Exhaling and spilling out

Letting the depths be felt

Hello sweet friend,

It’s the “most wonderful time of the year” and yet grief is beckoning at my door.

Circumstances close to me and in the world at large reflect a painful truth that; our mothers are always a breath away from death, as are all of us. To acknowledge that, if we’re lucky, we will one day say goodbye to the mother who brought us into the world and held us as we took our first breaths. It is a particular kind of grief to bear witness to this loss that is like no other.

I want to shut the door on this kind of grief. To push it down for a non-existent later date when I imagine I’ll be more prepared to feel it. A time when I’ll somehow have more capacity to look it in the eye and not feel broken by it.

But I know enough to know that day will not come and the effort it takes to keep the door shut on my grief is such that I lose the capacity to feel anything at all. It requires numbness to keep pushing against the power of that door.

When we’re numb to grief we’re also numb to joy and love.

But grief scares me.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle the depth and the scale and the weight of it.

“I don’t think you can handle it” was a concern I heard often when I was young and my emotions rose large and spilled out of me. I learned to believe that “I can’t handle my emotions” and therefore I should fear and avoid them. This morphed and expanded into a deeper belief that ”if I open myself up to the deep feeling within me, of sorrow, sadness, grief, I’ll prove my inability to handle the rest of my life and I’ll be stuck forever.”

I learned this lesson at a time when being stuck where I was, in an abusive situation, was not an option. So I pushed it all down, the pain, sorrow, grief, and most especially the rage.

I took a deep breath in, held the air and everything else inside my body, and moved forward without looking back.

Breath became dangerous, especially the exhale, like a powerful key to a door I’d kept intentionally locked and guarded for years. If I dared to exhale I might lose control and risk the disaster of feeling. And so I didn’t and I stored it all in the pain in my neck and shoulders.

Today, I sit holding thirty-one years of breath and feelings unfelt as I painfully learn to trust the spilling out, the exhale into freedom.

I hold my own hand through the process and I remind myself that I can take it slow as I whisper a new belief gently to myself:

“My love, you can handle the depth of your feelings. It is safe to let them spill out and I’m here to catch you when the waves of grief bring you to your knees. Remember, darling, the world needs more humans who are brave enough to feel deeply and courageous enough to keep their hearts open. When you grow your capacity to feel the sorrow you simultaneously grow your capacity to radiate love. You are capable of feeling many things at the same time.”

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Whatever you are, whatever you’re holding in your heart, I’ll be wishing you a peaceful and restful end to your year.

May we all find ways to practice presence as we move into the new year with clear intentions.

Me! Happy and rested after a recent weekend retreat spent with my mama on an island in the Columbia River.

The sunrise as seen from my window at the island house.

1. I sat on my bathroom floor in tears on a particularly overwhelming and emotional day this week. Cai came in and sat on my lap, put their hands on my cheeks, and said “Oh mama, it’s okay. Just let it all out, so you can let it all in.” Sometimes I wonder where they came from and how I got so lucky to have them in my life. It is a healing gift to witness my children growing up with a more open and safe relationship with their emotions and those of others.

2. An end-of-year Seasonal (Virtual) Retreat with

   Megan deBoer
   for reflecting, celebrating, and planting seeds of intention. So grateful for a gentile and nurturing space to be in community. Always a bit amazed at how connected and magical it can feel to come together from afar through the portal of a zoom room, especially when it is facilitated so beautifully.

   

   My cozy virtual retreat set up. Sweet things to taste, lovely smells, candlelight, and tarot.

3. A solstice ritual in my mother’s backyard. We walk a spiral of lights and recite this verse to honor the darkest time of the year and the transition toward the light:
   The gift of the light we thankfully take,
   But not shall it be alone for our sake,
   The more we give light, the one to the other,
   It shines and it spreads, growing still further;

   Until every spark by friends set aflame,
   Until every heart, the joy to proclaim;

   In the depths of our souls,
   A shining sun glows.

   

   My little ones at the center of the spiral.

4. Beautiful earth reflections.

   

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With love and gratitude,
Raina

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