have to digest everything we take in, so be sure you’re not adding to your own anxiety or exhaustion without even intending to.

There are 2 aspects to filling up:

Stop the leaking/fill the holes where you’re being drained – getting to know the places where you’re giving away more of yourself than you have to give and/or where you’re taking in stuff that sucks the life out of you (Less is More )
Adding something in to fill up again – we have a vital life force energy within us, this magical elixir of life – it can be replenished so finding practices, people, activities that give us a boost will help with this aspect. (Sometimes More is More)

Stopping the leaking and filling the holes – releasing and letting go:

What can you let go of? Here are a few ideas to get you started:

quiet the outer noise (other people’s opinions, ideas, and thoughts of who you should be and what you should do. Other people’s drama!)
stop ruminating on things that are not yours to fix or figure out. Things that are out of your control
stop feeding worry – if you’re a world class worrier like I am, worry will find you. You can’t control that. What you can control is how long you spend with it and how much you do to stir it up and amplify it.
let go of abandoning yourself… how often do you let your own needs, priorities, boundaries slip away in favor of what someone else needs or wants from you even if you had calendared yourself in? What might it look like to begin to make yourself a priority? Or to just be willing to consider making yourself a priority?

Adding in – finding those things you want more of to fill you with vital energy – asking, receiving, creating:

What might you like to bring in to help you fill up? Here are a few ideas to get you started:

throw a light novel into the mix if you tend to read heavy stuff or lots of personal growth books (not that I know anything about that!)
the arts! Poetry, music, dance, song, paint, write, or create and express just for the pure joy of creating and expressing!
nature! fresh air, sunshine, time with the pure simplicity of nature’s sounds and sights – drink in that beauty
pauses – allow time and space for healing, for rest, for gentle evolution
breath… more breath! And movement. Movement that is pleasurable or enjoyable to you!

I offer this reflection and inquiry with zero judgement and no shame. I am a work in progress in many of these areas myself (I am always writing about what I am learning!). We are all works in progress.

So, as you get curious, be gentle, come with tenderness, compassion, and understanding.

How might you nourish yourself, body, mind, heart, and soul? In this week of love, how might you weave in some self-love?

All of this boils down to deep, deep true self-care.

Self-care is the foundation upon which a life is built.
Without it, we will crumble from the inside out!

Your Invitation:
Take some time to reflect on any changes you might want to make in your life in order to fill your own cup. Pause and look at the clouds as you consider what it means to you to fill your cup and why it might be worth devoting some time to. Share your ideas and thoughts here! There is power in giving voice to your intention and being witnessed. And, you just might inspire someone else!!

For me… after writing draft one of this and before going on to editing or recording the accompanying meditation, I’m going to get outside, take a walk (because I’ve been sitting for too long), sit in the sun and listen to the birds and ocean waves while I watch the dogs play! I hope you find something equally relaxing!! (thought I'd share with you what I found!)

I invite you to practice Filling Your Cup with this meditation if you'd like!

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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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Yes, and... Life is One Big Improv

Finding Stillness

Losing Yourself and Coming Home Again

Carrying Pain

The Gift of Presence

Boundaries... Tough, and So Critical!

Obsession, Overwhelm, and Opening

The Heart Revolution has Begun...

What Does it Mean to "Fill Your Own Cup?"

Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief

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