Welcome.
I'm Teresa and I'm so glad you're here.
Take a moment to arrive.
Not anywhere else,
Just here in this moment with me.
Maybe notice what is underneath you.
The chair,
The bed.
The floor.
Something is already holding some of your weight You don't need to do anything about that.
Just notice.
Perhaps let your breath come and go on its own.
Not needing it to be deep.
No need to make yourself calmer than you are.
Just a little time where you don't have to be anywhere else.
And I wanna begin with something I suspect you already know.
You are capable.
May be very capable.
Maybe you have carried things that once seemed impossible to carry.
Found your way through days that you weren't sure how to move through.
Made decisions.
Solved problems.
Kept going.
Maybe you've surprised yourself with how much you can hold.
So this meditation isn't here to tell you that you can't.
Maybe you absolutely can.
Maybe that's part of what makes this question interesting.
Because perhaps the question isn't,
Can I carry this?
Perhaps the question is,
Do I have to carry all of it alone?
Just let that sit here for a moment,
No answer required.
Do I have to carry all of it alone?
Imagine if you like that something you've been holding has a shape.
Not the biggest thing in your life.
Not something you need to wrestle with tonight.
To something manageable.
Perhaps it becomes a box in your hands.
Or a basket.
A bundle.
Something with wheat.
You don't need to know exactly what is inside.
Maybe you simply know,
I've been carrying this.
Feel your hands around it.
Notice its weight.
You've got it.
Of course you do.
You've been holding it for a while.
And perhaps there is even something familiar about the weight now.
You know how to adjust your grip.
How to shift it when one arm gets tired.
How to keep walking.
Maybe you've become so good at carrying it that nobody would know it was heavy.
And then imagine someone coming to walk beside you.
Not rushing toward you.
Not taking the bundle out of your hands.
Not saying you shouldn't be carrying that.
They simply walk beside you.
For a while.
No fixing.
No advice.
Just footsteps beside yours.
And after a little while,
Perhaps they look at what you're carrying and say,
Want me to take one side?
That's all.
Not give it to me.
Not,
You can handle this.
Just want me to take one side.
Notice the space around that question.
You can say no.
Maybe you do.
Maybe today isn't the day.
And if that's true,
Let that be true.
But perhaps just for this meditation.
You wonder what yes might feel like.
Not handing everything over.
Not letting go.
Just moving your hands slightly.
Making room for another pair.
They placed their hands beneath one side of the weight.
And now,
There are two sets of hands.
Perhaps nothing else changes at first.
The bundle is still there.
The road is still the road.
You are still carrying.
But not quite in the same way.
Maybe one hand doesn't have to grip so tightly.
Maybe your fingers loosen just a little.
Maybe your shoulder drops a fraction.
Not because anyone told it to relax.
Simply because the weight is different now.
Shared.
Feel that word for a moment,
Shared.
Not gone,
Shared.
Maybe that's enough.
You continue walking.
You still have your side.
They have theirs.
And maybe you notice something.
You haven't become less strong.
You haven't disappeared.
You haven't handed over your life.
There is simply less weight in each hand.
Maybe support can be that ordinary.
Another person saying,
I've got this corner.
And maybe you let them.
There is something I love about the image of two people carrying something together.
Neither one has to prove that they could do it alone.
The point isn't strength.
The point is getting where you're going.
Together.
Maybe the bundle shifts as you walk.
Perhaps one of you needs to adjust.
Perhaps someone says,
Hang on,
Let me adjust my hand.
And you stop.
Adjust.
Continue.
Maybe support doesn't have to be perfect to be real.
Maybe the person beside you doesn't need to carry it exactly the way you would.
They simply need to carry their side.
You carry yours.
And perhaps somewhere along the way,
You look down at your hands.
At the fingers that have held so much.
And wonder what it would feel like to let them soften another little bit.
Not empty.
Just less full.
What might you notice with one hand freer?
Maybe the air.
The road.
The person beside you.
Maybe you could reach for something else.
Maybe you could simply swing your arm as you walk.
There is no grand lesson here.
Just an image.
A road,
A weight,
Two sets of hands.
And maybe a question that stays with you.
Does all of this need to be mine to hold?
Maybe some of it does.
Maybe there are things only you can carry.
Things that belong completely to you.
.
.
Your choices,
Your knowing.
Your life and maybe there are other things that could be shared.
A task.
A worry.
A decision.
A hard day.
A long drive.
A silence.
Maybe another person cannot change what you're walking through.
But they can walk through part of it beside you.
And perhaps that counts,
Maybe more than we think.
Take a quiet breath.
Feel the support beneath your actual body again.
Something has been holding you throughout this practice.
Without asking you to become smaller.
Without asking you to disappear.
And maybe there are people who can do something like that too.
Not carry you,
But carry with you.
There is a difference.
Try and quietly hear these words.
I know you can carry it.
I'm just offering to carry it with you.
What happens if you don't argue?
If you don't explain why you're fine?
If you don't immediately say,
No,
No,
I've got it.
Maybe you simply let the offer exist.
Maybe someday you answer differently.
Maybe,
Okay,
Take this side.
For now,
Imagine walking a little further together.
The road beneath you.
Your hands.
Their hands.
A shared weight between you.
You still know how to carry.
You always did.
But maybe strength was never meant to mean that every hand had to remain full.
Maybe one of the gifts of being human is that sometimes someone else comes along,
And there is room beside us.
Room for another set of hands.
Room for another pair of footsteps.
Room for the possibility that we don't have to prove what we can carry by carrying everything ourselves.
As we begin to close.
Perhaps let the image soften.
The road.
The bundle.
Person beside you.
And return to this room.
This body.
This moment.
And notice your hands.
Maybe open and close your fingers gently.
Feel where your body is supported.
And carry one small question with you.
Does all of this need to be mine to hold?
No pressure to change anything.
No expectation that you suddenly ask for help.
Just the question.
Maybe someday,
When someone trustworthy reaches for one corner,
You'll remember you don't have to hand over everything in order to be supported.
You don't have to collapse in order to lean.
You can be strong.
Support it.
Both can be true.
Take good care of yourself.
And I'll meet you again soon.
And as you return to your day,
Remember as always,
You are loved.
You are whole.
You are enough.
