continually thrown out of the nest

Hi. I’m resharing this across all subs because it’s been another 3 years since my mother died. I revisit my writings on grief to see where I am and to find ways to be a vessel for others. I would love it if you would read and share. I’ll probably write about her tomorrow too, on her birthday—which is also the day she died. Eight years gone like a flash, right out the back door.

I read the Pema Chodron book, When things Fall Apart often. Maybe it is kind of like my bible or something like the star of my spiritual library I suppose. It is one of the books I recommend or gift a lot. (Bluets by Maggie Nelson, The Catcher in the Rye , The Four Agreements etc.) It is a fantastic book to read when you are in the absolute shit parts of life. I think it can really center you and make you self-reflect— ground you. But I love it for weekly or monthly tune-ups. Reminders. Practice.

I am a student of accepting change. I have had to be. We all do. I have tried to be more accepting of my entire life, not just the life I so desperately wanted to curate and create. Turns out being actively present and accepting impermanence is fucking hard. I am so new here. Like a first grader. I am a tryer now. I try.

I am also obsessed with her idea of our edges.

“Most of us do not take these [difficult] situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape — all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge, and we just can’t stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain.”

What happens when you hit your edge? Do you abuse substances, withdrawal from others, binge shop, eat?? What if we sat with our mess more? What would that look like? Therapy and some patchworks of a spiritual practice have reminded me to ask myself questions more. What if? Why?

I hate the edges too. It’s weird, I want to be soft and loving and kind to the world, but to myself I fail. Often. My edges are glorious swan dives, belly flops into bad-news-bears territory. I have this problem with that. So, what? At least I know it and at least I am trying each day to love myself. To save myself. Right? Do you try and give yourself grace?

Friday, I wrote this on my notes app and posted it. I am really trying to get to this version of me who is less reactive and more peaceful. Seems like other people want this too. Need this too. I have had so many messages from other humans. We are all here together.

every morning i remind myself to hold space for the woman inside of me who is still a little bit hurt who is still a little bit wild who is still a little bit unsure about every fucking thing i hold space for her because she deserves it i deserve to be in relationship with all of me to take the time to nurture myself this is a wicked hard lesson to unfold an inconvenient truth to carry but at the end of every week i try and softly say sweet things to myself about how i am a wonder a light a fire in someone’s heart i tell myself the truth of this here life like wow you did ok what could you do with a clear mind like wow you stayed up on the high place when you didn’t have to wow look how soft you have become wow this is hard but it’s also glorious too with me here living all out loud

Living out loud is messy and painful and quite bright.

Pema says it so eloquently:

“We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.” 

Holding space for yourself. Can you? I am trying.

Tomorrow is five years since my mom died. Tomorrow would be her 73rd birthday too. Weird each year. Scout and I were looking at videos on my phone. Soon after she died, he did ballet for a year. He is laughing at himself today. I am crying at how sweet he was. He still is, but now he has that boyhood thing going on. He’s 12. Sharper. Harder maybe. Pensive.

He says he feels it both ways. He tells me he remembers this like yesterday and at the same time it feels so far away. Same, kid. Same. He asks if I think there is an alternative reality. Somewhere she is alive, and our family is different and there is no covid. I say yes. I am open to this. Everything is possible. We are just specks. Probably a whole bunch of realities. But we’re here now. Let’s accept that. Let’s give ourselves a whole bunch of room.

I tell him tomorrow we will have some cake maybe, because it sounds like my amazing group of friends already arranged to bring over pie. That is probably code word for wine. I have had the complete honor of being friends with the most beautiful and spiritually aware women. They have held me like a baby. They have showed me how to keep going when everything changes. My friend Carrie reminds me that we are all just walking each other home. I burst out crying at Target when I read the message. I just sigh. I keep trying. I make a big circle with my arms in the cleaning isle. I keep trying.

“To be fully alive, fully human and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man’s land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again.”

Ok, Pema. I will try. I am always trying.

If anyone needs help finding the book or can’t afford a copy, let me know. I will try and get you one. xo

ilysm,

Amy