September brought me to my knees and forced me to pray.
What I’ve realized is that there exists a certain breed of pain that demands you do nothing but experience it raw — like there just comes a point where an experience simply cannot be buffered.
It’s cute of us to think it can be.
More distractions, more novelty, more anything to make you forget, until you realize this one is different and you can’t
Can’t run, can’t shield yourself, can’t entertain yourself, can’t distract yourself, can’t delude yourself.
So in the most harrowing moments, you commit yourself instead to staying put, suspended and present, feeling like you’re being boiled alive — and it’s right there that you encounter truth and tenderness.
We talk about the present moment like it’s this thing that will elevate us above the stories and thus our pain — but really it’s a portal into it.
My loneliness, despair, fear, anger, jealousy, pain — when I’ve just sat there and let it beat me to a pulp, what remains is tender and sweet. What I ultimately get is a good honest look at my heart.
I’ve put a lot of effort into remaining constantly busy and stimulated by something or someone or someplace so that my heart would never get to take the stage and be witnessed.
September was different. I did a whole lot of nothing but sitting with it — existing on what felt like the edge of my own destruction — and in doing so, learned to finally just witness my pain with compassion instead of trying to fix it.
Turns out, I can be with what’s happening and not dissociate — but it’s a matter of how honest and brave I really want to be.
There is truth in every ordinary moment. The deepest work you’ll ever do on yourself would probably not make for a good social media share. The work is at home on your living room couch, in relation to ourselves and the people who know us and love us enough to hold us accountable. The work is in your car on your lunch break, letting it wash over you.
But again, it’s a matter of how brave and honest you’re willing to be.