One thought for May: It's okay
Here’s the thing: I have a list a mile long of next posts—Mother’s Day gift guide, NYC favorites, essays about this or that. But as I mentioned in my last post, I’m feeling… everything these days. I’m feeling delighted for our son graduating and going off to college. I’m also feeling the grief of that. I’m feeling so grateful for springtime, for the natural world, for the beauty that surrounds us, and also deeply deeply troubled about what’s happening in our country.
I’m not sleeping great, and sometimes when I lay down to sleep it feels like the day has been a week long, at least—beautiful and frustrating, moments I want to hold onto forever and also bruises and bumps because life is hard for all of us. I’m trying to unravel some of my life-long patterns of anxiety and over-functioning that both seem to have spiked this spring, and I’m longing for more peace, more grace, more exhale. I saw a friend I love this week, and her deep exhaustion was written all across her body, and I recognized it, and I wanted to fix it—both in her and in me, and I can’t.
I can’t fix it, but I want to. I’m finding that sometimes when I’m in this spot—feeling it all, holding it all, instead of giving myself the space and grace that would offer a little relief, I hold tighter. I run faster. I strap more on my back and clench my teeth. I don’t want to do that anymore. It’s okay to not do that anymore.
I know, I know, there are real life things to do. I know. There are work responsibilities and deadlines and omg so many forms to fill out for school stuff in May. I’m not going to just zone out because it’s hard, and neither are you. BUT. But what if the way through is softer? What we make space for it all inside ourselves, that chaotic soup of joy and outrage and love and fear and hope and springtime and grief? What if we welcome it tenderly, stop just for a second, bend close to listen to it, instead of dragging it around like backpack—distraction, pushing, aching, go go go.
What I wish I could do, in a magical world, is give us all a place to slow down, to unravel, to lay down what we’ve been carrying. I wish there was a clearing in the woods big enough for all of us, a soft place to land, the smell of the earth, the hum of the wind in the branches over our heads.
I wish we could sit across from one another, and I’d lean forward and hold out my hand for yours—tell me more, tell me more, tell me more. I wish we could walk shoulder to shoulder in silence for a while, feeling bolstered by one another’s presence.
Here’s what I’d say in that clearing, under the canopy of branches:
It’s okay to slow things down, to say no, to ask for help
It’s okay to plunge right in, dance with joy, feel the exuberance of springtime
It’s okay sleep in
It’s okay to wake with the sun and the birds
It’s okay to grieve the endings of all sorts of things
It’s okay to also feel relief about the endings of those exact same things
It’s okay to stay out a little too late, go a little too hard, shake and dazzle and fizz like a bottle rocket
It’s okay to curl up in bed
It’s okay to work really hard on something you love, to pour yourself into it, to feel like time’s stopped while you’re building, making, dreaming, planning
It’s okay to let go of something that just isn’t working
It’s okay to be really afraid and angry about what’s happening in our government. It’s okay to turn off the news sometimes. It’s okay to lovingly end conversations with people who don’t understand why this is so painful for you
It’s okay to cry
It’s okay to celebrate
It’s okay to go for a long drive listening to a cheesy song that makes you feel young, just for a minute
It’s okay to have popcorn for dinner
It’s okay to lavish the people you love with elaborate, sweet, thoughtful care
It’s okay to want that same care sometimes
It’s okay to sit outside in the fading sun and read a great book instead of doing the dishes—they’ll be there later
It’s okay to skip church and sit in the woods instead—sacred spaces abound
It’s okay to show up at church for the first time in so long, and it’s okay to feel both brave and terrified right at the same time. It’s okay to cry when they sing that song
It’s okay to feel tired
It’s okay to feel weak
It’s okay to love the world so much it scares you sometimes
It’s okay to worry for your children
It’s okay when they struggle (although it’s so so hard to watch. It’s okay that it’s hard to watch)
It’s okay to want to stop time
It’s okay to wish these days would just pass faster
It’s okay to ask for what you need
It’s okay to not ask but tell
It’s okay to stop everything and breathe
It’s okay to stop everything
It’s okay to stop
It’s okay
It’s okay
It’s okay