Inspired Possibility Blog

In the Stillness

9/7/2022

Waking one morning recently, a beautiful stillness enveloped me. The space embodied something between fully asleep and fully awake. No one moved. No thoughts stirred. No voices or traffic interrupted this bliss. A soft rain fell, amplifying the silence.

Such a beautiful way to enter the day – blissful, almost mystical. Beyond words. Before moving with intention to alleviate the ache in my hip, allowing myself to savor the relative silence. The silence within comforting and soothing my whole being. Feeling open…expansive… receptive. Ready to receive the unfolding of the day. Appreciative of this time before the happenings of the day, the week rush in on me.

Stillness – a solitary momentary sanctuary for the whole being – space for the soul to rest and abide. In this place there is nothing to figure out. Nothing to do. Only to BE. Deep peace, deep contentment wash over me as I feel alive, but gentle. Not activated.

Strong satisfaction here – I can take in and appreciate the beauty of our home, the sweetness of the space we have created. The serenity of this space. I breathe it in. I love this space. It reflects me. It holds and supports us well. I am content here. My soul is happy here. My creativity thrives here.

Today I simply receive this gift. And know that it is enough.

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

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Feeling Blah...

7/13/2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Boundaries... Tough, and So Critical!

6/16/2022

1 Comment

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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Planting Seeds, Practice, and Possibility

4/19/2022

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In today’s #AtoZChallenge, let’s look at planting seeds, practice, and, of course, Possibility! I couldn’t miss that chance when P came around!

Planting Seeds
We are forever planting seeds in our own lives and in the world, so it seems worth pausing (oh, there’s another great P word!) to notice the seeds we spread. Are they seeds of kindness and generosity, of love and possibility, of hope? Or are they seeds of doom and gloom (which, quite frankly, would be understandable these days)?

My yoga teacher reminded us that Loving Kindness practice plants seeds of kindness and compassion within us that hopefully we will carry into our days and lives. As we sit and take the time to offer to ourselves and others these universal wishes of peace, happiness, health, safety, and ease, we become fertile ground for embodying these qualities. From there we can more readily offer them out through our actions. We begin with ourselves, offering some variation of the following:

May I be peaceful.
May I be happy.
May I be healthy.
May I be safe.
May I live with ease.

I must admit it can be hard for me to be fully present for this initial offering - to quiet myself enough to simply receive. My mind and heart automatically wander to others I want to send these wishes to. I forget the incredible value and absolute necessity of filling myself up first.

I do believe Loving Kindness practice is one of the most valuable practices we can engage in these days. As I wondered in my Kindness post, I can easily question if this practice matters or makes a difference. I have to believe it does. Because I can feel in my own being what a difference it makes to my heart and spirit. The act of taking time to offer love to myself and then out to others, known and unknown, feels like it creates a ripple… it feels like planting seeds of goodness in a world that is hurting.

Practice
And, so, there is the first practice I’m considering. What other practices will support us in troubled times? What practices will support us to move toward possibility? And, what does “practice” even mean?

Practice, to me, means that we will try or do something, we will likely forget or drift away from this thing we are doing, and then we return again. It does not mean that we will be perfect, even with all the practice in the world, but simply that we will remember and come back. Over and over again.

Meditation is a practice. In it we welcome ourselves where we are as we are. We allow our thoughts and feelings to be what they are and to come and go, naturally, without force or harshness. When we find we’ve drifted away for whatever reason, we return to our anchor (often the breath, but it could also be the sensation of your hands or feet, the sounds you’re hearing, or to a word or mantra), and begin again. In that permission to drift and return as often as happens, there is a gentleness. And so, meditation is a very good practice to support our way of being in life. When we drift from how we’d like to be, we remember, we adjust, we return, and we begin again.

Living and loving are practices. Human is messy, and so we offer ourselves compassion and forgiveness as we find our way.

Self-care is a practice. It’s not something we’ve been taught growing up, and so we need to find our way as adults to what it means for us to care for ourselves, moment by moment. We often begin with gung-ho intentions and goals, and inevitably life happens and we become less diligent. It’s ok. In that moment of noticing that we’ve drifted off our intended course, we awaken, and we have the chance to return and begin again.

Gratitude is a practice. It takes awareness to pause and notice what we’re grateful for. To take in the beauty of this moment and appreciate it. To reflect on the life we have and name what we are thankful for. Even in hard times to find what’s still here that we can appreciate. What can give us a tiny lift or glimmer of hope toward the next step.

What other practices do you have that support you, that help you plant the seeds you’d like to in your life, and to move into possibility?

Possibility
Possibility is perhaps one of the most under-rated beliefs we can tap into. We tend to look at probability and get stuck there. We forget that all new creations began with someone taking a risk, daring to believe that something might be possible. I recently listened to a really great conversation between Emmanuel Acho and Brene Brown about this very thing in their episode of “Unlocking Us,” entitled Being Illogical. Please give it a listen if you’d like to bring more possibility thinking into your days!

Had the Wright Brothers let probability stop them, we would not be able to travel across the country in a matter of hours. Had Rosa Parks or Martin Luther King, Jr. let probability stop them, they would not have taken a stand for the rights of people of color. Possibility requires a bit of imagination, a bit of daring, and a bit of willingness to play, experiment, or take a stand.

I believe possibility opens us to the life that we desire to be a part of. That opening to possibility is where everything begins. Our minds only know what’s happened before. Our imaginations can tap into an unseen and unexperienced vision. It’s this energy that lights a fire within us to keep on showing up, to do the hard work of healing our own hurts, and contributing to the world in the way we’re called.

“Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.”
- Mahatma Gandhi

Please join me in planting seeds of compassion, love, kindness, and hope. In practicing things that nourish and nurture your heart and spirit so that you can show up with possibility in your soul to be part of the change you desire to see in your life or in the world.

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L - Love Questions

4/14/2022

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What I am LOVING about this #AtoZChallenge is that it’s raising questions about topics I didn’t anticipate questioning… things like hope, kindness, and how we look at and feel about bodies. I love that one friend and reader told me the posts are “like a cup of espresso. They’re waking me up!” She’s been willing to read critically and dive into her own thoughts about certain words and topics. I couldn’t ask for any more than that!

So, with that, let’s dive into some questions I have played with around the idea of love for several years now. These questions change my experience of life and my way of being in it.

Is Love available, even here?
First, from Sufi teacher and business coach, Mark Silver, “Is Love available, even here?” This is a profound question to ask ourselves when we are facing desperate and painful times in our own lives or when we look at catastrophes in the world. Is Love available, even here? Can you find it, feel it, access it? Might Love be at play even when times seem the bleakest? What’s the opportunity?
I recently talked with a friend who is grieving the dying of a beloved pet. It hurts so deeply to let go of those we love so dearly. And yet, we know that death is part of life. The more we love, the more it will hurt. So how might we use our alive time to honor walking alongside someone at the end of their life?

I suggested that there was a gift in knowing that the end is near (and also gave her permission to tell me to F off because I know it doesn’t feel like a gift in this moment)… that she has time to spend with this animal, to let it know all it’s meant to her, to do some ceremony around saying goodbye, even when she doesn’t want to say goodbye. How can we weave love into our living days with those we love, whether the end is near or not?

'"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

Loving someone who struggles with substance use disorder can lead to a chaotic existence… there can be a lot of anger, blame, shame, and broken trust. Things can get ugly and painful in a deeply wounding way. Is Love available even here? Even as relationships are torn apart, words spoken that can’t be taken back, and fear rules the day. Can we remember the essence of this person, the bond that brought us together, and if it’s our child, the bond that runs deep and may be non-negotiable? Can we find enough ground within ourselves and get enough support to bring Love to the situation? Can we trust in a Divine Love surrounding us, even in the hardest moments?

What does Love look like?
Through my journey with my son’s substance use disorder, I’ve struggled to find the Love many times, getting caught up in the human messiness more often than I’d like to admit. I’ve also had to redefine what Love looks like, what love means, and what a loving mother is or does.

We have ideas growing up (or at least I did) about these things. In my case I believed a loving mother was kind, gentle, caring, nurturing, and never got angry… at anyone, but especially not at her children (anger was a “Wait til your father gets home” situation). This was not a healthy foundation for me to step into the reality of parenting, and I am grateful for the counselor who early on challenged my belief that I would never get angry with my child and gave me permission for this very natural human response.

Active addiction stirs up lots of anger along with exhaustion which is a recipe for disaster. It can be hard to find or feel the love. And, in the moments I get good support, care for myself, and have some practices to find my center, I can love my son in a different way. I’ve learned that loving my young adult son is different from loving my baby or little boy, and that I can no longer mend all of his wounds or keep him safe. I’ve learned that love shines through in clear boundaries communicated in a straightforward way, and that love also allows us not to be rigid. When love enters in there is room to determine what feels right and doable in this moment. Love doesn’t always say “yes,” but it doesn’t always have to say “no” either.

When I am the loving mother I desire to be, I walk alongside my sons. I see them for the beautiful people they are. I listen to them and allow them to guide their own journeys. I honor their uniqueness and that each of us have our own journey. I take care of myself and know that my life is most certainly affected by theirs, but it is not determined by theirs. I remember that there is love for them and also love for me, and that when I love and honor myself, I am better able to love and honor them. I no longer believe that a good mother sacrifices herself for her kids. I also love myself enough to allow for and expect imperfections along the way.

What would Love do?
Perhaps my favorite question of all, which I believe I first heard from Elizabeth Gilbert (but I can’t confirm because I often don’t remember for sure), is “What would Love (with a capital L) do?”
Oh, man! Such a great question! And, here’s why… because what Love would do is so often different than what my little pissed off, resentful, hurting human self would do. Now Love still wouldn’t sacrifice me or encourage me to save someone else, because Love knows that’s not my job. Love wouldn’t ask me to do more than is reasonable or to suffer abuse.

However, Love would reach deep and find compassion. Compassion would allow me to consider another person’s point of view. Love helps me to see the humanity and soul of another being, no matter what I see on the surface. Love helps me to show up to the world from a softer place.
When Love is our intention, our guiding light, when Love is how we want to live in the world, how does that change our words, actions, and way of being with one another?

So, I leave you to consider: Is Love available, even here? What does Love look like? And, What would Love do?

What questions do you have about Love? Please share in the comments! I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts!

A little musical inspiration for you - Love Wins

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Forgetting How to Hurry

3/21/2022

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Transitioning, Adjusting, Reflecting…

We got back home last Monday evening, and I wanted to share with you some reflections as I'm slowly transitioning from what life has been like for the past 2 ½ months into “typical home life.” It's kind of fascinating to witness myself as if looking in from the outside. I've lived in this house for 4 ½ years and in this area most of my life, and yet I feel as if I'm meeting myself here anew this week.

Since January I've had no appointments to drive to, no people to connect with in person, and lots and lots of 1:1 time with Tom (my hubby). We've both worked virtually during that time - I have met with clients and participated in a number of trainings and professional development, but there's something different about getting back from the beach or out of the shower in time for a phone or Zoom call than having to get in a car to drive somewhere. Also, I have only driven about 5 times in the past 10 weeks! Life has had a sweet and simple rhythm and flow.

Now I'm moving back into our more typical way of being… as soon as we got home, I had to rush to eat my supper while Tom unloaded the car before I jumped into a 4 hour training. Our drifting into our own little worlds was already underway.

He brought all the stuff in and, exhausted from two full days of travel, we both agreed to leave bags and boxes to be dealt with later. I did notice how much easier it is to unpack and settle into the rental home than it is to unpack and settle back into our own space. In part because I have to fit all the traveling stuff into all the other stuff that's here. I have been very struck by a sense of “too much stuff…” Going into a rental condo is different - in that scenario we are adding ourselves into the space, finding places to make it our own, to create comfort and flow.

Forgetting How to Hurry…
By bedtime I couldn't sleep because my mind was still stirring and my body was uncomfortable and there was noise that disrupted me. I didn't sleep well and I woke up the next morning needing to get ready for a 10:30 appointment. As I began my preparations I recognized that I had forgotten how to hurry. That was both delightful (and something I want to remember to forget) and a little concerning because I did actually have to drive 30 minutes to get to my chiropractor.

Following the Heart and Soul…
Thankfully I moved quickly enough while still at a pace that worked for me to make it on time. In the waiting room I ran into a friend who told me how she and her husband had fairly rapidly followed a long-time dream and were moving to Florida! After starting to look at properties, within a month they had found and bought a house that meets both of their needs and desires, sold theirs (within 5 days after 60+ showings and 30+ offers…for a lot more money than asking price) and things are coming together beautifully.

Seeing her joy and sense of freedom reminded me what it's like to follow the call of the heart and soul! It's how I left my job and started my practice, how we ended up here in this house on the water, and how we've now wintered down South for 3 years! It seems that sometimes when you say “yes” and genuinely feel all in, there's a whoosh of energy that gets things flowing. It's not magic, but it certainly can be magical! It was nice to feel that in her and to share in her celebration!

Perspective and compassion
You might remember me griping about the “yelling people” downstairs who were definitely adding some stress and angst to our days and nights in Hilton Head. When we left I wrote a card to mail to them and resisted the temptation to be snarky or mean. Instead I simply offered them an anonymous loving kindness wish: “May you be peaceful. May you be happy. May you be safe. May you be healthy. May you live with ease" along with an invitation to embrace the beautiful moments in this new day. I'm not sure why I felt called to do that, but I did. Seeing this young family with 3 or 4 little ones crammed into such a small space did give me some compassion and I knew I had no idea what was going on in their life.

I had mentioned to our hosts that we might not be back because of the frequent yelling and screaming. Our host checked into the situation and discovered that this family were relatives of the owners who were staying there because they were unable to return to their home in Guatemala due to Covid restrictions. Whew… that could add a certain level of stress, couldn't it!? So glad I had sent loving kindness and not nastiness!

Just a good reminder that we never know what other people are going through and that extending love and compassion is always the best choice.

Transitioning and Adjusting
My whole being is happier and more relaxed when there is sunshine and warmth, so coming back to this grey bleak time of year is a little tough. I am very much appreciating a friend's picture posts of her trip to Hawaii and can feel the longing in my own soul for that vibrant color of flowers and water. I've lived here mostly forever, but each year I find myself less and less tolerant of the cold and grey (hence the whole wintering away!).

As I move through the house, I'm finding myself having to pause and remember where are the glasses? where do I put these clothes? What DO I eat for breakfast in the cooler weather? And I'm also assessing as I put things away, “Do you deserve to take up precious space in this little home?” I'm throwing things away and gathering clothes to donate. I can feel a strong desire for Spring cleaning and purging! I even organized the junk drawer in the bathroom and cleaned the shelves in the cabinet before unpacking and adding in what has come back with us.

Even though I am back home, it's an adjustment. Even though we are always in transition, these moments feel particularly clunky as I settle back in. I am meeting myself where I am in this moment, gently, carefully discerning with each appointment, are you someone I want to continue to work with? Do I need appointments as often as I did before? What feels right to me in this season of my life?

As I feel the “too muchness” in so many ways and the longing for spaciousness, for color, fresh air, and sunshine, for slowing down, I am choosing carefully how to spend my time. For instance, this evening I chose a walk with Tom over joining a group I love on Zoom - my soul just needed to get out there on this 62 degree day when the sun was out! Rhythms and routines are different here. We're finding our way. The kindness I promised myself this week is to not overwhelm my schedule and to unpack slowly and gradually while I also tend to the things that have to get done.

Good thing I forgot how to hurry! I am going to do my best to hold onto that. I look forward to less frenzy and more flow. (We listened to a great podcast on our drive home with Brene Brown and Dr. Shawn Ginwright which touches on this idea - you can listen to that here if you'd like)

And I offer you this poem, which has sometimes been used to pressure people to do more. I think actually the real intent and invitation is to do less… “to be idle and blessed,"… to not miss the simple pleasures and delights of an ordinary day.

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

This week's meditation is Forgetting How to Hurry, and it includes a reading of “The Rat Race” from 111 Invitations: Step into the Full Richness of Life. May it support you in taking a brief pause in your day.

More thoughts (and still seeking your input)! Blogging A-to-Z Challenge:
Thank you to those who shared some ideas with me for this challenge! I'm in! (I even bought the t-shirt so it's official!). Every day in the month of April, except Sundays, I will post a theme-related blog based on the letter of the day.

The working title for my theme is Question (Almost) Everything! Inspired by Kate Bowler’s Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved, I thought it might be fun to live into some questions – to look at our conditioning, the stories, actions, and beliefs we’ve bought into and why we do and say some of these things. Who taught us to believe this, where and when did we pick up this idea, and what might we choose instead?

What do you think? What questions do you have that I might explore? What conditioning are you curious about? What belief, cultural narrative, actions, or simple pithy sayings drive you crazy? Send me a note and let me know, please! I'll need some help coming up with something for every letter! And for some letters I have multiple ideas, so if this goes well, who knows? Could become an ongoing thing!

The blogs will be posted on my blog and will only be emailed to people who choose to receive them. Thanks to those who have already subscribed to this special list. Email me if you too would like to receive these A to Z posts!

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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!

2 Comments

In This Moment...

1/30/2022

2 Comments

Photo Credit: Renee Veniskey, Immagine Photography

I'm grateful to have reconnected with one of my most favorite self-care practices this week - the practice of being with myself “in this moment…” When (and “when” is the key!) I can remember this and take the time to sit with this awareness, I can bring myself some calm, some peace, some grounding into this body, this breath. I can quiet my very busy and tricky mind. I can soothe the worry, which, no matter how ineffective it is, I often can't stop. I can remind myself of who's here with me, where I am, and that I don't want to miss this moment for fear of the future or by swimming in the past too much.

I have found that in the spaciousness of that moment when I think I'm ready to fall asleep, my mind isn't always on board. It often starts creating a plan, fixating on an upcoming conversation, writing a letter, or imagining all the ways things could go wrong 6 months down the road. It doesn't have nearly enough information, so it gets busy anticipating worse case scenarios. My mind knows me well, so it knows my blind spots and ambushes me with them! However, it forgets my strengths and skills - it forgets all the work I've done and the practices I've established to help me stay present, healthy, and mentally sound. It forgets that I am not the same person I was in the past, and that I'm stepping into what's next with more resources and supports. When my mind forgets and sweeps me away, I too easily get caught up in it.

The tricky thing is when we're not at the top of our game due to stress, overwhelm, or grief, it can be hard to remember that we have ways to bring ourselves back to ground. It is so easy to forget what we know and so hard to tap into our practices!

The other night I found myself in this place where my mind was kicking into its spin cycle. I started with my breath, saying to myself “Sleep” on the inhale and “Now” on the exhale. That didn't really work, so instead I called in the awareness practice of “In this moment…” Silently naming what's true, what I am aware of here and now… “In this moment, I am lying here beside my husband (who is already asleep), listening to his breathing. Perhaps I can sync up with his rhythm to help me drift off. I am safe. I am warm. My bed is cozy. I am in this beautiful place...

"In this moment…there is nothing I can do about what's happening at our little house (though I do hope she's weathering this brutal winter ok). So let that go. There's nothing I can do for my son right now, and as far as I know he's safe in this moment. So let that go. There is nothing for me to figure out about future plans right now…So let that go. This breath. This moment. This body. Right here. Right now." Now I can pair my breath with the phrase, “Be here now (pause)…be here now…” and I can feel my body relax a bit as my breath deepens and slows. My mind begins to quiet as it focuses on the here and now, and all of me settles down enough to where sleep eventually comes.

I know that in order to have my best thoughts and access my most creative ideas, I need my rest! But, if I ruminate on that truth for too long, I can add stress by worrying that I'm not going to get enough sleep (which will undoubtedly assure that I won't!). See how this spin cycle is fed and fueled??
Today I had a yoga class that so beautifully brought me to myself - home to the reality of this body with this breath - that I almost wanted to cry for how grateful I was that I could reconnect so deeply with myself. So grateful that our teacher began the class with this beautiful reading by John Roedel (who is appearing everywhere in my world lately - just sent 2 books to my son and bought one for myself! I love the way he explores and sees the world!). Please check him out! He has a great Facebook page where he shares his writings.

my brain and
heart divorced

a decade ago

over who was
to blame about
how big of a mess
I have become

eventually,
they couldn't be
in the same room
with each other

now my head and heart
share custody of me

I stay with my brain
during the week

and my heart
gets me on weekends

they never speak to one another
- instead, they give me
the same note to pass
to each other every week

and their notes they
send to one another always
says the same thing:

"This is all your fault"

on Sundays
my heart complains
about how my
head has let me down
in the past

and on Wednesday
my head lists all
of the times my
heart has screwed
things up for me
in the future

they blame each
other for the
state of my life

there's been a lot
of yelling - and crying

so,
lately, I've been
spending a lot of
time with my gut

who serves as my
unofficial therapist

most nights, I sneak out of the
window in my ribcage

and slide down my spine
and collapse on my
gut's plush leather chair
that's always open for me

~ and I just sit sit sit sit
until the sun comes up

last evening,
my gut asked me
if I was having a hard
time being caught
between my heart
and my head

I nodded

I said I didn't know
if I could live with
either of them anymore

"my heart is always sad about
something that happened yesterday
while my head is always worried
about something that may happen tomorrow,"
I lamented

my gut squeezed my hand

"I just can't live with
my mistakes of the past
or my anxiety about the future,"
I sighed

my gut smiled and said:
"in that case,
you should
go stay with your
lungs for a while,"

I was confused
- the look on my face gave it away

"if you are exhausted about
your heart's obsession with
the fixed past and your mind's focus
on the uncertain future

your lungs are the perfect place for you

there is no yesterday in your lungs
there is no tomorrow there either

there is only now
there is only inhale
there is only exhale
there is only this moment

there is only breath

and in that breath
you can rest while your
heart and head work
their relationship out."

this morning,
while my brain
was busy reading
tea leaves

and while my
heart was staring
at old photographs

I packed a little
bag and walked
to the door of
my lungs

before I could even knock
she opened the door
with a smile and as
a gust of air embraced me
she said

"what took you so long?"
~ john roedel
link to post on facebook
To anyone who loves this author's words, he has written several books! Check out his website at https://www.johnroedel.com

Ahhh… this I know. And, the visuals of moving from one internal place to another and resting in the lungs with the breath, where this is no yesterday or tomorrow… this really helped me to find this place. What a welcome resting place. A beautiful respite that (if only briefly) interrupts the ruminating, plotting, scheming, obsessing, fretting, sadness and fear. The breath can hold me. The body is right here - no past or future for it either. I know this. And, I forget this regularly. When I remember and return, I am once again filled up, nourished, held.

I really am doing ok. It's also true that I have been really sad and scared lately. Learning to reach out for support and help (which is the topic of a whole other blog, I'm sure! Learning a lot more about this thing which I teach!). Deeply grateful for the people who've given me permission to call on them at any time and allowing myself to believe them.

So, next time you find yourself feeling out of sorts, getting caught up in the spin cycle of life, pause. Find yourself here. And talk yourself through the reality that “in this moment” is here. See if it offers you any sort of peace, comfort, or calm. And let me know.

Thoughts? Reflections? Please share your thoughts in the comments section below. Let's grow together in this practice of mindful presence.

Want more exploration into In This Moment, you can read the post I wrote 4 years ago almost to this date... apparently this is the time of year this concept comes alive strongly for me!

If you know others who are grieving, please share my blog. Invite them to subscribe if you enjoy my writing. Share my resource page with those who could use some free support. I have lots of resources specifically for grief as well living in tumultuous times, mindfulness, and living with substance use disorder.

This week I have two meditations to offer you! Try one or both and see what resonates with you. This Moment. This Breath . (19 min.) and In This Moment (8 ½ minutes) - both offer a chance to meet yourself where you are today and to create a sense of groundedness and presence. Meditation continues to strongly support me through my darkest times as it strengthens my ability to be with what is. It's why I stay with it and why I share it with you.

Please visit my library of meditations and choose what will support you day by day.

2 Comments

Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief

1/18/2022

6 Comments

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.

6 Comments

Good Grief, Gratitude, and Grace

1/7/2022

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Last year when our Soul Care group met in December and reflected on 2020, I invited a reflection on “good grief and gratitude,” acknowledging both. What we were grieving, what we had lost, as well as what we were grateful for. Because both are possible. Both can be and often are present at the same time. This reflection came because I knew we were all grieving something at the end of 2020. I just had no idea how much this practice and awareness would serve me again and again.

Grief…
This year during my two week holiday break I have had the opportunity to revisit this idea in a deeply profound and painful way. I received a call on the eve of the winter solstice that my dear friend, Mary, was dying. My friend who was way too young to be leaving us, was at the end of the journey. My friend, who was always so vibrant and full of joy and life… I still can’t even conceive how it is possible.

That call set off a long period of crying and such deep sadness. Looking in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, seeing the depth of my own pain, made me cry even more. I couldn’t sleep that night, although I rested and did my best to travel across time and space to sit with her hundreds of miles away. I wasn’t able to say goodbye to her in person because by the next day the decision had been made to limit visitors to family only. I understood. I honored that decision. And I know that it was ok because there was nothing left unsaid, no regrets, no question about how we felt about one another… and yet there was a deep sadness at not being able to sit with her just one more time. My grief journey had begun.

On the solstice, this day of extended darkness, I headed to the lake to have a little ceremony to honor Mary, our friendship, her life, and the start of this grief journey, which I know will move and evolve, but won’t end. I drank some water from a cup she gave me last Christmas, signifying the nourishment this friendship has given me over the past 11 years. I took the dandelions that I found on my walk down to the water (Yes! Dandelions in western NY in December – one bright yellow and one in fluffy wishing form!!) and offered them up to the water – the yellow one signifying the resilience of a friendship that will never die. The wishing one sprinkling my wishes to her for peace and for a peaceful transition surrounded in love. I took baby Snoopy with me – a gift from Mary years ago. I threw a shell lei and a bracelet that says “Aloha” into the water – “aloha” being the beautiful Hawaiian word which means love, affection, compassion, mercy, kindness, or grace and can be used as a greeting or farewell – this time was all of these things for me. I lit a candle that says “I am free,” not wanting Mary to go, and at the same time knowing her body was done with fighting. In some way connecting from my heart to hers, sending out a love offering, a goodbye.

She passed away several days later, early on Christmas Eve morning, and grief settled in as I considered this new impossible reality. There will be no more calls, no more laughter, no more tears, no more venting and pondering the ways of the world. Our world got a little darker that day and sometimes this hits me as an endless stream of grey days before me… days without this beacon of light and love in them.

My sweet sons have both lamented at how powerless they’ve felt, wishing I didn’t have to go through this, wishing there was something they could do. I know now that there is nothing TO DO when someone is grieving… it is enough and it is everything to simply love them, let them know you care and that this sucks. That’s about it. I appreciate their love and concern, and I feel held in the warmth of it. I have so appreciated my husband who has been by my side since that first phone call (no coincidence that he was working on Mary’s Christmas gift at that moment), simply being with me, sitting with me, allowing me the space for my anguish to rise and move through me.

I appreciate the friends who have reached out to acknowledge the depth of this loss and who give me space to be with it in my own way, which changes day to day and moment to moment. Sometimes I don’t want to talk at all – I just want to be alone in my memories, thoughts, sadness over what will never be, resisting the temptation to pick up the phone and call her. In this early stage, at times it just feels like we haven’t talked in awhile and we need to catch up. And then I remember. Her image is always in my mind. Her love is always on my heart. Thoughts of her flit through my consciousness repeatedly and at random times. Signs of her presence are everywhere and while they offer some comfort, they don’t fill the ache. The ache often feels like a cavernous empty space deep, deep within me.

And all I can do is learn to live in this place. I can learn to keep moving forward, even when it feels like a heavy slog, one step at a time. I can learn to carry this grief. I can be very, very gentle with myself as I do.

Why “good grief?”
So, why in the world would I title this “good grief” (aside from the fact that I love Snoopy and it doesn’t take long for me to hear this phrase and flip from an image of Charlie Brown to his dog who always brings a small smile). Isn’t grief painful and therefore bad? Yes, it is very painful, and no, I don’t think it’s bad. Would I prefer not to feel it? Of course. Most of us would. But I don’t think it’s bad. Deep grief comes from deep love. Loving and losing people (and pets, jobs, life situations) is part of this messy human life. We need to learn to do grief better as a people. Grief is the price we pay for having loved well.

Grief, as one of my friends put it, is a new landscape we step into that feels foreign and unfamiliar (or maybe it has a familiar feel to it, reminding you of another time you’ve felt a profound loss). We don’t quite know our way around and we may feel like we’re walking through a fog. Or maybe we just curl up in a corner somewhere and can’t even bear to look around.

Mindfulness practices have helped me to be with this part of life the same way they help me to be with all the other aspects of life. Being able to be real about what’s going on is part of good grief. Not pretending to be ok when we are not. Not letting anyone else tell us how our grief should go or when we should be done with it. Good grief allows us space to feel as we feel, moment by moment. It recognizes that the moments will change and we may even find ourselves smiling or laughing or enjoying some bit of life, even if we feel like maybe we shouldn’t. Good grief allows for the complexity of life and gives us permission to feel deeply sad, maybe angry, confused, lost, scared, as well as happy, inspired, or contented. Grief takes energy and it takes up residence in our bodies. We can’t pretend well enough to fool our insides about how we’re really doing. We need to take time to honor the healing process.

There is no right way to do grief – it’s an individual journey and much of it is probably done alone. At the same time, I have found it helpful to let myself be held and supported, to not have to be strong through this. I’ve said yes to generous offers where in the past it might have been hard for me to receive. In part I just don’t have the energy to say “no,” so, yes. Thank you. Thank you for the healing. Thank you for the listening. Thank you for asking me about her. Thank you for acknowledging our relationship and for trying to understand who she was to me.

Gratitude? Really?
Again, yes. Gratitude. Because I am deeply grateful for this person, this friendship that was part of my life for almost 11 years. Because I knew her, my life has been forever changed. Because we loved one another and shared so much, I will hurt and ache. And, I don’t regret a bit of it. I would not have missed out on this relationship to avoid this pain. Mary brightened my days and I loved watching the way she chose to live her life even in the face of an ominous diagnosis. I am grateful for what she continues to inspire in me.

I’ve heard that one of the best ways to keep our loved ones alive is to embody the qualities we most admired in them. In this case that would be joy, compassion, empathy, strength, resilience, and a boundless capacity to love unlike anyone I have ever known. She also lived with a curiosity and open-minded presence because she genuinely desired to understand people and their points of view. As a special education teacher, she worked hard to expose her kids to all kinds of beliefs and to invite them to think critically for themselves, considering life’s big questions. I am grateful that someone like her graced our world for these 48 years. I am grateful for the ripple effect of her love and care. I am grateful to have experienced someone who lived all of this so fully. (If you’d like to experience one teeny tiny bit of it, please listen to her conversation with my friend and colleague, Keith Greer here on The Helping Conversation Podcast).

So, yes, even in times of deep pain and loss we can find things to be grateful for. We wouldn’t be hurting so much if what we’ve lost hadn’t been so very special. Taking some time to reflect on that and soak into appreciation for all that was can be a healing balm.

Grace
Grace allows us to find the gratitude. It also allows us to be gentle with ourselves as the tears come and we pull up the covers and hide away. There is grace in a friend’s phone call or text, offering to listen or simply sending some love. Grace is woven into the sweet sadness of a tear-soaked pillow. Grace in random kindnesses that come at just the right time. Grace in a moment of laughter or levity or a moment of insight or inspiration. Grace flows among those who share in the collective loss and love. Grace is the gentleness that says, “It’s ok. You don’t have to push right now. You don’t have to figure this out right now. There’s no rush. Take your time, dear one. This hurts. And, it’s ok. You don’t have to be ok. You don’t have to be anything other than exactly what you are in this moment.”

I invite you to join me in this journey of good grief, gratitude, and grace. What have you lost that you want to acknowledge and give yourself permission to feel? Perhaps it is a beloved being who’s died or maybe it’s the life you imagined you’d have, a job you lost, or perhaps you are grieving the state of our world.

What can you pause to notice that arouses a sense of gratitude from within. Where is grace at play and how might you extend it to yourself or others?

It’s a journey. And, this being human is not for the faint of heart. But here we are. So, let’s walk together into the unknown landscape of tomorrow. Thank you for being here with me. It certainly helps to not journey alone.

If you, too, are feeling some sense of grief, I offer you this poem, along with the reassurance that you are not alone and the assurance that you will not always feel this way: (also, please visit my Resources Page that has many, many supports for you at this time).

Inconceivable
by Barb Klein from 111 Invitations

Things happen.
We cannot imagine
or fathom
how or why.

They grip us
and tear at us
as we clench our heart
and let our tears flow.

Anguish
Sadness
Confusion
Loss

How to make sense
of the inconceivable?
Where to begin?
How to go on?

Perspective comes
in these moments
of grief.

But with little to grasp,
to anchor us
to any solid footing,
we flail, lost
and tossed
into the swirling mist
of confusion and pain.

Knowing not what we need
or how anyone can help.

Only that we are broken
(at least in this moment).

Thoughts? Reflections? Please share. Let's explore these ideas of grief, gratitude, and grace together. It's one way we can grow together and become better at this part of being human.

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