It is Brave to Return to Yourself

how to keep your heart open.

Feb 29, 2024

The ice-like sensation travels up my spine. It is quick. Quicker than I imagine it to be. So quick that it is hard to notice what is happening. At the same time, a dense weight appears from what feels like above, and finds a home resting on my shoulders. The urge comes in, the urge to cave. The urge is to just slump over and let the weight consume me — even just for a moment. I notice my body moving forward, assuming the position of collapse, the position of too many things going on, the position of too much to hold, the position of not knowing how to deal with the massive energy that is telling me — something, that is showing me — something.

I recognize the urge to close up. To shut it all down. To slump over and hide my heart. It is familiar, this keep moving, keep going, pressure that takes me away from what is happening or what I might be needing.

As the pressure began to build, I quickly found myself reaching for my notebook to write:

Do not close your heart.

And suddenly, as if my three sentences summoned some sort of relief god, I began to cry. I began to feel the enormity of the activation in my body and the heaviness that was trying to trap me. A breath comes in, tears roll down my cheeks, and I keep writing.

After a bit of time and many run-on sentences, what I noticed is that I returned back to myself. A self that was crying, a self that was struggling, a self that felt tender with grief and sadness, a self that felt desperate like there was no other way, a self that lost her temper, a self that was longing for a hug and for someone to tell her it would be alright.

In this moment, I also realized that I returned to a self whose tears created just a little bit more space to breathe and to find another path in, a self who noticed an ache in her heart and medicine to fix it, a self who found forgiveness to her sharp tongue, a self who allowed all of these parts to be present, to be here without pushing them away.

A self that returned to herself.

And then the thought trickled in with such clarity, like the calm after a rain storm:

“It is brave to return to yourself.”

For so many years, I have worked toward trying to understand how to be myself. How to live inside my body and find comfort and home in there. And even though, I have been steadily increasing practices towards how to do this, I will forever be amazed by just how quickly the temptation can be to move away. Yet, what I know is that leaving has always been easy for me — it is the coming back that is hard.

It is in the coming back where the big scary I don’t know what I am going to find lives. It is in the coming back where the fear lurks, telling me I won’t be able to handle it. It is the coming back where the grief can be found and the well of emotion that feels complicated and messy hides. It is in the coming back where the enormity of hurt and the rivers of rage are alive. Yet, it is also in the coming back where compassion and forgiveness reside alongside the light of love, devotion, realm of possibility, and, dare I say — healing.

It is brave to return to yourself.

My son is now four and a half, and his spirit is strong, as well as his wants, his determination, and his emotions. I have noticed that everything feels like it is getting bigger. Trying to get out the door, trying to reason, trying to brush his teeth (for which I am terrified he will never learn), trying to make it to bed at a reasonable time, trying to eat, trying, trying, trying. There is a desperation that has been coming in these trying times. A desperation that, if I am honest — terrifies me. It terrifies me because when I feel this desperation, this loss of control, what I become is short-tempered, impatient, annoyed, enraged — I could go on, but I am going to guess you might understand.

And it can be so easy to follow the desperation down the rabbit hole. Down to me shaming myself, telling myself I am going to mess him up or be experienced as a scary mom (which is one of my biggest fears). All of these things I know are not helpful, yet when they appear, it can feel so easy to just let them collapse me. I just want out, I just want some relief or something to change.

Here comes the brave part — not running. Instead, staying close to what is actually happening, what I am actually needing, which is usually pretty much the same.

To slow down.

To stay soft and tender.

To breath.

To try and tend to whatever child part of myself is getting awakened.

And to always know repair is beautiful and more powerful than the desperation.

This bravery in returning back to myself has been happening more and more. This ability to go inside myself and see what it is that is occurring and what it needs.

It has been happening when old wounds begin to open, when the line at the grocery store is going to make me late for my next meeting, when my husband forgets — something, when my mother comes to town when I chose not to move away from the suffering of the world, when I fear the future, when I can’t see what is going to happen next, when I feel like an imposter.

All of these potential weights to rest on my shoulders, to collapse, to cover my heart.

Confronting the big is hard.

But not as hard as hiding from it.

Every time we take a moment to pause — it is brave.

Every time we take a moment to let ourselves feel whatever is wanting our attention — it is brave.

Every time we take a moment to let ourselves imagine another way of living and being in our bodies — it is brave.

Every time we take a moment to feel the enormous grief and sorrow that is filling our hearts — it is brave. Every time we forgive ourselves for raising our voices, for being too short in the morning, for rushing and knowing all is needed is to slow down — it is brave.

Every time we tell a friend how our heart really is — it is brave.

Every time I let myself be with my hearts break — it is brave.

Every time I chose to not harden but instead stay soft and tender — it is brave.

I feel so grateful to all of you who joined my last embodied writing workshop, The Birth of the Mother. It was so moving and profound to gather and give voice to our journeys of becoming a mother. What I heard after, and what I often hear, is that many folks didn’t even know they needed to give voice and connect to their stories of becoming, and how being in community while doing so was deeply nourishing and healing. I have decided to offer another workshop next Friday for all those who might be interested. You can find the link here for more information or to sign up.