[While I’m on creative sabbatical through the end of the year, I’m pulling some of the most popular posts from the archives and sharing them again. I love the holidays and it’s easy to forget to take care of myself. Perhaps it’s similar for you?]

 

Here is what I want to say today, to myself. Maybe you need to hear it too.

It’s okay to rest. To put down the pen, the book, the planner, the constant desire to find value in the doing, and lie down for a moment.

It’s okay to acknowledge your fear of missing out, then shut the computer down anyway, knowing that you can’t catch it all.

It’s okay to stop listening to the whirl of the outside world and turn inward to the whispers of your soul. You know how much you need it, how the air clears and the dust settles when you do.

It’s okay to slow down, to find your own rhythm, to stop and touch stillness.

It’s more than okay. It’s when magic happens.

Rest, sweet baby, rest.

[While I’m on creative sabbatical through the end of the year, I’m pulling some of the most popular posts from the archives and sharing them again. I wrote this post almost exactly a year ago. I could have written it again today.]

I woke up this morning with the image of a dead wolf seared onto the backs of my eyelids. It arrived in my inbox yesterday and broke my heart. From there my thoughts went to starving children, the mass rape of women and girls as an instrument of war, and the little boy at the table next to us last night whose mother used subtle shame in a misguided attempt to have him meet her needs.

What do we do when our world feels upside down and we want to do something – anything everything – to make it a better place?

I’ve driven my car on a snow covered highway and watched a wolf trot alongside me, her beauty and majesty taking my breath away. I want to save wolves.

I have friends who’ve been raped and I’ve seen the effects on their bodies, souls and psyches. I can’t imagine the horrors being inflicted in other parts of the world. I want to end the brutality.

I’ve known adults who cannot free themselves from shame and I’ve seen the positive effects of respectful parenting on the spirits of little ones. I want our children to thrive.

As pleas for year-end donations fill my mailbox and inbox, as stories of man’s inhumanity run alongside photos of Santa in the news, as my heart is tugged in a thousand directions, I can feel myself spinning, flailing to find my footing. I want to be rich so I can throw money at everyone who asks and I know that’s not the answer.

The answer is inside.

It’s slowing down so I can hear my own voice. It’s simplifying and letting go and staying open to what feels right. It’s knowing that I can’t save anyone else and I’m not supposed to.

But I can be a force for good in the world. I can show up as love, without fear, hatred or judgment, as often as possible. I can give my time, my energy, my money in ways that align with my values, trusting that others will do the same.

I have found that to do this, sustainably, I need to love and accept my beautifully imperfect, messy self. It’s unbelievably hard some days but I’m getting better at it. Forgiveness and a sense of humor help.

Today I’m forgiving myself for the office reorganization that’s taking so long the cat has mistaken my to-be-filed bin for a litter box. I’m loving myself in spite of my inability to get a few daunting tasks done. I’m accepting that I can’t see around the next corner and I am needing to trust, once again, that I am exactly where I need to be.

And I’m celebrating the heck out of all of it. Because life is ephemeral and there is joy to be danced with.

How about you? What are you forgiving yourself for today? What are you celebrating?

[While I’m on creative sabbatical through the end of the year, I’m pulling some of the most popular posts from the archives and sharing them again. With the busyness, and sometimes loneliness, of the holidays upon us, I needed this reminder. I thought you might too.]

It is okay to be gentle with yourself.

It is okay to treat yourself with the tenderness usually reserved for a newborn child.

It is okay to set the day’s intentions gently aside and look for solace, for comfort, for peace, for a taste of joy.

It is okay to be raw, even when the grief is old.

It is okay to lay down, to stop, to rest.

With deep love for your wounded heart and compassion for your humanity,

Tell yourself,

Believe yourself,

It is okay.

[While I’m on creative sabbatical through the end of the year, I’m pulling some of the most popular posts from the archives and sharing them again. This post was originally written in July, 2012. Next week, November 25, is the third anniversary of Ben’s due date. This week marks the first anniversary of the death of a beloved friend’s husband. It seemed like the perfect time for this gentle reminder.]

Tonight I lay with Ada in the basement of my brother’s house, waiting for her to fall asleep and feeling resentful. We’re in Edmonton and it’s light until after 10:30pm so the time between kids finally quieting down and adults collapsing seems nonexistent. I hate being grumpy with her and there’s been too much of that this week. Buttons pushed by travel, heat, and fatigue. She’s been scared and needing me in ways I’ve had a hard time meeting. Steve gently wondered on the phone if it has to do with the time of year. I finally realized how quickly July 29th is approaching.

The second anniversary of Benjamin’s stillbirth.

My sister-in-law mentioned feeling sad that while the two older girls bounce and run and giggle together, their youngest, who was born 5 weeks after Ben died, has no playmate. My brother wondered if Steve and I had talked further about adoption. A friend sent a link to a picture of this statue.

My baby is gone but not forgotten.

Lying in bed, I forgave myself for my struggle. Breathing deeply, my mind wandered to those I know who are in the midst of a journey with cancer. It drifted to the story of Anita Moorjani and her near death experience. I haven’t read her book, but the words came to me as though I heard her speaking them:

We are Love and our sole purpose in this life is to be Love.

My body relaxed, my breathing deepened, my muscles unclenched. And I remembered. We can’t do it wrong, this life. It’s impossible. We can make it easier on ourselves, or harder. We can feel victimized or empowered. We can live as love or live in fear. But we can’t do it wrong. I can choose to agonize over the little things, or not. I can fight what’s in front of me, or accept it. I can stress about the lack of vegetables in my daughter’s diet and the fact that I’ve been eating too many Trader Joe’s Root Vegetable Chips, or I can loosen the strangle hold of control, trusting that one day she’ll love kale and next week I’ll get more exercise.

I can’t do it wrong.

Happy, grumpy, tired, inspired, ecstatic, imperfect, heart-broken, human. It takes the pressure off. Can I do it better? Sure, if that means more in alignment with who I believe myself to be. If better means getting out of my own way more often and not letting fear keep me small. I’m like that airplane on autopilot, self-correcting whenever I get off course. The destination isn’t in doubt (though I have no idea what it will look like when I disembark) and the journey is both magical and brutal. It helps me to remember I can’t do it wrong.

Neither can you.

Forgive yourself. Take the pressure off. There’s no wrong decision. No bad choice. Live it. Learn. Auto-correct. You can’t help it. You’re brilliant. You’re human.