I’ve come to terms with a few things this year. I have struggled with imposter syndrome. It’s a flashy, trendy sounding thing, but it has been a beast I have wrestled with. And it duct taped me down. I also came to terms with the idea that I possess the power to grab the scissors and cut right through the shiny, gray bonds. My stuff, the stuff we all have, was blocking my way and it feels like a revelation to see that.
Coming back to the work of regular writing apart from Instagram feels very tender. I spent over ten years writing my blog, from my traveling days, then to my semi-crunchy mama days (and the infamous vegetarian borscht recipe I still get asked for), to the days of early motherhood cracked wide open with a terminal diagnosis for my baby. Then came processing wild, intense grief and trauma masked by a white knuckled faith. I was so young, so frozen, so terrified. I can see this young, new mother and my heart aches with compassion for her. I like to think I’m reaching back to greet her, to bring her here, where I sit, write, walk and dance, lovingly moving us both into the present where we are no longer alone or stuck.
I have changed so much over the last decade. I have done a lot of deep digging inside my many corners, excavating some life changing patterns and pain. For me, mothering and living after extended trauma and grief, led to complexities in both realms. My multifaceted being took on so much while trying to find a way through. I just never had the time to stop treading water and let myself go down. It turns out the dark depths will not drown me.
There is so much to bear and take in in our world, isn’t there? I have spent the last many years silently trying to absorb it all. What I’ve found is the words didn’t die; they just stuck to the bottom of my shoe and I’m tired of feeling heavy footed. I am a writer. I see the world in my own particular way and all of the noticing, the finger pointing to look, come taste, touch, and listen allows me a moment of small but mighty transformation in an otherwise mundane day. I want to share it and feel it all, with you.
Henri Nouwen writes that “hospitality wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and find themselves free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free to leave and follow their own vocations.”
I hope you feel at home here.
I’ll also be sharing what I’m listening to, what the natural world is teaching me, what rhythms I’m adopting in each new season, what is catching my eye and causing me to pause. There’s so much I want to say here, and I don’t want to get it wrong in this one introduction. But I know myself, and I’ll always have something else to add. So in an effort to preserve the beauty of imperfection and my humanness, I’m here.
My hope is that you find parts of yourself and story in what I share, and that my atmosphere making and storytelling allows you to feel more connected to yourself, to others, to the world around you, to your grief, pain, and joy.
May you feel and find the holiness in the curve of a beloved’s eyelid to the crunch of orange leaves underfoot.
Thank you for gathering here in this small, sacred circle. If I could, I’d light a candle and smile tearily at all of you. I wish I could squeeze your hands and notice how differently each one feels.
Take a moment to pause and notice. Here’s a favourite song to accompany you on this hands meditation.
Hands are so telling. I have come to love my hands, and they have shared many stories with me over the years. When I dance, my hands are often the loudest, proudest part of me. They have made me weep. They carry memory, trauma, sensuality, power. They have touched birth and death. Go ahead, take a look at your own hands. Notice your nails, can you see the half moons or not? Notice your jewellery, your wrinkles and spots. Are they dry or shaking? Do you recognize them? Do they smell like soap or garlic? See the garden dirt, peanut butter smudges, paint. Remember how hard your hands have worked and hung on. Hold those hands to your cheeks and feel how beautiful it is to be held.
Welcome to this Tender Realm.
I resonate with so much of this! Honoring you so deeply for all you've moved through. I love all the images of your hands here as well 🤍
You had me at "it duct taped me down" and "white knuckled faith," "so young, so frozen, so terrified" and "dark depths will not drown me." I'm SO grateful to be on the receiving end of this monthly offering.