This is really beautiful. When I saw this in my inbox this morning, I wasn't sure if I would come back to it, if I would sit down to do the meditation, if I would be able to cry-- but I am glad I did (and, I did cry). Knowing you are sad, grieving, hurt is one thing; reaching to that, expressing it, honoring it, is quite another. You have reminded me that setting up a space to process emotions isn't creating an artificial environment-- we're not forcing ourselves to cry, we're just ushering ourselves to a space where we can welcome it. I liked what you said-- "Humanity is made to cry. ... Darkness is not without purpose. Suppose the purpose of the darkness is to shield and protect your solitude."
The questions you posed in the meditation are very compassionate. I noticed myself kind of caught off-guard. Because it felt like I was treating myself as I would a friend, I suppose. It's not just "Think about what hurts" but, "What hurts?" That kind of turning-to-self is not something I do frequently enough.
This summer, I was thinking about similar things to what you have said here about grief and tears, and ended up turning those thoughts into a blogpost on the role and purpose of grief (especially, thinking about grief as distinct from loss, and honoring that). One of my big takeaways in that reflection was recognizing the *corporeal* manifestations of grief (and grace). If we do not let ourselves cry, tremble, and hold ourselves, we are rejecting a critical part of not just our individual but our collective humanity. This weekend was the sixth anniversary of my dad's death. Even after writing that out so recently and knowing the importance of processing through tears, my first reaction had still been to deny myself the space to be sad. But it's good to grieve. And it's a practice. So I did, a bit that day, and now again today. I miss his touch. The feel of his hug.
Thank you for your compassion and space and questions and community-- and showing us how to offer those things to ourselves.
I read your post on grief...wow! I have just, just recently started to try to connect to how my body experiences things. The part about your arms and how they react to grief really resonates. My son is in therapy for attachment issues related to being adopted and he told his therapist (a couple of years ago now) that he feels his anger in his arms and legs. It hasn't been til this year when I have gone back to teaching in person after teaching on-line due to the pandemic that I have realized I carry the weight of things in my head and neck. (I mean, massage therapists have even told me about the neck thing, but I always just blamed my mild scoliosis, to be honest.) I have all these headaches on the weekdays, and I can tell now when I am clenching my jaw a bit. Our bodies hold these things for us; it's really, really true.
Thanks, Stephanie. Mindfulness can make a difference, that's such a good reminder. Those types of realizations/connections are always a little mind-blowing!
Thank you Marcie. This is beautiful and much needed. I'm sending it to my dad in the hopes that it will help him grieve the loss of my mom.
I am so very sorry for yours and your dad’s loss. Peace to you Lauren
This is really beautiful. When I saw this in my inbox this morning, I wasn't sure if I would come back to it, if I would sit down to do the meditation, if I would be able to cry-- but I am glad I did (and, I did cry). Knowing you are sad, grieving, hurt is one thing; reaching to that, expressing it, honoring it, is quite another. You have reminded me that setting up a space to process emotions isn't creating an artificial environment-- we're not forcing ourselves to cry, we're just ushering ourselves to a space where we can welcome it. I liked what you said-- "Humanity is made to cry. ... Darkness is not without purpose. Suppose the purpose of the darkness is to shield and protect your solitude."
The questions you posed in the meditation are very compassionate. I noticed myself kind of caught off-guard. Because it felt like I was treating myself as I would a friend, I suppose. It's not just "Think about what hurts" but, "What hurts?" That kind of turning-to-self is not something I do frequently enough.
This summer, I was thinking about similar things to what you have said here about grief and tears, and ended up turning those thoughts into a blogpost on the role and purpose of grief (especially, thinking about grief as distinct from loss, and honoring that). One of my big takeaways in that reflection was recognizing the *corporeal* manifestations of grief (and grace). If we do not let ourselves cry, tremble, and hold ourselves, we are rejecting a critical part of not just our individual but our collective humanity. This weekend was the sixth anniversary of my dad's death. Even after writing that out so recently and knowing the importance of processing through tears, my first reaction had still been to deny myself the space to be sad. But it's good to grieve. And it's a practice. So I did, a bit that day, and now again today. I miss his touch. The feel of his hug.
Thank you for your compassion and space and questions and community-- and showing us how to offer those things to ourselves.
Yes, that's the perfect word to describe those questions: "compassionate."
Sarah, what’s your blog’s name?
https://sarahchute.blogspot.com/ (I'm an old-school Blogspot dinosaur...)
I read your post on grief...wow! I have just, just recently started to try to connect to how my body experiences things. The part about your arms and how they react to grief really resonates. My son is in therapy for attachment issues related to being adopted and he told his therapist (a couple of years ago now) that he feels his anger in his arms and legs. It hasn't been til this year when I have gone back to teaching in person after teaching on-line due to the pandemic that I have realized I carry the weight of things in my head and neck. (I mean, massage therapists have even told me about the neck thing, but I always just blamed my mild scoliosis, to be honest.) I have all these headaches on the weekdays, and I can tell now when I am clenching my jaw a bit. Our bodies hold these things for us; it's really, really true.
Her writing is so powerful and vulnerable isn't it?
Yes!
Thanks, Stephanie. Mindfulness can make a difference, that's such a good reminder. Those types of realizations/connections are always a little mind-blowing!
Have you considered writing on substack? I'd subscribe!
Wow... maybe one day! ❤️
🙌🏾
Thank you Marcie. 💜
Thank you, friend