Author: jes (Page 2 of 6)

In the last 24 hours I have:

• visited the chiropractor for an adjustment.
• started a new puzzle
• taken a candlelit shower
• used my snooze button
• made a new batch of almond milk for my morning chai
• did 3 cart wheels
• planned playdates
• purchased tickets to see a comedian with a friend

I think I have been kind to myself this past day. I can choose self kindness.

Yesterday, I started to think about collecting my tears. In order to feel profound loss, I had to experience a profound love that was lost. Each tear comes from the love I was capable of experiencing. That capacity is still apart of me. That love is still mine to hold and have and share. I don’t love the loss. I love the moments that happened. I am grateful it happened.

I don’t know how to observe what I am feeling without judgement. I go through the process to welcome my sadness and be curious about my sadness and I wake up the next day, annoyed my sadness is still here. I am tired of the answer to peoples questions “How are you?” to be variations of “still not great”…and maybe people are genuine on wanting to know where I am right now and not trying to feel out for when I am “great” again.

I have a note in my bathroom from Kelsey that says “I hope you are kind to yourself today”…what does being gentle and kind to myself look like? Why is it so fucking hard?

Dear Sadness, I see you. You need to be here and that is hard when you don’t feel welcome anymore. I am sorry I keep wanting you to be anything but who you are right now. I am sorry I am having trouble sitting in vigil with what is. I am here right now and will try to patiently listen better.

I don’t want to love my sadness. I mean, I want to be happy. I want to be curious. I want to feel expansive. I don’t know how to do those with this new, heavy, and sad me. I know in my head, I will need to integrate this new me to fully live. I just had this vision of this deeply sad part of me standing outside my house in the rain, knocking on the door, asking to come in. And the parts of me already inside are hesitant to let this new part in, like sadness is contagious. We argue we already have sad parts inside, why do we need more. Can’t deeply sad me just not exist? Sigh…this is not how I want to live. I’d argue this isn’t living. This is me being judgement of this new deeply feeling part. This is avoiding the discomfort of risking something scary. This is settling for the known instead of risking openness and vulnerability. There is no peace inside this house right now as my parts whisper and hope one part will just go away.

What if I could change the way this plays out? What if I could write a new story. What if when my deeply grieving part comes to the door and knocks, the parts of me inside the house, get curious about this new part? What if we can follow our hearts even when its scary? What if we can lean into discomfort and asking interesting questions? What might this new part of me know about the world or even about us that we hadn’t thought to explore yet? What if I could welcome this new part of me in, offer me a cup of chai, and a place by the fire and just wait? Where could we go from here?

I am noticing a lightness and curiosity in myself as I type this out. I am sitting here by the fire watching the rain. I want to welcome all my parts, offering them warmth, and safely, and connection. Can I be safe and willing to walk alongside myself through all of this? I imagine how my posture towards all of life could shift, from curled in on myself in a ball on the floor protecting my soft parts with every muscle tense waiting for the blows to standing open and relaxed, ready to dance and move accepting pain and hurt come with living.

To be human is to know sadness. Owning our sadness is courageous and a necessary step in find our way back to ourselves and each other.

Brene Brown, Atlas of the Heart, pg. 107

Humaning is hard, so fucking hard. And yet, I can’t imagine any other way. I don’t want to run from the hard or lock it outside of myself.

Truth is found in the moments
When we come back to ourselves
When we ride the waves of emotion
Instead of getting caught in the swells

I wish I had more time with K.

I remember one evening we were together, they were on call for work and they got a series of texts about something happening at work. They had been stressed about working so much and they got uncharacteristically annoyed. We had so little time together. Their withdraw from our current snuggling on the couch hurt. I wanted them to come back. I wanted to go back to the delight and bliss we had just been feeling.

I left the couch for a moment to do something. I paused in a different room, noticing that I was feeling annoyance, hurt, maybe bitterness.  I didn’t want to be feeling those emotions. I wanted to feel love, gratitude, contentment, etc… But I can’t just turn a feeling off. I can name a feeling. I can try to identify where it is coming from. I can try to address the underlying causes but I can’t just wish it away.  I wanted to go back to being blissfully happy with K. I wanted K to stop being annoyed with their work and be present with me. I couldn’t change K. I couldn’t change me. So, I came back into the room and I told them what I was feeling. I told them I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to move forward. I didn’t know what comes next. They didn’t know either. So, I asked if I could sit behind them and just hold them. Maybe we could just sit here together, present to our feelings and just be. So we did. It was magical. I don’t know what happened.  I don’t know how long it took. But I did feel us shift. The feelings passed. And we got to experience that together.

Later, K told me that sharing that space when they had hard feelings had been really important to them. It made on their top 3 experiences of the past year. It made it on mine too.

I got to experience something profoundly raw and authentic that night. I got to share my raw feelings without judgment. I got to acknowledge their feelings without judgement. And we just sat there, together. I had had so many similar experiences with others before that night in which I navigated it unskillfully to try something new, something different.

I wanted a lifetime of moments like that with K.

I knew K was something special. I doubted if I was good enough for them. If I deserved to be loved by someone so incredible. Their response was

You are good enough for me, and you do deserve me. When you hurt me, we will move through it as best as we can and love each other through it regardless of the hurt. Something the thought comes in that I really wish I would have met you earlier in my life. I believe in divine timing and that it’s all for a reason or whatever, but I can’t help but wish I met you sooner. There is some grief there. Working through it.

You deserve love and acceptance of your full self. I want to give that to you. And I want you to feel like you deserve it.

Oh what I would have give to have more time. So much grief there.

I take comfort in the memory that I did get to experience something magical with them. And that these experience didn’t happen to me. These weren’t accidents. We didn’t fall in love. We co-created these moments. I was a part of the process. I know it is possible. I have the capacity to do it again. I am capable.

Who Live, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story – Hamilton

But when you’re gone, who remembers your name?
Who keeps your flame?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?
Your story?

You could have done so much more if you only had—

Time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell our story?
Will they tell your story?

My first night on my own in months. I walked 30 minutes each way to get my dinner so I could be alone with my thoughts. I listened to the playlist I made with them, full of love, hope, and humanness. As I went down the sidewalk, I cried and  smiled, remembering all the moments, the first time we snuggled, the time I texted them with a song that I couldn’t stop dancing to, or rare mornings we got to linger. I wanted so much more time. I don’t know where I go from here. Each day feels so heavy and hard and also so rich. I experienced something magical with them. New way of seeing myself, of loving myself. They inspire me to live even though my whole being feels so painfully raw. I want to love better, my friends, my family, and the ones that hurt me. I want to love the “no’s” as much as the “yes’s”, not because they feel good but because a “no” might be more intimate than a “yes”. It reveals an edge, a boundary. We are wired for connection. “No’s” are scary to give and to receive because we might lose this life sustaining connection we need to live. It is hard to hold on to oneself when receiving a “no”. It is hard to hold on to oneself when giving a “no”. Both require trusting that we are good inside. For this connection to be good, we both need to be honest about what we want and what we have to offer. If we minimize either, we will hurt ourselves, the other, and the connection between us. Connection can only happen when a “no” is  as much of an option as a “yes”.  I think the connection is less about fulfilling someone else’s needs or having my own need fulfilled but in the revealing of my humanness that happens when I a request and when I given an answer of what I have to offer. When I make a request, I am saying that I believe I am worth the thing I am asking for and I revealing that I have a need. When I give a “no” answer to someone else’s request, I am revealing what I do or don’t have capacity for and I believing I still have worth even when I have limitations on what I can offer.  These beliefs about connection and worth and boundaries began many years ago. These past two months have been a time of intense heat that has refined them. The magic I experienced in the giving and receiving of requests and responses with K is something I can continue to experience with partners, friends, family, and strangers. K had this incredible way of living. I will continue to love them and myself as I process their final “no”

Dearest,

I never got to say goodbye.
You left before I got home.
You casket was closed before I arrived.

I never got to wonder through your house,
Memorizing the sayings on your walls,
leafing through the books on your bookshelf.
Or smelling your favorite incense one last time.

I never got to see the random bits you kept tucked away,
Like your favorite type of pen from your junk drawer
Or the shoe that wouldn’t unclip from your exercise bike in your basement.

I didn’t get to hear the stories your friends shared as they packed up your belongings,
Each item reminding them of a time you laughed or an adventure you went on.

I wanted to laugh with them.
I wanted to cry with them.
I wanted to be near you again.
I wanted to know you more.

I will find my own ways to laugh and cry.
To allow memories of you to linger.
To bring you to life as I share stories of you with those who love me.
To tell anyone who will listen how you made me feel.

I will say my own goodbyes,
As I drink the ginger latte I made for you before I knew you were gone.
As I cook the meals you never got to order.
As I train for the bike ride I had hoped you would ride alongside me.
As I hold a candle on the shortest day.
As I pilgrimage to your favorite mountain town and hike the trails you loved.
As I read every one of your poems to shared with the world.

These aren’t the goodbye I envisioned.
That is another dream I must grieve.

As you said your final goodbye
I hope you felt held and free.
I hope you felt peace.
I hope you felt my love.

Tomorrow is my first preschool drop off since I got the phone call that K is gone. I am full of emotions. I can’t believe its been 2 weeks since K was here last. It feels like just yesterday. When will it stop feeling like just yesterday? And when it does stop feeling like yesterday, will I miss that too? Everyday they get farther and farther away. I feel so torn. I know I can never go back. I know they are gone. I know that chapter has ended and yet I just want to relive it and push pause. I didn’t know it was going to be over so soon.

I am not the same person that I was the last time I took my child to preschool. I don’t quite know what has changed. I thought I was living in the present. I thought I was holding everything with open hands. I thought I wasn’t taking each moment for granted. Was I?

How to live fully by K

• be curious rather than judgmental
• laugh as much as possible
• follow my heart even when its scary
• lean into discomfort
• continue to ask interesting questions
• never settle
• accept the reality that connection come with vulnerability and openness – and the sharing of myself is an opportunity for me to see who is really willing to walk alongside me in all of it, and if someone isn’t willing to do so after my sharing- their loss.
• finding peace with the acceptance of who I am regardless of what others think

I know now it all can end or come crashing down even when I am doing all the things “right” or at least with awareness and somewhat skillfully corrections. It’s felt like maybe what a runner feels like when its been hard and they finally get their rhythm going for a brief moment before crashing to the ground. Maybe they question why they are even running in the first place and if it is worth getting up and trying again. And fuck, this would probably hurt even more if this was a year from now.

I think about the last 2 months. All the times I have been inspired to be curious. All the times I have laughed. All the times I have choose love even when it was scary. All the times I leaned into the discomfort when I wanted to hide or ignore. All the times I continued to ask questions, especially of myself. All the times I wasn’t content with settling with an old version of myself. All the times I said yes to connection and vulnerability and openness. They have been incredible. The most fully alive I have ever felt. Can I continue to feel so alive?

How do I live fully with this grief? Can I be curious about those I know who are also hurting? Can I continue to find reasons to laugh and frolic? Can I trust my heart even knowing it can break again and again, trusting it can also be made anew over and over? Can I lean into the discomfort of allowing my grief to be seen? Can I be honest about the questions I really want to be asking? Can I make space for connection through openness and vulnerability? Can I find peace with who I am regardless of what others thing?

It is important to me that I continue to give myself the space and permission to fully live my grief. It is important to me that I be a peace with allowing this process to take as long as it needs to take. I keep thinking it “should” be better now. That maybe everyone’s support is going to run it’s course. Can I trust that it will still be there for as long as I need? Or maybe the better question is “Can I trust that I can continue to ask for support as long as I need”. Can I continue to validate my own need and trust that their validity doesn’t depend on the ability of those around me to meet them. Needs unmet are still just as valid as needs met.

What do I need this week as I go back into the world? I want to be able to say that life is hard right now. I want to be able to say that last week was rough. I want to be able to experience connection through openness without the need to overshare, justify, or explain. Can I create a space where all of me belongs? Maybe tomorrow I can explore this further.

2 months ago, I saw this person on tinder. I was attracted to their smile, their sense of self, their energy. But love isn’t the same as this initial attraction, this impulse to say yes, this right swipe. Love came after.

Relationships are mirrors. We see parts of ourselves we couldn’t see by on our own. I saw parts of me that I didn’t like. I loved when I choose to lean into the discomfort  of this new knowledge.  I loved with I chose to be curious instead of judgmental. I loved when I choose to practice openness and vulnerability, with myself and with them.

If a mind is like a garden, full of all kinds of growing things. This relationship showed me some of the invasive plants  in my garden that were hiding behind my cultivated spaces. Choosing love meant choosing to go into this spaces and begin the task of identifying what was growing and carefully removing each plant, root and all. I was filled with shame over the things I found growing there. How could I  have let this happen? Did these parts say something about who I am.

I was overwhelmed by the amount of identifying and digging I needed to do. Could I really handle this? I wanted to back out, withdraw, pretend it wasn’t there.   Ease and rest are necessary for survival. I had been able to rest and grow and learn.  I was ready to know more of me. I didn’t want to ignore this place inside of me. I didn’t want to continue to keep these secrets from myself. I didn’t want to give them a chance to grow more. If I couldn’t love me, I couldn’t love someone else. I wanted to choose love.

Future me had/has the tools and skills to begin to make sense of it all and transform it into something beautiful some day. There is no shame in not being able to handle everything all at once. There is no shame is recognizing that sorting those all this stories given to me had been beyond my capacity to handle. It had been good for younger me to  put this away until now.

These stories I have had to unlearn, were like plants given to me. Some were planted for me before I was born or before I could tend my own garden.  Some were plants people gifted to me and I put in my garden, not  knowing they were going to hurt me later. Part of this process has been to realize all these plants, these stories, were given to me because someone had thought they were beautiful,  helpful. We did not know that in my garden these plants would spread, smothering till I could not longer be me.

Choosing love has been choosing to go into this secret garden, this hidden space, and begin to rediscover the remnants of me that was smothered underneath all this stories that aren’t me. To delicately remove each plant that didn’t belong. Taking care not to damage the tender plants that make up the real me.

Choosing love with someone else has to begin with choosing love with myself. I can’t love the humanity of someone else if I can’t love the humanity within me. I can’t be open and curious and tender with someone else if I can’t be open and curious and tender with me.

I did not fall in love too fast. I choose love from the beginning and I got to experience how beautiful that choice could be. I get to continue choose love with myself and with others. I get to continue to experience the beauty that comes with vulnerability and openness. I get to continue to be curious about what make me me. I get to tenderly care for the real and raw me while carefully removing the parts that aren’t actually me. I get to continue to live for me.

What happens to a heart that is shattered over and over again? How does a heart go on? Why in the midst of this brokenness do I know I will surrender and trust again? Why do I know I would still make the same choices that got me to here? Why don’t I regret this path I have go on, even in the midst of all this pain?

I loved well. I was loved well. I didn’t know that, even then, it may not be enough to keep away the pain and the loss.

My amor is off. Everything feels so much, the pain and the pleasure.

Last night, I got to experience such a delightful evening with friends. I felt joy and lightness, I felt grief and heaviness. I laughed. I cried. I felt held and seen and safe.

I remember a time when feelings were hard to access, both the ones that hurt and the ones that felt good. All I knew was numbness.

I get to feel it all. For that, I am grateful.

I will try to live out your hope for me, Kelsey, to try and trust people to love the real and raw me. That might be the hardest thing I have ever done.

My thoughts and feelings are all so muddled these days. I want to practice just being here.

Dear Jessica,

Today is 34 years of trying to carry everything. You try so hard. You give everything. You love intensely. I need you to stop trying so hard. You are beautiful and valuable because you are here. The world tells you who you should be. The world is wrong. The world is lying. The world is hurting you. You can’t be what the world want you to be and be whole. I want you to be whole. I want you to try so hard to human. I want you to give everything to being human. I want you to intensely love every aspect of your humanity. I know we have so far to go but maybe, we can start with today, right now. Stay here with me. We will get to the next step together when it comes.

Happy Birthday. I love you.

-Jessica