Updated: May 31, 2022
This post is a bit more vulnerable than I often do. Because of that, it feels a little risky, but I'm going to put it out there, regardless.
The mass shootings in Buffalo, NY and Uvalde, TX, the Ukraine war, and the attacks on democracy, the dismantling of Roe v Wade, in addition to the climate crisis…it has all left me feeling fury and rage, impotent, tired, and eventually dull.
And I am practicing mindfulness each morning—extending loving kindness to myself, my kids and husband, my siblings, their kids, my husband's family, my close friends, my acquaintances, those who are suffering, those whom I disagree with and don’t understand, those whom I am furious at, and the animals and plants, earth…Sometimes it feels like a powerful act, sometimes it feels fruitless and naïve.
And the grass grows, the hummingbirds find my flowers, the starlings build nests and fret, my dog naps.
And my daughter has friends over, laughing and playing DnD.
And my sister weeps and drinks tequilas.
And I am moved by the novel, The Signature of All Things, by Elizabeth Gilbert.
And I go to Body Pump and challenge myself physically and spend too much time thinking about my weight and I am afraid of getting old.
And I love ideas and thoughts and the world of the inquiry.
And I create space for my clients and listen to them, validate them, gently challenge them, accept them.
And I judge people. I get angry, frustrated. And I try to understand, but it is hard sometimes. And sometimes I'm tired and want to quit trying.
And I practice taking deep breaths.
And I know when I am getting emotionally flooded because I start to go numb.
And I invite my friend over because she is struggling.
And I judge myself for not doing enough, for feeling hopeless, and for finding moments of peace.
And I try and open up to my husband but I’m not very skilled at it.
And I’m tired of people, but I'm lonely, and somehow okay with it.
And I crave Philly cheese steak sandwiches.
And I’m trying to understand and practice self-compassion.
And I am buying things online, but still feel empty.
And at times I feel profoundly fine. And at times I can scarcely take it all in.
And I distract myself with word-games and TV and I batter myself with news headlines and I take more ibuprofen.
And I go hiking and admire wildflowers. And I carry my tired dog and laugh at myself and my silly dog. And I marvel that my husband will carry the dog too.
And I revel in the scent of Russian Olive trees; despite it being an invasive plant.
And every time I start to open myself up, I want to close myself off. But when I am closed, I despair. And when I’m open, I fear rejection and the pain it will cause.
And life feels so hard right now. “I do not know how to do this,” I think to myself. But I am mistaken, or lying, because I am doing this. What I am doing, all of this, is it.