We will often find ourselves in moments through life that strip away every illusion of control.
Moments that bring you to your knees.
Moments where no spiritual phrase,
No positive thinking,
No tidy explanation can attempt to touch what's real.
This is where the mud begins,
Heavy,
Uncomfortable,
Unforgiving.
The kind of place where grief lives without apology.
I grew up being told to always think positive,
To push away all or any negative feelings,
To look on the bright side of life.
And although these things aren't wrong,
I know what it's like to have my pain met with words meant to make it feel better,
But only make it smaller.
It's going to be fine,
Think positive,
Don't focus on the negative.
Words from a place of love meant to soothe,
But they taught me early on that my feelings and my grief and my experiences were far too big for the room.
Some people can't sit in the mud,
Not because they don't love you,
But because they don't know how.
Their nervous system doesn't have a map for pain that deep,
So they reach for the only language they've ever known,
Spiritual stories,
Positive mantras,
Silver linings.
They offer the light and love because they're terrified of the dark.
And my love,
I know it's hard because that can leave you feeling like you're holding the ache all alone.
But it's not your job to shrink your experience and your feelings to make it easier for someone else to hold,
It's their job to learn how to meet what's real.
I know grief has a way of gripping you,
Pulling you into places and spaces where nothing makes sense.
And you can't think positive your way out of this part,
You can only feel it.
The rage,
The fear,
The ache that tightens around your chest,
This is the spiral,
The place where everything feels too much.
But yet,
In the thick of this spiral,
There is always a threat,
Often the faintest threat of faith,
Not the loud kind,
Certainly not the polished kind,
It's the trembling kind,
The kind you don't fully trust yet but you hold with shaky hands as you learn to loosen your grip.
And this is the paradox,
Letting go of control and still holding on to hope,
Surrendering to what is while trusting what you cannot yet see.
You are allowed to break open my love,
To weep,
To scream,
To let the mud cling to every part of you.
You are allowed to be undone and it doesn't make you weak,
It makes you embodied and real.
You are allowed to feel the unfairness of it all,
To whisper through clenched teeth that this shouldn't be happening,
To be mad at God,
The universe,
To be mad at the world,
Mad at your circumstances,
You are allowed to rage and still belong.
Right here my love,
Take a breath with me,
Inhale through your nose and let it move deep down into your belly and into your chest and expanding your ribs as you exhale through your mouth,
Slowly letting the weight you feel shift even if it's just a little bit.
Notice your body held on the ground,
Notice the rise and fall of your breath as it effortlessly moves in through your nostrils and out through your lips,
The pulse of life still here with you my love,
Even in the storm.
You don't have to fix this moment,
You just have to be in it,
You can rage against the spiral and still remember your way back home through your breath,
You can feel the uncertainty wrap around you and still know that somewhere inside of you,
You hold the tools that will always bring you home.
Your breath,
Your body,
The earth beneath you,
This quiet moment with these anchors,
They don't demand you to rise to be strong before you're ready my love,
They wait for you.
Most people will always mean well,
But to those who offer you light from above before you're ready,
May you meet them with understanding without shrinking yourself to fit their safety.
To those who cannot sit in the mud with you,
May they one day find their way to this space too,
And to you my love,
Who is listening now,
Your pain is not too much,
Your rage is not too loud,
Your fear is not a problem to be solved.
This moment doesn't need to be made pretty,
It just needs you to witness it,
To feel it,
And allow yourself the time to be in the mud,
And even in the thickest mud when it's hard to move,
Know that you are held by your breath,
By the earth,
By something bigger than what your hands can carry,
And if you ever find yourself slipping,
If the weight starts to close in on you,
And you feel unseen,
Unheard or alone in the mud,
Know that you can return here,
And I'll be waiting for you in this space,
With this breath,
These words,
And this anchor,
Over and over again,
As many times and as often as you need.
