Encouragement, love letters, and reminders to be compassionate — from my keyboard to me and you.
This time of year is so difficult. It’s dark, it’s cold, and the holidays bring all sorts of mixed feelings. On one hand, there’s the promise of joy and charity and togetherness, and on the other the reality of rampant consumerism and the unrelenting pressures of maintaining a veneer of cheerful holiday spirit, no matter what.
Remember to breathe. Remember to find ease. Remember that your own reality is, in fact, real. Find moments of peace wherever you can.
This, too, shall pass.
We’re constantly bombarded with messaging about how we can be better, more efficient humans. Defy aging with this eye cream! Optimize your SEO for maximum views! Use this app to reach maximum productivity!
It’s exhausting.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be human. At one time, I thought that there a perfect version of myself that I needed to strive for, someone who had no flaws or feelings or difficulties. I thought that to be human was to reach the most unmarred of myself. If I could just TRY harder, I’d get there. And if I couldn’t bring myself to try hard enough, then there was something inherently wrong with me.
With time, my perspective has shifted. I’ve given myself grace. I am learning to lean into being a messy, inconsistent human who feels things deeply and makes mistakes and changes her mind and has good days and bad days. I’ve remembered that the urgent chant of “more! more! more!” is a toxic characteristic of white supremacy, and I’ve complained about being told to do more in the midst of a pandemic.
There have been two pieces of writing that have deeply influenced me this year. The first is this:
You are not a machine. You are more like a garden. You need different things on different days. A little sun today, a little less water tomorrow. You have fallow and fruitful seasons. It is not a design flaw. It is wiser than perpetual sameness. What does your garden need today?
If you expect a garden to “produce” things with the same regularity and sameness as a machine, you will be disappointed. If you try to maintain a garden the same way you would a machine, you will destroy it. The same is true of your body and emotional life. Give into your garden.
Joy Marie Clarkson
The second is Oliver Burkeman’s 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals.
What both have in common is a recognition that striving for perfection — a mastery of everything, all at once, unendingly — is not only completely impossible, but will break us. We cannot achieve everything, and we can achieve no one thing perfectly.
You and I are not machines. We were never machines. We are “child[ren] of the universe, no less than the trees and stars.” At one point, our ancestors spent all of their lives creating, whether it be shaping pottery or cooking or telling stories or making music or sewing. At one point, we remembered who we were.
You and I, we’re human. We are full of contradictions and limitations, and that is what gives us character and substance. That’s what makes us everything we are and, in a paradoxical way, perfect.
Remember to slow down. Embrace your full humanity. Tend your garden.
This year, thus far, is made of the highest highs and lowest lows. In fact, it feels exactly like the start of Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”
In January, I eloped in a beautiful ceremony in Denmark. Then, I had a serious health scare, culminating in my first-ever surgery. A few months later, two of my grandparents were diagnosed with cancer. Luckily, my husband and I were able to travel to the west coast to spend precious time with them, and a few days later, we had a beautiful wedding celebration with family and friends.
Life is full of ups and downs, but rarely do they happen in such extremes right on top of one another. On this emotional roller coaster, I am acutely aware of how much the good times are possible because of the bad times, and vice versa. If loved ones weren’t so dear, we wouldn’t miss them when they’re gone. Ill health reminds us to be deeply grateful when we are well.
It is the highs that define the lows, and the lows that define the highs.
All this leaves me overwhelmed by love and a renewed understanding of how fragile and fleeting life is. If nothing else, this year (thus far!) is a reminder of the certainty of beginnings and endings, and that this moment — right here, right now — is all we really ever have.
Last week, Moorea Seal mentioned in an Instagram story the concept of “evidence of self care”: in her case, a car that she took the time to get detailed, since having a clean space benefits her mental health.
I’ve been thinking about this since.
For me, self care is a tidy living room, a clean load of laundry, shoes on my feet as I talk a walk around my neighborhood, wet hair from a shower, or a nutritious meal on a plate.
When you look around – at your home or your body – what evidence of self care do you see? Do you see evidence of self love? If not, in what tangible ways can you change that?
Ten years ago today, on April 28, 2011, a friend of mine took her own life at the young age of 23. In her honor, I’m reposting what I wrote after I learned of her death and sharing resources for mental health crises.
I knew her in high school. She was in my grade, only a few months older, beautiful, outgoing, and confident. She had a clear and smooth singing voice. I admired her. I envied the way she carried herself and how she seemed to have life so organized and all figured out; I wanted the stability and assuredness she possessed.
We were very similar in some ways: we were creative and romantics, dreamers in love with Lucy Maud Montgomery‘s beautiful books. And, it seems, we shared a secret, dark, lonely place of depression, loneliness, and uncertainty. I struggled, forcing myself to keep moving forward, one day at a time. Some days are still difficult, but I have found the path into the light. Today, she gave up.
My heart aches for this gorgeous woman, for her husband and family who are struggling with confusion, guilt, and pain. Please keep them in your hearts, thoughts, and prayers.
You deserve to wake up every morning to the sun.
Depression is very real. It is painful and lonely and suffocating, and the world feels as if it is caving in on you. But you are not alone. You are NOT alone. You are not alone in your suffering, and you do not have to be alone in finding a way out. You – yes, you, you beautiful, magnificent being – are endlessly, hugely loved; you deserve every happiness; you deserve life. The guilt, heartache, loneliness, and hurt can be released. There are answers, and the black veil can be lifted. Yes, even for you, my dear. Call the number below, or write anonymously at Postsecret Community. If you feel you can, reach out to a family member or friend and tell them that you need their help.
You deserve to wake up every morning to the sun. You deserve to make decisions about what you want to do tomorrow, and next month, and next year. You deserve to do what you love, to watch the spring bloom around you, to go on adventures and to daydream. You deserve to give yourself a chance to find your way out of the dark, deep hole that seems to have no escape, and others deserve to have a chance to show you just how much they love you. Please, give them that chance.
1 – 800 – 442 – HOPE
Trained individuals are available 24/7
Call this number if you ever feel as if you are losing the struggle to continue forward. Call if you’re unsure if you “qualify”. Call if you feel lonely, or sad, or if you don’t know how you feel. The people on the other end are available 24/7 and love you deeply, deeply, deeply, and will hold you and guide you into the light. I promise.
Some more resources:
