Sometimes, the simplest things can bring you back to yourself.
A well-made vegan dinner and a cup of mint tea is what’s doing that for me as I type this.
The past few months have been some of the hardest of my life. And this coming from someone who has seen her fair share of depression, anxiety, and unimaginable trauma.
What’s been different this time around is that I haven’t lost my center. At least, not completely. I’ve fallen abruptly in and out of love, (and, maybe back again,) experienced extreme dissatisfaction and burnout around my work life, and have felt so much inner turmoil that sometimes, the disconnection became frightening — like looking in the mirror and not recognizing myself. Or, trying to figure out what a cup or spoon is. Or looking out the window at a place that should feel familiar by now, wondering, “Where the hell am I?”
Self care is a big deal for me these days. I can’t get to it enough, but when I do, things like a nourishing meal and a cup of tea feel like heaven. Bonus points for dim lights, dark, looming clouds outside, and the promise of soothing evening rain.
I’ve talked to so many women recently who are experiencing similar upheaval. Whether around work, or love, or life, or all. The common thread is clear: the things we thought we knew, that we held so dearly to or believed so strongly in….well, there just isn’t any certainty there anymore.
For me, it’s happened most acutely with my intuition. A year ago, I would have described myself as lucky. Extremely so. Fortunate. Blessed. Kissed by the gods. And the culprit? Intuition. Always spot on, always leading me true.
But this time around, I’ve made enough unexpectedly bad decisions, and followed enough paths to dead ends, that I’ve realized that something is way off here.
Nothing in my life feels stable anymore.
And on the verge, I suspect, of massive change.
When I can’t see clearly, I panic. Interesting, that my physical eyesight, on the decline for the past few years, also deteriorated rapidly over a space of mere weeks. One pair of glasses later, I recognize this as an outer symptom echoing inner chaos.
And still, somehow, there is my unshakable song.
How it sings still, I do not know.
In the midst of despair, I hear it even now. Sweet, and warm, and singing. Like nectar. Like a balm for my wounded spirit. Under the muck.
Always singing, always there, always comforting, always holding space. My center, my soul, my inner compass.
The Earth, the trees.
The Moon and stars above.
She sings, we sing, they sing: