Learning to stop "trying not to feel..."

Even when overwhelm feels like a tidal wave

Hello my dear,

I’ve been feeling a great many things this week as the impermanence of life seems to be knocking loudly at the door reminding me to hold my children a little tighter and kiss my love a little longer.

It’s hard to hold the tenderness and grief when the dishes still need doing, the laundry needs folding, the children’s endless questions need answering, and the budget needs balancing.

Somedays I find time to create space for the feeling and other days I’ve chosen to hold it at bay as my capacity to feel and still be a mother, business owner, freelancer, partner, daughter, friend, human, changes moment by moment.

Part of me worries that if I slow down long enough to really feel what’s there inside I might not be able to handle it. And what if it drowns me?

I wrote the following earlier this week and I share it with you now along with a gentle hug and a reminder that we are not as alone as our overwhelm would have us believe.

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The sun was setting over the ocean. We watched in cliche awe, funny how the sunset never gets old. The sky was every shade of color reflected in distorted hues on the deceptively gentile surface of the water.

We were sitting in a restaurant, the kind that costs extra just for the view. There were tall glass windows that displayed the scene before us as if watching a projection of reality on a screen.

We waited in anticipation for that magic moment when the sun dips just below the horizon, there one moment and gone the next.

An uneasy feeling hung in the air, the kind you get when you realize things aren’t quite what they seem. A unique discomfort rippled through our bodies as the rug of logic was pulled out from under us. Where we once stood firmly on solid ground we suddenly found ourselves falling through thin air with nothing to hold onto with our bodies or our minds.

Like the flick of a switch, the light of the sun went down, the sky turned black, rain fell in sheets, and all we could see through the tall glass window was our world underwater.

In slow motion, a tidal wave welled up, grew larger than life, and came crashing down, sweeping us away in the nightmare I’d imagined many times in broad daylight.

I was rescued by my waking self and lay there in the safety of my bed somewhere between the dream and “reality,” slowly finding my way back into my body.

I dreamt of a title wave, but really it was overwhelm in disguise.

It happens like that doesn’t it?

To be watching the sunset in one moment, knowing and trusting we are safe, only to have the mind take over in an instant, knocking us off our feet and carrying us away in an ocean of overwhelm often set on by a to-do list.

Then we find ourselves plunged into darkness with no ground to stand on and nothing to anchor our body or mind to, as logic escapes us just like in our nightmares.

And the only way out is most often through.

So we open our eyes and wake up to the moment, and whispering the truth of what’s known somewhere in our core even when blinded by overwhelm:

I am safe in this moment. I am here. There is nowhere else I need to be right now. I can trust myself to figure things out step by tiny step.

Open your eyes, my love.
Breathe in the air.
Listen to the sounds around you.

Find your feet.
Feel your weight on the earth.
Let the universe cradle you.

Reach out.
Ask for help.
Let yourself receive support.

Often the only way to stop feeling overwhelmed (or worried, sad, angry, jealous, etc.) is to turn towards the feeling and let yourself feel it.

Resisting what we’re already feeling is often much more painful than allowing ourselves to feel it. It is there within you already either way.

This is counter to what many of us are taught and encouraged to do when we’re feeling overwhelmed. Most of us learn to, “try not to feel overwhelmed,” and “Don’t slow down! Just keep moving!” We tell ourselves, “I shouldn’t feel this way. Everything is fine. Why am I like this? What’s wrong with me?” Then many of us find ways to numb ourselves just to stay afloat because why would we turn towards something that the world tells us to avoid at all costs?

May we remember that are not alone, even when the sea of overwhelm would have us believe that we are.

May we meet ourselves with compassion, knowing that numbing and avoiding our feelings is most often a form of self-protection.

May we approach ourselves with gratitude for all the ways we’ve tried our best to protect ourselves.

May we seek out the support we need as we learn to nurture our capacity to feel all that is contained in the joy and grief of our human experience.

May we gently practice turning towards the discomfort.

And may we remember that sometimes it’s really just a dream.

A film “accident” which happens to be a fairly apt depiction of the feeling of overwhelm.

1. “I was young enough that I didn’t think—I knew…” From a book I’m reading called Move Like Water: My Story of the Sea by Hannah Stowe. This line has me wondering what it would feel like to reconnect to that childlike ability to just know and not think. To reach beyond trying to trust and to sink deeper into the knowing that must still live somewhere within us.

2. This song. Letting the cracks in my heart hurt as it curls around the ones I love with both gratitude and tenderness, grief and joy.

3. Daily walks with Isla. Grounding. Grounding. Grounding.

   

4. Autumn colors seen in reflections.

   

5. A butterfly with wings like leaves.

   

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With love and gratitude,
Raina

www.findingstillness.one

P.S. How often do you find yourself saying, “I’m trying not to feel… (overwhelmed, tired, worried, jealous, angry, sad)?

What if you let yourself feel it, even just for a moment?

What are you afraid might happen?

How might you offer yourself compassion for all the ways in which you’re doing your best?

💌