Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

What we used to call bravery.

July 15, 2016

 

I've had this epiphany: I am too strong for my own good. Or, rather, I rely too much on the strength I have and, because strength is safe, I develop and over-develop it. And then, when life gets hard or scratchy or blisteringly uncomfortable, I keep going--but only by arming myself and fighting my way through. And then I wonder why I wake in the night quaking with anxiety, then run exhausted through my days.

 

So, the other day (actually, while I was teaching yoga, which is how and when most of these channeled-type thoughts come to me) I realized the answer is just in falling apart when you need to fall apart--not needlessly and not constantly, mind you. In other words, not making it a habit and certainly not breaking down in front of everyone you know, hoping for some kind of answer or platitude. No. The answer is in falling apart, being vulnerable and transparent, in front of **yourself.**

 

Because that's the only audience you're really trying to impress here, to keep up appearances. I think it's so much easier to break down within your tribe--all that support, all that assurance--and that's vital. Keep that. But what we rarely do is sit down, stare at ourselves (maybe literally) with compassion and say: 

 

"Okay. It's okay--now is the time you can drop it all and I'm here and I'll still be here when you're done. I love you and I'll wait for you on the other side, because you have to do this to get there."

 

 

 

 

 

 

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