Inspired Possibility Blog

Lessons from a Twisted Ankle

10/8/2025

I’ve learned a lot about pain over the course of my life in various ways and to various degrees. I continue to deepen my understanding and relationship with it. Here are some of the things that have risen up in the past couple of weeks. Spoiler alert… it’s about an ankle, and maybe something more...

September 20th… it’s a beautiful sunny Saturday, and I’m enjoying a nice leisurely stroll with a group of lovely, loving humans on the hillside above Canandaigua Lake during a retreat I am participating in. The weekend is all about love, respect for earth and all her beings, and connecting to the fiercer, gentler feminine energies within us. There’s been a lot of talk about receiving, and our last meditation showed me clearly that I’m not great at it.

As I walk along, chatting with a new friend, taking in the beauty of western NY in early Fall, I fail to see the small hole in the path and in an instant, I’m on my butt, foot and ankle stinging sharply. I pause to allow the shockwaves to move through. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken, and one woman offers some Reiki. As I catch my breath, I’m not quite sure what I need, and I let the small group that’s gathered know that. They respectfully wait until I know I need a couple of hands up and someone to lean on as I gimp back to the retreat center. Since that initial shock, this is what I’ve learned.

1. Surrender. When you find yourself on your butt because you didn’t see the hole in the path, there’s not much else to do. Go down. Hang tight till the sharp stinging settles down. Admit you don’t know what you need. Breathe and breathe again. Tune in and listen to the body’s wisdom. Allow people to help you – you are human and therefore subject to injury, after all. Breathe some more. Hate it all you want, but here is where you are.

2. Shit happens, like it or not. Lessons come in undesirable ways. Don’t waste time being embarrassed or ashamed – no one thinks you planned this. ‘Nuff said.

3. Receive and then receive some more. If you’re an, “I’m good. I got it. Let me help you” type, it can be humbling and hard to let others do for you. It is for me. Humble yourself and receive anyway. Allow love and care. Be grateful and gracious in receiving. There are natural caregivers, soul tenders, in the world who are tremendously grateful to be able to serve. I am deeply grateful for people who showed up for me and honestly, I’ve never felt more loved and cared for by people I didn’t even know than I have throughout this experience.

4. Ask for what you need. Even though people want to help, they may not know how to help you in this particular moment. They can’t know what you need or want unless you ask, and damn, is that vulnerable! You may have stories about not being needy, that it’s weak to need anything at all, or that you shouldn’t impose on others. You may have spent most of your life being the one who takes care of everyone else, the one who’s strong, steady, reliable… the one who holds it together and doesn’t inconvenience anyone with your needs. Before you can ask anyone else for what you need, you must first admit to yourself that you have needs and wants (just like every other human in the world!). Then you have to be clear enough to articulate them to yourself, brave enough to ask, trusting that someone will honor your request. And, if they don’t, move on to someone who will. Not everyone is or can be your person.

5. Let go of trying to do anything in your usual way! You are being required to slow down, move mindfully and watch where you’re going. You simply cannot move at your usual pace, the rushing around you take for granted. Everything takes longer and requires forethought. You can’t expect to be able to take a quick shower, dash out the door, and make it to breakfast on time! So, surrender, accept the reality that is this body in this moment, and lovingly allow it to move in the way and at the pace it can, even if you hate every bloody moment of it!

6. Receive some more. If, by the time you do get to breakfast, you’re tired or hurting, let someone bring you a plate of food, a glass of water. Receive. Ask. Receive. Perhaps, like me, you haven’t had to receive like this in a very long time – for me it’s been 32 years since I broke my back and had a 4-month-old baby that I’ve needed quite so much physical care! Two years ago, I definitely needed loads of care as I navigated raw grief. As I receive, I soften. My heart opens a bit and I connect with the care-offerers in a new and grateful way.

7. Allow space and time for healing. Our bodies, our hearts have a tremendous capacity to heal, but they cannot be forced or rushed. Because we dislike discomfort, we may want to push through, find the miracle ointment, the miracle cure that will let us be over and done with this bit rather than move organically through the healing journey. Pain is tiring – allow extra time for rest. It’s necessary. Now is the time to lovingly honor your body and its rhythm. Like grief, physical healing cannot be hurried along. You can support it, and it’s going to take its own sweet time, whether that’s an inconvenient pain in the ass to you or not. So, settle in and be here for it, open and allowing… because, really, the alternative will only frustrate and aggravate things, and possibly make things worse.

8. Find new ways to move. When you can’t do what you’ve always done, what is possible? What options are available to you? I’ve found I can hole up alone and feel sorry for myself or find new ways to engage. No, I can’t dance wildly like I would LOVE to! But I can sit in a chair and dance with my arms, shoulders, head, and legs – supported, held, safe from the risk of further injury. I can lie on the floor and put my legs up a wall (bonus elevation!) and let the dancing and stomping of others move through my body. I can seep in the vibration of music, lyrics, and movement, and know it’s healing for body and spirit. I don’t have to create it all. I can allow others to energize me, delight in the joy of their joy, allow my envy at their athleticism, send love and gratitude from my heart – even when things aren’t going my way.

9. Cry and find comfort. Let the pain and frustration out. If you’re sad, be sad. If you’re mad, be mad. Don’t hold it all inside. (with a nod to The Pretenders and a lovely version of “I’ll Stand by You” from Brandi just for you here). Tears and yells are part of healing too – our body’s natural ways to release, release, release. Let your heart break open, lay down a little of the protective shield. This is another way of healthily, lovingly honoring what’s here at this moment in your life.

Take comfort in whatever form it comes. For me comfort came in the form of Bugles and cocktail wienies in crescent rolls – things I never eat any more but tasted ridiculously delicious and somehow comforting. What was desired then probably won’t appeal to me again for a good long while, if ever!

10. Take nothing for granted. This idea can be anxiety-producing, but I actually find there is a gift in taking nothing for granted which comes in the form of presence and appreciation. One minute you’re perfectly healthy, walking along enjoying a beautiful sunny day, and in the next you’re laid out on the ground and it’ll be weeks before you can enjoy a pain-free leisurely stroll. You went out on your own two feet and personal power and you had to come in more slowly, leaning on a friend. It’s too easy to miss the appreciation for the strength and agility of our body and all that it does, to forget that we can’t always independently take care of ourselves.

Taking nothing for granted doesn’t mean living in fear or anxiety, but it does invite a savoring of a sweet walk with a loved one, not taking people for granted, and taking a moment to appreciate our bodies for all they do and all they are capable of. We don’t know how many more moments we have or what they will look like, so let’s not miss them along the way!

I hate that I have a twisted ankle and that two weeks later it’s still impacting my ability to move and enjoy life the way I’d like to. Hate that on retreat I couldn’t participate as I normally would. Hate that people I barely knew were asking, “Are you the one with the hurt foot?” Not exactly how I want to be remembered – please, see the sparkle of my fairy hair and smile instead! Remember that delight. Hear my heart and hear my story – remember me for those bits of who I am.

These are not lessons I’ve wanted to learn, and there are lessons here for me. So, for now, for this moment in my life, I honor my limits, I rest more, move more gingerly, slowly with a hitch in my giddy-up. I don’t like it, but it’s ok. I don’t like it, and that’s ok. I respect, “I can’t do this, but I can do that” as I lean into what is possible and let go of the rest. I am in awe of my remarkable capacity to heal, to compensate, to adapt, to rebound, and I’m here for it, knowing that in any moment everything could change.

Take from this what you like into your own life. I hope there's something of value that resonates with you. For me, I know I could easily substitute grief, exhaustion, overwhelm, or illness for a twisted ankle.

What have you learned from less-than-ideal moments in your life? I don’t believe “everything happens for a reason,” but I do find there’s something to be gleaned from most experiences.

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Slow it All Down... Even when Times are Urgent

3/14/2025

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“The times are urgent. Let us slow down.” – Báyò Akómoláfé

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.” —Viktor Frankl

Image by kewl from Pixabay

In these urgent times, what if the most essential thing we can do is slow it all down? Claim the space that Frankl speaks of – the space where power to choose lies. Taking The Pause is the basis for everything else – for tending well to yourself, building relationships, acting mindfully, and creating the life and world you want to live in. Pausing, slowing down, is incredibly powerful, but not easy. Slowing things down requires you to break the pattern of reactivity which may have led to trouble in the past. Pausing helps you establish new patterns and attunes you to your wisdom, your values, while giving access to deeper clarity and insight. Without slowing down, it’s easy to get caught up in our stories, feelings, and fears. So easy! I do it on a regular basis.

Slowing down grounds us in this moment. We can face what’s here and come to grips with this moment’s reality: “Here we are…” - a moment of reckoning that might be missed if you’re hellbent on getting to the next thing or swept up in an emotional tidal wave. Too often, noticing here we are is followed in a nano-second by, “so what do we do now?” The mind desperately wants to seize control of the situation, to fix things, to solve a problem. Sometimes that’s warranted and appropriate and other times we need time – to feel, to settle, to open our heart and mind. The Pause gives you space for all of that and allows insights and ideas to emerge.

“Do you have the patience to wait
Till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
Till the right action arises by itself?”
― Lao tzu

When the world’s on fire or you have a child who’s struggling, the suggestion to wait, to remain unmoving can feel laughable, impossible, irresponsible. Your whole being screams “There is no time to wait! This is a crisis!”

And yet, there is very little that doesn’t benefit from slowing down and taking a pause, be it for three breaths, three hours, or thirty days. Unless there is fire raging or blood gushing in front of you now (which I doubt there is or you wouldn’t be reading these words), you likely can grant yourself and the situation a little time and space.

You can move more effectively after taking time to quiet down, re-set, and feel what is here. Stepping out of the fray allows you to question your thinking while you listen and receive wisdom, insight, guidance, and even a renewed energy to face what’s next. The right action may arise when you’re not so constricted in fear, trying to force a decision.

Without taking the pause, we find ourselves in reactive, fearful, conditioned, and habitual ways of behaving, and we may act prematurely without thinking things through. If, instead, we allow the mind to settle, we will see more clearly, feel what’s ours to do when the time is right, and begin to get curious about what’s needed or wanted. The fear, anger, and sadness don't necessarily go away, but the pause has given you time to check in with yourself and to find the wisdom in these feelings. To get grounded. To hear what’s true for you, rather than jump to comply or please others. It’s one way to avoid over-extending yourself.

Pausing is the essence of care, compassion, respect, and curiosity. The pause broadens our lens to see the bigger picture – all that’s here, including whatever feels problematic, and also beauty and goodness. Pause expands our thinking and opens up space for different ideas to emerge. Pausing isn’t the same as strategizing or plotting how to control or overpower a situation, but rather a break to open up to possibilities that may currently be hidden from view.

So, what does it look like to slow down or pause?

In the midst of traffic or in an argument, rather than overheating or exploding, the pause could be as simple as mindfully taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down rather than laying on the horn or yelling back
Upon hearing disturbing news for the umpteenth time in an hour, you might go for a walk and then come back to read the insights of someone you trust to help you decide what action, if any, you would like to take. You begin to discern what’s yours to do, what you have the capacity for, as you accept the reality that none of us can save the whole world by ourselves.
Slowing down may mean we talk something through with a trusted friend or counselor before making a move.
In a time of overwhelm, exhaustion, or conflict, you might give yourself a loving timeout, not as a punishment, but as a gift to all. Taking yourself to your room or out for a walk or drive as a chance to reset, re-ground, calm racing thoughts or heart so you don’t say or do something you’ll regret later
In response to a relationship that’s wearing you down, you might choose to take a longer break and not engage for a number of days or weeks
A healthy pause could be mindfully deciding to take social media off your phone so that it’s not so easy to find yourself doom-scrolling in every empty moment

When I slow down I feel more open, more expansive, more inclusive. My mind stops its incessant racing and fretting. I breathe more steadily. I find my ground, feeling the solidity of the earth holding me. I see and hear things in my environment – I don’t rush over the bridge, missing the sea turtle lounging in the murky water. I notice angels in the clouds. I revel at the beauty, mystery, and magnificence of the everyday miracles of sunrise and sunset. I breathe again. And again. And again. Until I can feel the choices that are mine to make and discern which one is right for this moment. I find the strength and inner guidance to choose rather than giving in to the shouting of others about what I have to do. I feel my pain, anger, fear. I cry the tears that have been held in too long. And gradually, because everything is always shifting, my mood and my energy shift too and I am able to take my next step. From here, I can show up to life more like the person I want to be. I catch myself the next time I've sped up and gotten caught in a reactivity loop, regroup, and begin again.

When I don’t slow down people could get hurt – I whack my head on a doorknob because I was moving too quickly and not paying attention, or I bite someone’s head off because I'm overwhelmed. I react rather than respond, and I’m much less likely to be the person I want to be. I miss out on all that’s here, tightly focused on only what’s wrong or scary, even when I’m with people I love in a safe, comfortable environment. My mind can carry me away and hold me hostage with it’s beliefs, thoughts, and opinions about what’s going on and what should be. I amp myself up in a frenzied, reactive state. I lose sleep. I eat crap, seeking comfort from chips and ice cream. It’s not good for me or anyone or anything when I’m swept up in chaotic energy.

This message to slow down is one that Love gives me regularly (when I take the time to ask and record her response). Here’s one of her messages from just the other day when I found myself rapidly spiraling: “Slow it down. Bring it in. What is within your reach? What can you do that will help settle you? Stay off social media today – all day. Organize your piles. Get outdoors and breathe fresh air. Watch the ocean. Listen to the birds. Take the time you have to savor the time you have. Stop trying to put out fires everywhere. Breathe. A lot. Pause and breathe. You need the oxygen. Trust me – your brain will thank you. Laugh. Love fiercely. Nothing can stop your ability to laugh and love. Calm it down. Bring it in, and love on yourself. Fiercely love.” (you can see more about my practice of interacting with Love and inviting in this wisdom in Love’s Wishes)

Your thoughts?
How does this land with you? Helpful? Annoying? Ridiculous?
What works for you? How do you slow things down?
How and when would the mighty pause benefit you?
How can this idea help you be who you want to be and how you want to engage with life?

Maybe we can’t save the world, but we can support our presence to be of benefit to it.
Who do you want to be and how do you want to show up? Good guiding questions in a life that feels out of control.

And a song to speak to your heart... We don't Know We're Living

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Finding Hope - In the Worst of Times

2/7/2025

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Writing about hope in horrific times? Really? Yes! It feels necessary. Maybe more important than ever. So, here we go.

We are living in a time where chaos, confusion, and relentless actions are designed to exhaust us, divide us, and silence us. We can easily lash out in anger or hide away in isolation.   Empathy, accountability, and respect seem to be lacking, particularly from those in power.
We need hope to help us see beyond the muck of the truly despicable.

The state of affairs in the US right now reminds me of the chaos that once consumed my family, crisis after crisis, brought on by chaotic substance use. The too familiar dread in the pit of my stomach – afraid to look at my phone to see what the latest disaster is.

One key distinction is that my son didn’t intend to scare us, cause chaos or harm. His actions weren’t calculated, malicious, or planned out. They were simply part of his mental health challenges which set off a chain of reactivity. I've talked with many people who've struggled with substance use, and know they never meant to hurt the people they love.

It’s easy to be frozen in inaction, stunned into silence in times of great disruption, but we don’t have to collapse. We can find a way to go on and to act in meaningful ways. Wringing our hands helplessly only adds to anxiety and withdrawal.

We need hope to continue on – to love, to be generous or compassionate, to make a difference.

Hope is Possible
Here’s what I know: hope is possible even in the most devastating times. How do I know? Because on the night my son, Nate, died, I reached over to my husband, grabbed his hand and said, “We will get through this.”

Partly, I did this because I needed to hear myself say it, to believe it, because anything else was too impossible to imagine. I said it even though it was also impossible to know how we would get through or what “getting through” meant. Partly I did this because at least some part of me knew that it was true.

In our 29 years with Nate, we endured so much – school struggles, family struggles, 14 years of the pain of watching him struggle with substance use and bulimia and all that that brought with it. We’d faced so many times when I didn’t know how I or we would go on… but we did. Now, not quite 2 years since his death, I still don’t always know how we will go on, but somehow, one moment, one breath at a time, we do.

I imagine if you look at your own life, you’ve had moments or maybe stretches of years that feel relentless, agonizing, hopeless. Times you’ve felt powerless and unable to see your way out of the struggle. Maybe you’re in a time like that right now. Either way, here you are reading these words, and that alone is a sign of hope.

What Hope Is and What It Isn’t

At a conference late last November, “Bridging the Hope and the How,” our keynote speaker, Dr. Ashley Cross, Executive Director of Hope585 in Rochester, NY, said that hope isn’t a feeling. That we can have hope even when we feel grief, sadness, fear. I’m still sorting out how that’s possible. No words for it, but I have experienced it to be true.

I’ve learned hope isn’t a flimsy wish: “I hope things get better.” That’s just wishful thinking that doesn’t get you or anyone anywhere. No change comes from weak wishing. A wish like that allows you to step back and not take any responsibility for what could be.

There’s another kind of hope that is fierce – it rises from deep inside and says, “No! This is not how this story will end!” That force can carry us, be a guiding light that calls us forward, even if we can’t see where we’re going. This force nudges us forward, fueled by a belief in a better future and a knowing that we can be part of creating the future we long for.

In his book, 8 Ways to Hope: Charting a Path through Uncertain Times, William Miller writes, “Hope is all about anticipation of what is not yet. It is a liminal space, a threshold to what may yet be.” What is not yet… what may yet be… those words alone bring pause. An interesting reflection. A reminder that we simply Do. Not. Know. All we can know is what’s already happened and what is happening right here, right now in our direct experience. We do not know what is coming in the future. Even when things are happening that make it look bleak. We still cannot foresee the future. We don’t have to fall into the trap of foregone conclusions.

Hope and Fear

Miller goes on to say, “…both hope and fear project images of what could come to pass, and both can be powerfully motivating. They are alternative lenses through which we view an uncertain future… Hope tends to expand our horizons, while fear contracts them.”

Have you noticed that? Fear brings us into tunnel vision where we only see the path of doom. It constricts our bodies. Breathing becomes shallow, jaw clenches, gut grips. Our thoughts run on a repetitive loop with all that we fear. “I know how this is going to go!” We find ourselves unwilling or unable to imagine any outcome other than what we dread.

“Fear can shut down the creative capacity to find better ways and even the will to find them. Hope is about finding both the will and a way forward,” writes Miller. When we feel trapped. When we feel certain of doom. When we feel powerless to do anything that will make a difference, we can lose hope. Of course we can. It’s so natural. Especially if the scene feels familiar – you’ve been here before, so “here we go again” thoughts come rushing in. Of course.

But, can you consider that this time could be different? You’re not the person you were the last time you faced this situation, even if it was only yesterday or a few hours ago. Which means that everything else about this scenario is also different than it was. The door to hope cracks open a tiny bit. Where there is possibility, there is hope. Where there is uncertainty, there is hope. Nothing has been determined yet. Where there is life, there is hope. Where there is love, there is more hope.

When people come together for the greater good, hope rises and ripples out. Hope and fear are both contagious – they spread between people like a creeping vine that quickly takes over. So, you get to decide if you’re spreading fear or hope. What seeds you want to plant? Can you be a force of hope, even in times of great darkness when all seems lost?

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but moving ahead in spite of it,” says Miller. The fear will be here. As will grief, sadness, confusion, anxiety, but they don’t have to be the only forces at play and we don’t have to give them the final word. One thing is for certain – running around and adding to the frenzy and panic helps no one. We must do what we can to find a ground that allows us to come into the world in a healthy way.

Creating a Legacy of Hope
Hope creates hope. We can give hope to others when they’re not feeling it. Our words and actions can create a ripple of hope. In Hope Rising: How the Science of HOPE can Change Your Life by Casey Gwinn & Chan Hellman, the authors share many ways to cultivate, strengthen, and grow hope. Hope needs attention and effort to sustain it – it doesn’t remain untended. In their final chapter, “Leaving a Legacy of Hope,” they share “Lessons Learned from Two Old Guys!”

Some that feel poignant in this moment are:

Teach your children (and friends) to be hope-centered
When the time is right, make it OK to talk about the bad stuff in life
Empathy always opens doors
Listen more than you talk
Run from negative people – find cheerleaders and encouragers
Surround yourself with positive role models
Focus on strengths, not weaknesses or deficits
Use your power and influence to bless children

When you use your powers for good, and act in ways that bless the children and the future children of the world, you are leaving a ripple that builds people up and generates more hope, kindness and caring.

A friend once called me a “Possibilitator,” a term that lit me up. I define it as “one who shines the light of hope and possibility, especially in times of darkness.” In a world where so much is out of my control and beyond my influence, this is something I can offer. Will you possibilitate with me? We can also take the actions we’re called to to help create a better future. None of this is about sugarcoating a shitshow or burying your head in the sand. It’s about finding sustainable ways to show up for people and things that matter.

It's All Too Much! Finding the Elusive Balance

Being bombarded by crisis after crisis feels relentless and overwhelming. I don’t know that there is a magic formula for being informed and staying engaged so that we can take action as needed, while also taking good care of ourselves. I do know that we must tend our hearts and health - mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional. When we are well cared for, we can step up when and where we’re called.

Meditation has helped me be with my own mind, developing awareness of what’s going on inside, sitting with thoughts and feelings as they arise. This allows me to act and speak in a more clear and intentional way. We don’t need to completely avoid the realities of the world (and we couldn’t even if we tried to), but with intention we can choose where we direct our attention. We can help where we can, step away to rest and regroup as needed. Breaks are essential.

We can carry hope alongside fear as we remember we don’t know what might yet be.

Balance in action and rest is elusive and not evenly matched much of the time. There are times when we will be all-in on something stressful, that requires immediate action, and does not give us a chance to sit back and be more intentional and mindful. However, when there are moments to regroup, refresh, and renew our mind and spirit, we must take them. Those moments are critical.

When you find people in the news taking over your life to the extent you’re missing moments of sweetness or delight with your partner, friends, or children, something has to give. At our family picnic last summer, we began swirling into fear and dismay about the future. My niece, Amy, brilliantly brought us back to each other and the precious gift of family time with a quick declarative, “That man is not welcome in our kitchen. He is not invited into our gathering!” Thank you, Amy. I find I have to remind myself of this often. To bring myself to what I want to allow into this moment, this space, my personal domain.

We get to choose who and what we give our time, energy, and attention to. Certain people want nothing more than to consume all of it. I implore you to take it back so that you can enjoy a quiet lunch with a friend, a walk in the woods with a beloved, sitting by the fire petting your cat, laughing at a stupid comedy, or getting lost in a song while you dance in your car.

Please take time to notice the beauty and the goodness in life that is here, even as horrific events consume the airwaves. It doesn’t erase or replace them, but it does broaden your perspective to all that is available. Beauty, wonder, delight, joy, kindness, lightness – they’re still here even when seem overshadowed by the ugly.

Do what you can for the causes that matter to you, remembering you cannot do everything, nor do you have to. Serve in a way that works for your body, nervous system, mind, and energy capacity – let others serve in their ways. Some of us will march and make calls, some will donate money, others will provide meals, others will offer hugs and smiles and kindness where they can. Others will sit quietly with a distraught family member or friend. There are many issues to be addressed, personally and collectively.

In her work of Revolutionary Love, Valarie Kaur reminds us of the midwife’s wisdom - we cannot push all the time. We must also breathe. In the resting and breathing, the next push can arise, and also in the pushing, we allow the breath to arise. Without the breath, you will deplete yourself and have nothing left to give.

If you’re facing a death or dealing with an illness or chronic struggle – your own or a loved one’s - you’re going to need your energy. What we’re facing collectively in our country and world is something that is going to require sustained energy. It serves no one for you to be on hyper-alert all the time. In our journey with Nate, we learned that sleep was vital, and so we chose to turn off our phones at bedtime. If something bad happened, we needed to be clear-headed and energized so we could respond in a more helpful way, rather than being sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by stress. When can you allow yourself to disconnect for a period of restorative time?

What Helps You to Hope?

I’m not always sure what helps me have hope. I do hear my son whisper from wherever he is, “I’m right here, Momma,” and I can feel that. I know that we still have each other and that he works with me and through me, and for that I am grateful. I find hope in the people in my life – my husband and friends who bring love, laughter, tears, and joy. I find hope in the nudges which prod me to create, offering what is mine to offer.

I find great hope in remembering that many people before me have persevered in similar or worse conditions than I face. In our country and around the world, many have endured centuries of treatment that could have led to despair and yet somehow, they have carried on. Leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, and Mother Teresa have shown what’s possible in the face of violence and hate.

Moms like Lori Drescher, Founder of Recovery Coach University, Pam Lanhart, Founder of Thrive Family Recovery Resources, Heather Ross, Family Recovery Coach, and Alexis Pleus Founder of TruthPharm, who have lost beloved children, inspire and uplift me and many others, as they work diligently to support people touched by substance use.

Hope Doesn’t Need to be Grand.

You might spend a little quiet time with Hope and ask, “Hope, what would you have me know?” Take a few minutes and let Hope’s wisdom flow to you, writing it out in a note to yourself if you like. In our last Finding Hope Within retreat, one participant received a beautiful insight that “hope can be small pinpricks of light.” And also, that “hope is in the sidewalk cracks, not the sidewalk.”

What does Hope want you to know?
What helps you have hope?
Who inspires you through their example?
Are there negative people you need to give less time to?
How can you sustain and support yourself in stressful times?
What do you notice that’s good or beautiful in your world today?
How do you want to show up in a troubled family, community, country, world?

Finding the Will - You are not Powerless!

Whether you’re facing a family challenge with substance use or you’re concerned about the state of affairs in the US and the world, your presence, your voice, and your actions make a difference. When we feel powerless, like nothing we do matters, it’s easy to lose hope. That’s when we’re at risk of isolating and finding ourselves paralyzed by fear or anger.

What you do matters! Your energy and presence matter, so please take the time to nurture and nourish your body, mind, heart, and spirit. Now is a great time to double down on practices that build internal strength, peace, grounding, flexibility, and clarity. That can look like getting out into nature, feeling the strength of the Earth holding you. Practices like yoga, dance, or working out allows your emotions the movement they need. Take time for contemplation, reflection, and mental rest through meditation, prayer, or journaling. Find community where you can, because we need each other, so take time to connect with someone you hold dear, go to a support group, attend a spiritual community gathering, or join a resistance group.

Be sure to take time for silence. There is too much to take in right now and it can easily overwhelm. Take media breaks. Turn off your phone and put it out of sight. Take a walk without listening to a podcast or talking to anyone. Create some spaciousness so that you can think and act more clearly.
Take some time to think about what practices best support you and make some time for them, even if only 5 minutes. 5-minute practices sprinkled throughout the day add up, and they will support you in this time that doesn’t offer any quick, easy fix.

Finding the Way - Some Ways to Get Started:

Step 1 - Pause... take a breath (or many breaths) - it's hard to imagine anything that could be made worse when we begin this way. Take this moment to find center and grounding before posting, speaking, or acting. Then proceed...

If you care about someone struggling with substance use, please check out the Invitation to Change approach which will invite you to reflect on what it means to help, reimagine the role that loved ones can play in the change process, and provide you with evidence-supported strategies for helping.

If you’d like a simple way to get involved in speaking out about the current state of affairs in the US, 5 Calls offers a direct link to your congressional representative and Senators along with guidance on top concerns you may wish to convey. Heather Cox Richardson is a clear and steady source of information. Pace yourself in what you’re taking in and what you’re doing. Do what you can and then step back to be refueled.

Donate to organizations doing important work that matters to you – time, money, or needed items. Whatever feels realistic and doable to you in this moment. What might fill your heart as you give?

Create the things you are called to create. It can be easy to shut down in the weight of overwhelm, but your creative offerings, whether that’s art, music, writing, videos, playlists, retreats… they are needed and they matter.

Make time for music - Here’s an eclectic playlist for finding hope to support you in this wild and crazy time. And here’s my Power Me Up Playlist for when I need a boost! Music can lift your spirits or bring the release of tears, encourage you to keep going, or give you something to dance and sing to. It helps us get out of our heads and into our souls. Music matters. Make your own playlist to carry you through the dark times.

Find Your People – In times when we feel scared, alone, or isolated, community is even more important. I know it’s harder to access because it takes energy and vulnerability to connect, but the effort will pay off. Phone a friend! Can we please bring back spontaneous phone calls and voice mails? Even if we don’t connect, at least we can hear each other’s voices! Find a group that supports your hobbies, passions, causes, personal development, recovery, or spiritual needs (to name a few), in person or online. Remembering that you’re not alone can really help.

The communities that are supporting my well-being right now that might be of interest to you:
The Open Heart Project Sangha - daily live meditation and discussion, weekly meeting, plus more!
Bodhi Tree Yoga - a variety of online classes with wonderful teachers and a sense of community

Give yourself a little oasis – Speaking of community, I invite you to join me on Monday, February 17, for a mini retreat, Finding Hope Within from 12 – 1:30 PM ET. Let’s come together, bringing whatever is present and cultivating a little bit of hope – that elusive what might yet be.

Find and create joy, delight, wonder. This is not a frivolous thing. Your energy matters - how you behave and speak matters. Small acts of kindness and moments of joy matter. Keep doing what you enjoy with joy. Joy is a form of resistance says Heather Cox Richardson (take a minute to watch this clip - it's very empowering!). It allows you to take back your power and refuse to give in to the forces that are bringing you down. Keep loving on people and believing in a better future, even if we don’t quite know what that will look like.

Find ways to offer compassion – to yourself and others. Our world desperately needs this energy. Showing up and acting from a place of love, kindness, and compassion makes a difference and builds hope. Your hope might take root, grow, and spread. It’s certainly worth a try!

Hold your loved ones close. Reach out and grab the hand of someone you love and say, “We will get through this.” Even if you don’t know how, you’re planting the seed of hope and possibility. Even if you might not get the outcome you would like, are you willing to give it a go?

What's working for you? Please, please share!! We learn and grow together!

My altar of hope

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Love's Wishes

1/10/2025

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Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

I know this is a hard month for many of us with fires and wars raging, outrageous things being said, outrageous things happening. There are a lot of crises and you may be experiencing pain. Maybe, like me, you're feeling worry and anxiety about the future that lies ahead. Welcome you to this moment, just as you are.

In this time of darkness, this season of hibernation, slowing down, and going within, I offer tenderness, gentleness, compassion, and an invitation for you to receive.

A beautiful song came on my playlist and I knew I wanted it to be my next note to you all: Find the Light sung by David Ramirez. “I wish upon you peace… but most of all I wish upon you love.” There's so much I wish for you, but nothing more I could wish upon you than love. ❤️❤️

Take a few moments to listen to this heartfelt offering of love. Close your eyes and take it into your heart. What does it stir? Even if you're in a dark time or place, how does this land?

Find The Light
written by Rene Ramirez
I wish upon you peace
I wish upon you grace
I wish for less of what you want
And more of what you need

I wish upon you an old light
With a heart that stays young
But most of all I wish upon you love

I wish upon you truth
When all you feel is doubt
I hope you know that an open mind
Still knows when to shut things out
I wish upon you a brave heart
that will always rise above
But most of all I wish upon you love

Cause as the sun sets, well
the moon begins to rise
So even in the darkness
you'll find the light

You'll find the light I wish upon you an easy life
I wish upon you hard times
I hope you know that both joy and pain
Each need their moment to shine
I wish you ears that are quick to listen
That you're slow to use that tongue
But most of all I wish upon you love

Cause as the sun sets, well
the moon begins to rise
So even in the darkness
you'll find the light

You'll find the light Oh now even in the darkness
you'll find the light

As I talked with a friend the other day, it became clear just how very harsh I was being with myself, even when there was no good reason. So I started reading my messages from Love aloud to her. Often in my morning journaling I ask the question Liz Gilbert introduced me to, “Love what would you have me know?” Tears streamed as I read and let my heart receive Love's tenderness and generosity. Somehow even though the words come through my pen, they feel like they come from a greater force beyond myself.

I thought maybe you'd appreciate some of these too, since I don't think I'm the only one who gets down on herself, feels overwhelmed from time to time, or gets caught up in worry. You'll let me know if I'm wrong, right? 😊

So, here we go, some wishes from Love to you:

✨ One breath. One moment. Move at that pace. It's enough. Just be present. Be with yourself honestly, openly, with that beautiful open heart. Honor and tend to yourself through it all. You are so brave, so honest, to face things head on when you can and listen for the moment of opening. You don't have to blast the doors down…in your own time, my darling. Held in love. Always.

💕 Beloved, keep following your heart. Keep loving - yourself and your people, well. Take very exquisite care of your body, your heart - rest as needed. Take breaks. Don't push. Gentle, gentle, baby. You need and deserve gentle, my beloved. You have a lot going on - out there and in your being. In your tender heart especially. It has an effect on everything. Don't underestimate that, beloved. You can do this, but you need mindful presence and tending. Paying attention. Give to yourself at least as much as you give to others. Fill up to overflowing. Let yourself be loved.

💜 Live and grieve in your way, in your time, my darling. Allow the joy, peace, sadness, and grief to all swim together in you and around you as they will. Your way is unique and allows others their way - no right or wrong. Release the worry of what others will think. Just be you, be with you, and know that that is perfect, beloved. Release expectations and live into the moments as they come. Be present. Be real. Allow it all…the nostalgia, the longing will be here too. It's ok. There's room for it all. The heart knows the way to hold it all, my dear.

❤️ Cherish the moments, darling. You know how precious and sacred they are, for sure. Don't miss them. Be here for them, and beloved, tend to yourself well along the way. Breathe with life and let life breathe with you. Feel how your heart really can hold it all? Because it can. It's amazing, and it's how you humans are built - it just takes some time and experience to really feel it. The heart's capacity and the human capacity is immense and too often untapped, limited by your stories and beliefs. But when you feel what's possible firsthand, you can give yourself more fully to life, and that's a beautiful thing. Cry, scream, laugh, and be silent. All is welcome here in this space, this reality of infinite, undying love.

☮️ Stay in touch with your body. Take good care of yourself as you move softly, gently, and discover what can be accomplished even in that energy. It's a new way for you, and you'll be pleasantly surprised if you can fully allow yourself to experience it - to witness that it doesn't have to be hard or overwhelming or frenzied. Let it be easy. Let it be fun. Let it be joyful work. Why not?

🩵 Oh my darling, slow it all down. Breathe. Go within. Place your hand on your heart and hold yourself tenderly, lovingly. Offer up all the love in the world to this tender heart, this tender soul that reels in the messy and harsh of life. Breathe slowly, softly, ease-fully. Take off that pressure you pile on yourself that you know isn't helpful or necessary - that only paralyzes you. Soften. Release. Gentle yourself, darling.

My invitations to you:
💕 Have your own conversation with Love. Take a little quiet time to sit with yourself. Maybe place your hand upon your heart and ask, “Love, what would you have me know?” and see what comes. You can freewrite, keeping your hand moving as words come to you and through you, or you can simply receive her messages to your heart. I find Love to be a mighty force of unconditional grace, tenderness, and generosity with so much wisdom to offer.

✨ Join me for a mini retreat, Finding Hope Within on Monday, January 20th from 12-1:30 PM ET if you'd like a peaceful place to spend a little time. We will gather over Zoom to step away from anything else that might be going on that day and turn toward our hearts and souls to be nourished and fortified for whatever life may ask of us in the days ahead.

☮️ Take some time to meditate with me with Love, What Would You Have Me Know?

What resonates with you? What does Love have to say to you? How might this support you in the coming days, weeks, year?

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Answering the Call

3/8/2024

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Image by Aurélien Barre from Pixabay

Answering the call… what's it mean? Not what it would have meant if I had written this several years ago. Then it would have been about following your heart, your dreams, your passion. Creating a life or work that calls to you. Today, it's something much simpler. A gentle and fairly easy way to tend my heart. (if you missed last week's post from guest blogger, Heather Ross, you can find Tending Your Heart here).

For the third time this week, the birds, ocean, and sun called me to sunrise. For the previous nine weeks, I often slept til 8 or 9, but now, with 3 days left in Hilton Head, I don't want to miss it. I started my 60th birthday with a solo sunrise and lots of tears because there is grief about entering a new year without my son, Nate, physically here. And because sunrise at the ocean breaks my heart open for some reason. Even today it brought tears. There's a primitive force that I feel in my heart.

This morning, most people had already left or were leaving. Some would say I'd missed it because I wasn't there for the breaking on the horizon moment. I knew that would be the case and still I went. Some would say it wasn't very dramatic because there weren't many clouds. The breaking of a new day is always a miracle, and I rarely rise to greet it, to celebrate it - so with or without clouds, it's a powerful force, a tremendous beauty to me. I'm glad I was there mostly alone, so I could take it in, feel, cry, let the sun and the wind caress my face while I closed my eyes and communed with, joined with them. It's breathtaking, and I'm glad I answered the call and gave myself this time with nature rather than lying in bed trying to go back to sleep. No, I didn’t want to miss these moments in my last days here. I’m not a National Geographic photographer – it’s not about the perfect image – it’s about being there for it, feeling the rhythm of nature, the steadiness and impermanence in the sand as the ocean washes over the beach.

Today I wrote 4EVER LOVE in the sand at the shoreline, and while it stayed untouched for a few minutes, it wasn’t long before it was quickly, gently swooped away, yet still there. Nothing can take it away. For some reason I like offering it up to the sands and the ocean – to mingle with, become a part of these forces of beauty and nature.

To breathe in the damp morning air, to bathe in the resonant sound of waves, the wind, the birdsong – it takes me away from the worries of the day, the troubles of our times, the political divide that’s already and ever escalating. Just for a few moments, I can truly feel peace, contentment, and I don’t need to do anything, produce anything, think about anything, worry about anything. I can just breathe, listen, and take in the gift of another new day. That, my friends, is a beautiful miracle that I will savor.

Even now, hours later as I sit at the kitchen table, typing up this reflection, it fills my heart, soothes, my soul, and takes me over with its magnificence. Captivates me. Entrances and enchants me. Beauty. Wonder. Awe. These are a few of my favorite things. Happy to share them with you!

What is it that brings you this sense of wonder and awe? How can you give yourself more moments with gifts for your heart and soul? What call is awaiting your response? Please share!!

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Awareness, Recovery, & Retreat

10/14/2023

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August 31 is International Overdose Awareness Day - all around the world people gather to remember and honor the way too many lives lost to substance-related deaths. We grieve. We mourn. We come together to hope for recovery for those still here.

This year was my first from the perspective of having lost my son just 5 months earlier - 5 months to the day we cried over his casket to say our final goodbyes to his physical form. When invited to speak at our local Scotty B Overdose Awareness Day (created by another mother in memory of her beloved son), I didn’t skip a beat as I replied to the full-body goosebump “Yes.” I didn’t know why or even what I’d say, but I knew it was an authentic yes. That morning I reached out to several people asking, “What do I even have to offer? My son didn’t find recovery. My son died. How can I offer inspiration or hope?” I cried. Big tears. Lots of tears. I received their encouragement and gathered my thoughts, pulling together a message intended to raise awareness, to share Nate’s story, what I’ve learned over the past 30 years, what I wish I had known, and an appeal for greater kindness and compassion for all people.

My dear friend, a fellow angel mama, and I started the day at an Overdose Awareness Vigil in a part of the city where the need for compassionate, non-judgmental support and care is immense. We sat in a circle with people in recovery, people in active use, family members, friends, and allies, and people at dire risk. We shared pizza and memories of those lost. We shared what called us to this circle that day. We learned how to use Naloxone to save a life. We learned about Overdose Prevention Centers and the critical need for them, and we shared space, time, and life. It was beautiful. Heart-touching. Heart-wrenching, and heart-opening.

From there over to Scotty B Day where I met and visited with people in the recovery community - some of the most authentic, sensitive, creative, beautiful people in the world. I shared table with my friend, the beautiful writer, Jennifer Collins. In addition to selling my book, I had care bags to give away for those in need, along with Nate’s cards (which have his picture and the messages “I see you. You matter. You are not alone.” and local resource numbers on them) and Never Use Alone cards. I watched as one young man picked up Nate’s card and withered into a gut-punching, disbelieving gasp… “No, no, no… tell me it’s not true…” He had been Nate’s neighbor in supportive housing. “He was doing well…” his confusion voiced as he took in this news. Yeah. He was. Until he wasn’t. Awareness awakening.

After I spoke (you can listen to the talk here), I had the beautiful opportunity to connect with so many open-hearted people. Parents who wanted to know more about the Invitation to Change, who longed for a different way to be with their loved ones. Parents who heard our story and committed to being with their young ones differently - to let them be who they are, whether they are 3, 9, 11, or 15. Parents who had lost kids somewhat guiltily confessing, “I did the whole enabling thing…” because they had gone to their child, supported them, loved them. I offered a reframe: “Sounds like you loved your kid. There is no need to apologize for that. Ever.” Phew. Exhale. No need for shame. You loved your child, as did I. Let’s let the stories go, drop this all-too-common cultural narrative, and begin to heal around this loss. Find our recovery. Other people I met love people in active use, kids who are on the streets, at great risk; these people are doing what they can to love them well, to support them, while also taking care of themselves. There’s room for it all. Awareness. Connection. You’re not alone. One tiny moment at a time…it’s enough.

It was a beautiful, encouraging, uplifting, devastating, heart-opening, heart-wrenching day. I wobbled away from the podium, away from the space, and met up with my husband to celebrate, debrief, and cry. I was wrung out and filled up all at once.

The next day kicked off National Recovery Month. And, I felt myself slide into a valley. It had taken a ton of energy to prepare for Overdose Awareness Day, only a little over a month after Nate’s memorial service. It was time for me to immerse deeply into my own recovery. After putting myself out there, there was a natural reaction to pull back, go within, hunker down, and restore myself. You might have experienced something similar in your own life. Even as I continued to post support and encouragement for the recovery movement, for individual and family recovery, I was heading into a gentle crash and into my next phase of recovery.

Here's what I know about recovery: it begins within and is a deeply personal journey. As my friend, Chris’s shirt says, “Recovery is any Positive Action.” It’s not clear, straightforward, or linear. It is often painful and painstakingly hard. Recovery can only be approached and managed one minute at a time. It requires a leap of faith into the unknown, hoping that the effort will be worth it. Recovery requires letting go of tried-and-true comfort and survival tactics to find new, less certain ways to be. It calls us to look at past pain, to open our hearts to grieve what might have been as we lean into what’s here, and step toward what’s possible.

Recovery calls us inward to reconnect with ourselves – our hearts, our spirits, to touch what’s true and to connect with what’s available to us. Anything that requires a lot of energy, particularly emotional energy, will invite a period of respite and recovery afterwards. Awareness. Can we pay attention to the needs of our body, mind, heart, and spirit and find a way to honor that need?

The first weeks after Overdose Awareness Day were very uncomfortable as I found myself confronting some dark, haunting questions: What if? What if I had seen how desperately Nate was spiraling out of control and had insisted he come to dinner with us the night he dropped off the grid? What if I had invited him to stay with us for the weekend the last time I last saw him, 6 days before he died? Would he still be here? I suspect this is a natural grief response, grasping for what might have been different. Not so much blame, but a desperate wish that I had known and had the chance to make different choices. Recovery calls us to face our shadows in order to move forward, so I met myself there and sunk into the feelings and thoughts that swept through.

After a couple of weeks in intentional recovery mode, I also added retreat into my life, packing up and getting away from home, from Rochester with all its ghosts and ghostly places. First I headed off with my husband, Tom, to hole up in a hotel and sleep, read, and write some overdue cards, while he worked.

Next, we headed off to a massive music festival where we could easily get lost in the crowd in Louisville, Kentucky. We savored an evening with Brandi Carlile (I just love her...sigh). Total anonymity and shared love of a great artist held us in this musical escape.

Then Tom dropped me off at a rustic retreat center in the mountains of western North Carolina for a women’s retreat – my first big social space with mostly unknown women since Nate’s death. I was welcomed with huge hugs from two loving women, soul sisters I’ve known for almost a decade, women who have answered the call to show up for this deep mama loss. I found my way to my remote charming cabin by the creek and settled myself into it for a musty nap, the creek offering its gentle natural white noise. And I bawled. I let my tears soak my pillow. I let my body shake as sobs moved through me. In this quiet space of solitude, I let myself feel the fear of something happening to Tom, and felt the deep awareness of how desperately I need him to be ok, to be safe, to stay alive. How much I need him. Period.

Eventually sleep found me, and after a refreshing rest, I was able to enter retreat tentatively, gingerly, dosing out bits of my current reality as I was able. Giving myself the gift of my own deep attention and care – what did I need? Feel? Want? Following this inquiry, moment by moment, without expectation, without judgment. Allowing space for the bereaved mother, the open-hearted dancer, the tearful singer, the curious writer, and all the bits of me to be present. Allowing the silence to deepen my connection to myself. I let myself be filled up, sharing space and energy with other women, each on her own journey, each in her own space, facing her own longings, fears, awakenings, awareness, and insights as retreat worked on us. It was healing, cathartic, transformative, and I am deeply grateful for it all.

As we cycle through life, when we can allow ourselves to follow Awareness, Recovery, and Retreat, we grow. We evolve. We let go. We connect. We become. The next iteration of who we are in this moment of life emerges. We open to what’s possible. We face hard truths. We heal. And then we do it all over again. Maybe this is all life asks of us.

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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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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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Out of the Darkness & Into the Light...

12/21/2022

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As I revisit and revise this post, originally written for MomPower in 2020 and then re-written for this blog last year, I am feeling into what's alive for me at this moment. I am grateful to re-read this message and take it into my own heart as I sit with myself with tears streaming down my face. I offer it to you again with love.

Today marks the winter solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere. On this darkest day of the year, the pivotal moment between dark and light, it is the perfect time to honor the darkness that has come into our lives. It is a time to honor those who have been lost and to remember them with love. It is a time to honor the struggle and the perseverance of those who are on a challenging journey and to honor ourselves and other loved ones who have also found a way through the darkness.

In honoring the darkness and in grieving the losses we have endured, we bring those moments into the light. When we bring them into the light, they are no longer hiding in the shadows, lurking in shame, or hidden in silence. We claim and name our experience. We see it for what it has been. We presence it.

When we do this, we are able to step forward into the light. Just as the days begin to get longer with a bit more light from tomorrow on, we too can begin to bring more light into our homes and our beings.

Addiction, cancer, mental illness (to name a few) are painful diseases, as you undoubtedly know. They affect everyone in their wake and can take down entire families with the weight of suffering.

However (and this is a big however), the journey into darkness does not have to take us out forever. It is possible to find hope, joy, peace, love, and to create a brighter tomorrow, even when we have been impacted by a loved one's disease.

If you are reading this, you are alive, and for that fact alone there is reason to celebrate. You have been given the opportunity to live one more day. What will you do with this one precious life you have been given? How will you set your soul free to express itself? What is uniquely yours to do?

Is there some way to honor your journey up to this very moment--the good, the bad, and the ugly, the full messiness of it all? The painful, the joyous, the fearfulness, and the hope? Whatever it’s looked like in the past, today marks a new day, albeit a short one. Tomorrow offers the light of fresh possibility, as each day does. How do you want to step into tomorrow?

If we are able to find a way to turn our pain (or darkness) into possibility (or light), we can transform these heavy experiences into something that serve and support us and others. We can show up for life more fully. We can become who we were born to be. With each loss I experience I also experience a fresh resolve to live this life even more fully.

Let’s face it, the past 3 years have carried a full load of darkness, collectively, along with anything that you might have experienced personally.

For many the holidays are emotionally-charged times and may bring in a healthy mix of emotions… sadness, joy, celebration, loneliness. I know I will be feeling both sadness for those who are not with us during this holiday season as well as joy and gratitude for those who are.

There is room for it all. When we allow ourselves to feel it all, to allow our hearts to carry this messy mix of what makes us human, we are able to move through it.

“Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” ~ Brene Brown

So, let this pivotal day be a day that marks the honoring of both the dark and the light. Let us take a step back and look at the big picture of our lives and recognize that our experiences have not been all good or all bad, but rather a mix of both.

These diseases can entomb us with their heavy cloak of darkness if we let them, but we can choose to lift up the corner of that cloak and peek outside. We can lay down the heaviness and step into the light. We get to choose.

We may well prefer the moments of lightness, light-heartedness, and light in general, but there is also a gift to receive during the dark and challenging times. We must be willing to sit with this part of our reality if we are to truly enjoy the light.

I have found that it is in the dark where I have grown the most. I wonder if that might be true for you as well. I offer you this poem for consideration.

The Places We Grow
It’s in the dark,
in the shadows,
where we stretch and grow.

We face ourselves
and see a new or forgotten aspect,
a piece we’d rather ignore or deny.

But there it is…
staring us down,
daring us to change,
to find a new way,
or to simply come into acceptance.

Sometimes it’s about overcoming
or adjusting.
Finding a way to do this with
love, compassion,
and gentle communion.

Honoring the self…
who I am,
where I am,
what I need,
what my baggage is.

And stepping into a deeper layer,
excavating and shifting,
allowing new light in,
and new hope out.

These are the places we grow –
often watered
and nourished with tears.
© Barb Klein, 2016, “The Places We Grow,” from 111 Invitations: Step into the Full Richness of Life

Where and how can you nourish yourself today? How might you allow some new light in--to your being, to your life? How can you allow a little more hope to shine into the world?

Begin by greeting yourself exactly where you are--gently, with tenderness, care, and compassion. Offer yourself the space and grace to feel into what’s alive within your heart at this moment. Ask your heart what it needs at this moment to be truly nurtured and nourished. Then respond accordingly. You deserve your own loving care.

We are on the cusp of a new year and we can only hope that 2023 is bringing with it new possibility, hope, and fresh beginnings. Today let’s pause. Let’s look at our lives and our loved ones with reverence. Let’s honor this journey where we have walked, crawled, and stumbled while we look ahead to the light of new creativity. Let’s let this darkest day of the year—December 21-- be a personal pivotal moment for us to enter an illuminated future.

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Lessons from a Twisted Ankle

Slow it All Down... Even when Times are Urgent

Finding Hope - In the Worst of Times

Love's Wishes

Answering the Call

Awareness, Recovery, & Retreat

Finding Stillness

Carrying Pain

The Gift of Presence

Out of the Darkness & Into the Light...

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