The art and practice of forgiveness

Roses are the flowers of love,
a true love stronger than thorns. 
Forgiveness is the ultimate
act of love. 

Forgiveness is one of the hardest things we do, along with self-compassion. Forgiveness isn't about forgetting, or letting someone off the proverbial hook. But it is about letting go, and creating space for peace of mind. 

Forgiveness also isn't about doing something for someone else; while it is a gift to them, it's an even bigger gift to yourself. 

Practicing forgiveness

I had an experience last weekend that took me by surprise, and triggered an emotional response that I in no way expected. 

So now, I'm trying to find space within myself to forgive: my friend, who's grieving a major loss and lashed out in anger, and myself, for not anticipating that something I said could be received in a way I hadn't intended, and for my teary and completely befuddled and reactive response. I believe fully that the few words I chose were said with no intent to minimize or take away from her in-the-moment experience. And, that's how they landed.     

...Holding space

Holding space for someone isn't easy. It's being present and allowing what is to just be. It's stillness, understanding, grace, and getting our egos out of the way. It's also forgiveness. 

As Amy Wright Glenn writes in Holding Space, On Loving, Dying and Letting Go, we fear holding space in part because we don't want to say the wrong thing. "We don't want to add to the pain and suffering." Of course we don't. I certainly didn't. And yet, even though my words came from love, and while in no way meant to add to or even ease suffering, they were heard in ways I didn't and couldn't predict.  

Under normal circumstances, my friend would assume positive intent... (the only kind of assumption we should ever make, by the way, and one we should make often), but grieving such a loss isn't a normal circumstance. 

Letting go...

Surrender. Forgive. Let go. Those are the words that keep coming up for me as I process my own experience this last weekend. We all do the best we can in any given circumstance with the knowledge and capability we have. I know this to be true, in this case for her and for me; I also know "one's best" may be different every day, every moment, and that not everyone will see one's best in the same same way.  

Relationships are truly the hardest things we do, and there are times when I want to throw up my hands and say, "I'm done!" and isolate like my mother did. But that's not the answer. 

Practicing presence

Show up. Listen. Witness. That's what we do for the grief-stricken. I did those things, as well as cried, held, and honestly said few words.  

I'm not a therapist, and I know better than to wear my coaching hat when not asked. I showed up as a caring friend and nothing more. And yet, my few words were interpreted as the wrong words, words that apparently felt invalidating and unsupportive of her feelings and her need to be present with them, pushing her along before she was ready. 

I know myself well enough to know I wouldn't invalidate or not support. We must go through our experience, and the more we can dive in, bathe in it, breathe it in, the more meaningful and powerful it will be for us. It's necessary—and yes, it's necessary for healing. 

Because we do heal from loss and grief. 

And while loss stays with us until we, too, say goodbye to the mortal plane, it won't always be our daily moment-by-moment experience—hard as that may be to hear when we're right there in it. We must stay in those depths for as long as it takes. There is no timeline for grief, and there are no shortcuts. The one caveat—if after a period of time (for many, it's typically one to two years), we're still overcome with sadness and can't find joy in any part of our lives, we may need to get help from a skilled outside source.  


The tension of opposites...

There is both beauty and anguish in grief. I know this from personal experience; I've had many losses throughout my life—most of my immediate family, many extended family members, and some of my closest friends have died too young, lost to disease, drugs, depression, and accidents. In my earlier days, I endured huge abandonment issues that still show up on my very worst days. 

What I know most of all is how grief shows up differently for all of us. We each have our own process, and it's even different each time. There is no pushing through. We must feel what we feel, because there are consequences if we don't. 

So... we must give ourselves and those we love a lot of grace, and the room to make mistakes—we must hold space for and forgive again, and again, and again. Because dammit, there is no great love without great loss. 

Onward. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

5 simple steps to take when nothing feels possible...

Spring is late this year;
the crocus only just showed its colors.
Nighttime temps are still in the 30s (F). 

Maybe it's just Mercury in retrograde. I'm not very versed in what that means, but when others remind me, I usually say, "Oh! Now it makes sense!" 

What I notice is that something doesn't feel right. Planetarily, Mercury went retro on March 5, so that could explain my last week or so.

I've felt a little SAD (for those who live in sunnier climes, that's Seasonal Affective Disorder—an acronym that actually describes its associated feeling) and unproductive. I couldn't put my finger on why, even with valid reasons like a long winter and painful anniversaries of long-past March events.

I don't track retrograde dates, and...  should there be actual truth to the retrograde effect, those who know say it contributes to crossed communication, unexpected tensions, missed connections, etc. Rather than make bold moves, sign contracts, or have heartfelt conversations, they say it's a better time to reflect and just be. However, I know some of us don't do this well without prompting.

So let this be your prompt. 

Take time out, stop, think, and contemplate what you want your world to look like, be like. The time for action will come—just not yet.

Here's a list of simple, albeit not always easy, self-care strategies to use until you can take your next steps. It might require some mental gymnastics or shifting some energy, but you can do that. There's not a lot of 'action' in these steps.

1. Be compassionate and forgiving of yourself. Feelings of unworthiness, self-doubt, ineffectiveness, or just low energy, can show up and stop us. Remember this happens to everyone, even though our social media highlight reels make that seem untrue. Here's a line I've read and heard numerous times: Don't compare your insides to someone else's outsides.  
2. Check your self talk. If your inner critic is doing all the talking, think about how you'd talk to your best friend. Then do that for yourself. What would you want that friend to tell you right now? Say that. And say it over and over, even if you don't believe it.  
3. Take stock and do small things. What are you able to do right now? Can you go for a walk? Have coffee with a friend? Maybe listen to a meditation app like Insight Timer or affirmations online. If it's too much work to make a green smoothie, can you buy one? If you usually pray but can't, listen to the Hawaiian Hoʻoponopono. Whatever you can do, do that, and acknowledge yourself for it. Know that food and exercise affect your mood, so even small tweaks can help lift the fog. 
4. Be grateful. Every day, remind yourself and reflect on what you're grateful for in that moment. 
5. Surrender. Sometimes, that's all there is to do. I've found that word coming out of my mouth more times than not lately. My word, or theme, for the year, is manifest... but perhaps surrender must come first.  

And here's a bonus step. Ask for help. I add this as a bonus because most of us can't, or won't, ask. It's a very hard thing for many to do. But it's also important. And if you can't, or won't, ask someone with the physical or emotional means to help, then say it out loud or write it down and let the universe, your higher power, or whatever you believe, think, or hope might be out there, know. Ask for what you need and be specific.

It gets better...

Even during our darkest hours, there's always something to hope for and be grateful for. As Leonard Cohen sang, the cracks are how the light gets in. When we're stuck and pondering, frustrated and worried, we can trust that answers will come, and at some point, everything will look better and brighter than before. It's almost always true.

Note I say this from a place of relative comfort—I am healthy, partnered, and I have a job and a home. I know at least one of these isn't true right now for people I care deeply about. Still, despite the sadness I feel and my desire to take their pain away, I must trust that what happens in our lives leads to our highest and greatest good. I know it's been true for me, and I've had some hard knocks.

When we stop learning and leaning in to life, even its hardships, we stop living. And damned if that hard sh*t doesn't move us forward in ways we couldn't have imagined. It won't feel like it at the time, and likely won't for a long time, until one day we look back in hindsight and realize we're thankful for what we gained. We learn to navigate, and with that, we get closer to having the lives we want, when so much more is possible.

Mercury leaves retrograde on the 28th, when spring will be in full swing. So if waiting it out is what you've got, do one of those small things listed above. Even if they feel hard. They'll keep the momentum moving so that when the fog lifts, you can take that next step, and maybe even leap.

What's your strategy when the fog rolls in thick and heavy, and nothing feels possible? Let me know what works for you.

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find out more here.