I mostly write these emails for myself. Yes, yes, I love you and I want to be in touch, for reals.
These brief musings are a way to see what’s going on inside me. What’s important. What’s resting. What’s ready to be shared.
Like for instance, I fell and fractured my wrist and had surgery and am healing.
That’s what happened, but what came next is the REAL story: I gave myself permission to rest. And I didn’t write for a while (although it was my left wrist, and I’m right-handed).
It was like I needed an extraordinary reason to allow myself to sit still.
And sitting still was glorious, ice pack and all.
As I rested, I observed how it felt to be “in between.” I was not quite back to my physical wholeness, but I was no longer fractured, either.
I’ve written about liminal spaces before, and it feels apropos to remind us here that times of transition can be portals for self-awareness. Stepping into our day, moving from hurt to repair, starting or ending relationships…each mini or massive transition provides space to allow and honor our thoughts and feelings just as they are.
For me, it goes like this:
“I wish I could sit a little longer and read, but I should really get dinner started.”
When I sit with myself a bit longer, I become curious about what’s underneath those two competing thoughts. The truth is really that I long for ease and comfort in my life and become fretful when I overburden myself with chores but also overwhelmed if I put them off.
Well, that’s honest.
As I notice this internal tug of war, a critical part arises inside that says, “But you know that rest is essential. Why do you need to find a reason to allow it?”
Stymied, I sit still and listen.
Then, something radically transformative happens.
In a flash, a nugget of wisdom drops right down through the middle of me like a lightning bolt: I’ve been in the role of caretaker for most of my years, beginning when I was about eleven. I’m not sure I even know HOW to allow myself to rest.
Suddenly all the tangled feelings and competing needs inside myself become still as awareness of this pattern running through my life is highlighted for me to see, once and for all.
No wonder I had felt conflicted about resting.
No wonder fractured parts inside myself were competing for attention.
My awareness softens into compassion. “I forgive it all,” I say aloud to no one in particular.
I forgive myself for not having known better, and I thank myself for being ready to put an old pattern to rest.
In a wonderfully paradoxical way, the fracture of my wrist actually helped me to ultimately feel more whole.
And so, dear sisters, while I do not wish you any fractures, I do extend an invitation to sit still and rest. You’ll be amazed at what happens next.