Slow Down, Look Within

Some days I feel like I get nothing done. And I wonder, am I wasting a day, or am I healing? We all have healing to do. Physical healing, emotional healing, mental healing, occupational healing, faith healing.  

I have a theory on this. Usually, my theories start with owning it is the first step. We take a lot of steps in life. Strong bold steps, tiny hesitant steps, slow regretful steps. Quick deliberate steps. Steps full of sorrow, steps surrounded in joy. Steps I tell you, lots of steps.

I think for years I was unable to slow down enough to do nothing. Stress, expectations, work life, parenting life, marriage life, past trauma's, anxiety. You name it, it was safer to go non-stop than to slow down. Slowing down requires a sense of safety. Don't get me wrong, sometimes life forces us to slow down. We tend to fight that tooth and nail. Slowing down comes with time to feel all the feelings. You know, the ones we often want to push away. 

Maybe my age is slowing me down. Maybe I'm willing to while some time away, to be still and sit with life as I know it. Maybe I'm ok. Maybe life didn't go as I'd hoped. It's been messy and hard. It takes time to push past the grief and stigma to process all of that. This much I know. It's okay to make choices, question your judgement, have regrets, and still know you did the best you could at the time. It's important to own your truths. It's beneficial to share them. It's good to remember we are not alone. And, if we take time to just be and think we've gotten nothing done look within. Something important is happening.

Savoring The Process

I've begun preparations for Thanksgiving even though I'm so not ready for it. November and December are much like July and August. Once they begin, they are gone in the blink of an eye. I'll admit, because owning it is the first step, it leaves me a bit crabby and out of sorts. I miss my summer/fall routine, I miss putzing around in the garden every day, I miss the daylight and lament daylight savings time. I rush to get home and get the dogs walked before I lose the light. I miss my motivation to be any sort of productive after the sun sets.

Back to the preparations. I cubed bread today for homemade stuffing. Yes, I know you can buy dried bread for stuffing. You can buy complete stuffing mixes. No way it could be as good as doing it myself. I've cubed it myself. Stirred it myself, I've lavished it with love. It's different now, it's like bread 2.0. I just can't give up the tradition. There is comfort in the process. It also reminds me of the poignancy of loss. I've done this for years, sometimes without thought. Sometimes with great thought. In the end I'll be glad I made the effort, turning dried bread into something savory, something greater than the sum of its parts. 

The holiday season reminds us not only of good times and family, but of the losses along the way. Even as we get further out from grief events the feelings return and weigh heavy. Perhaps not as much as the first couple years, but we do feel the shadow. Still, we go through the motions as best we can. We buy the turkey; we cube the bread. We look forward to the celebration, and yes, we give thanks.

It may not feel the same as life before loss. It may leave us longing and sad. But it is life as we know it now. Both blessed and broken. So, we move through the rituals. Even the ones we question just a little bit, and then do the way we always have. Knowing, trusting and investing our love in the process. Grateful we have love to give and to receive.

Months of the Year

I am always surprised when all of a sudden, the calendar reads November. I'm not ready for November. I'd like to go back to August and have a do over. I'm not ready for winter, or the holidays. Part of me keeps looking back with longing on so many levels. I need to apply my "what if it's better than you expect" mantra to new months, new directions, new possibilities.

I don't know about you, but I tend to be a creature of habit. My routine is kind of set, my expectations are low, my life is simple. At times it feels full, other times very empty. There are many, many, reasons to be grateful, count blessings and feel joy. And I do. It is also entirely possible to feel all of these things, joy, gratitude, comfort, and still walk with a slightly heavy heart. It's possible to laugh and love the same way. 

I saw someone recently and had the thought, that person is a hot mess. Pretty judgmental of me. We have moments like that. I'd be lying if I said I never had those moments. But then I looked back and realized some folks could look at my life and think it's been a hot mess. And sometimes it has. No one's life goes just as expected. Life is too messy and too blessed for that. For every mess I've found myself in, I've also found blessings I never expected. Lord knows I've made mistakes, I still do. I've made apologies, some of them good apologies, some not. I've learned from them. Sometimes forgiveness is offered, sometimes not. Sometimes forgiving yourself is that most challenging task of all.

Like November, many things have happened I was not ready for. Changes of life, changes of relationships, changes of seasons. Yet here we are. Finding our footing as we move forward. Holding the sadness even as we experience grace and gratitude. Our hearts hold all the feelings. All of them valid, ebbing and flowing, coming and going like the months of the year.

Soft & Gentle

There was a setback, there was a complication, we hit a bump in the road, it didn't go as planned. I shouldn't have done that. That was not what I meant. I never saw that coming. I should have anticipated that. I should have known better. I should have done something, or I shouldn't have done something. What was I thinking. Ever have conversations like these? Many of them happen in our heads, mental conversations where we second guess every little thing. 

I did this earlier this week. I was lamenting how something went. For making a mistake which changed a situation in a split second. I was feeling bad for not managing what happened. I expected to be able to control all the split seconds life throws at me. As if I ever had that much control. That's rather asking a lot, isn't it? Slightly unrealistic and entirely way too harsh. Because frankly, if I can't be soft and gentle with myself, who will be? It has to start here.

So, backing up that bus, how do we do that? How do we shift from criticism to encouragement? From holding unrealistic expectations hostage to accepting the flow of life, learning and self-love. I'd be a genius if I had a sure-fire answer to those questions. I am honestly, a work in progress. Case in point, I almost typed "I am just a work in progress". I erased the "just", I don't have to justify myself that way. I am a work in progress. I may be a slower learner, but I am a learner. I may not even be all that slow. Knowledge comes according to the bigger plan. When the timing is right, and I'm open to it, it all becomes clear. I do hold on to fear longer than necessary. So, I pray for the ability to release fear and increase faith. I accept that I am a human being prone to human moments. I won't get it all right, but I do my best. In fact, if I took time to count, I get a lot right. So, I take a deep breath, wrap myself in faith and forgiveness. Then I move softly forward. Having learned, having loved, having hope.

Owning It On The Roads of Life

There are certain things that make me anxious. Owning it is the first step. Thank God for that phrase, it sure comes in handy. Since I'm owning it, I'll expand upon it. I don't like going places when I don't know where I'm going. I know Google Maps has a better sense of direction than I will ever have, yet driving new places gives me anxiety. Yet, how do I experience new places if I never go? Is it fear of the unknown, fear of being lost, fear of not getting it right. Fear of being alone and lost. When hiking, I want to know where the path comes out before I take it. I'd have never made it as a pioneer. I don't even like walking into bars first, can I just follow someone please? I've had this fear of being alone for a long time, and yet, I've been alone for a very long time. Successfully I might add. My preference is feeling safe. In a place that feels comfortable with a support system I can count on. It kinda rules out much in the way of adventure. No one will ever describe me as adventurous. A little neurotic maybe, occasionally delusional, but not adventurous.

I like routine, routine feels safe. Routine can be lonely though. Since I lead a somewhat solitary life, I need to push myself. Well, I bet we all need to push ourselves. I bet some things make everyone anxious. Or maybe some people never feel anxious. Maybe they've been blessed with courage, curiosity and confidence. Maybe they got my share. It could happen.

I'd feel better if I had a copilot. Sometimes I forget that I do, it's the big guy upstairs. Instead of looking too far down the road, further than my eyes can see. I need to stay in the moment. Trust the process, be open to the plan. Yes, follow the directions, but believe in the outcome. Believe in me. And it wouldn't hurt to breathe along the way. What do you struggle with? And how can you move through it easier? Owning it is the first step, and baby steps follow afterwards. Breathe and believe as you travel the roads of life.

Growing. Blooming, Letting Go

It is that time of year when we lose the gardens we so carefully tended to frost and changing seasons. I've thanked the flowers for keeping me company all summer, and vegetables for providing sustenance physically, spiritually and emotionally. I've picked the last of the tomato's showing color. Every day I walk the garden, water, weed and take pictures for when the snow files.  Yes, somethings grew beautifully, some not so much. I have one plant just setting fruit. No way I'll see that to harvest. Another just started to bloom long after I decided it just wouldn't. I've covered a few plants tonight to protect them from the frost and prolong their beauty just a little bit. 

Isn't that just like life. We plant seeds, some produce, some tease us. Some fail to thrive.  I've taken cuttings to hopefully hold over until next season. I've brought in a few plants that I know will tolerate life indoors until the porch beckons them again. 

A year ago, about this time an old man brought me a wandering Jew plant he potted up because frost was going to kill it. I didn't know the man, so it was random we connected at the shop I work in. And, while I thought it was silly to drag the pot home, and winter the scraggly thing over, I did just that. I planted them in several places, and they absolutely thrived. We should all grow like that. Lesson learned; scraggly things can become a thing of beauty given the chance.

I hope I have bloomed over the season. I hope I've set deep roots, taken nourishment, let go of what didn't serve me well, and grown into something more beautiful. I trust the process. I know some seeds never grow and some grow beyond our wildest dreams. Some volunteer in the least likely of places. Some come back every year, some are one and done. I wish you the same in your seasons of growth. I'll look ahead to the seasons as they unfold. Grateful for all that blooms where it is planted.  

Can You Relate?

You know what I miss? I miss compliments. Affirmation. Feeling valued and attractive. I've kinda given up on makeup and primping. Part of that fell away when masks were a requirement. Part I think is due to experiencing traumatic loss. I've felt invisible. Like no one really sees me. I imagine I've taken on a different role; I feel like I have less value because of being a widow, especially a widow whose spouse chose to die. I know, it's complicated. It's not right. It's jacked up. There is some truth there mixed with the weight of stigma. Part of me gave up on feeling good, on believing in good relationships, on imagining other possibilities. The pandemic didn't help with that. Owning it is the first step. 

I put some makeup on for a photo recently. No one seemed to notice any difference. But when I joked about it a coworker said, but didn't you feel better for doing it? Which got me thinking...did I feel better for doing it? Or did I feel bad for not doing it? I'm not sure I know the answer to either question, but it's definitely food for thought. Sometimes it's easier not to feel. Sometimes we have to dig deep for the feelings.

So, I pause to consider what my window to the world looks like. What I miss, what I value, what I bring to the table. What is real and true. Maybe it's an age thing, this feeling of loss. Maybe it's a multitude of things. Some related, some not related. It's where I am, and I find it confusing. 

Once again, I'm owning hard things. Where do you fall into this picture? What makes you feel seen, valued, attractive? Has it changed over the years? Can you relate?