With Every Ending, A New Beginning

Take a few days off.

That was the suggestion that my guide + coach, Anastasia, suggested. I was hesitant, but I trust her, so I did it. It’s been a doozy. My life flipped upside down, and today, I am stepping out into the world to see some clients and witness what’s processing.

Working offers a great thing for me: distraction. I love working. I hold space and watch people grieve, express, and process. Seeing clients is the thing that keeps me feeling purposeful and trusting. I am constantly in connection with my higher power and higher self, which is wonderful. After losing a family member, and then experiencing three diagnoses of cancer in my family (all in the span of two weeks) however, my work kept me from feeling my own pain and grief.

Avoiding grief feels like binge-eating candy. The sugar lifts you higher and higher until finally, you’re in a lollipop world that isn’t real. You put the sugar down and then, wham, it all crumbles down. I knew that it was coming, but I wasn’t really believing it. I thought I could avoid it. I meditate, I breathe, and I hoped this was just how it would look for me. Calm, still waters gently washing away the sadness.

“Okay, Anastasia. I’ll take a fews days,” I said. I truly thought I’d be bored.

The space of quiet is undeniable. The minute I agreed to take days off, I got hit with the most intense head cold. It was only my sinuses, and despite my impeccable neti pot practice, nothing helped. The virus made me tired. I was forced to sit; I wasn’t able to do much. I couldn’t do social things, or take a yoga class, or go for a long walk. I just sat.

And as I sat, I thought about things. Deep things that we talk about at parties or in classes, but never really allow to extend out. Life, our purpose and path; Death, the unavoidable ending (or beginning, depending on how you view it); Pain, the process; illness, healing, growth, aging, etc. I cried, and I cried. As I walked out of the grocery store with my husband on the 23rd of December, I cried. I felt weak. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

Christmas came and went. We saw our children, and my father (since I was sick, I couldn’t see my mother and risk getting her sick prior to her lumpectomy), and we stayed in for days. It feels like I’ve been in a time warp. (What is time, really?) I processed a lot, and my husband really gave me space to move through it. He offered hugs, a listening ear, and coffee.

Having just moved toward a plant-based, whole foods diet, I wasn’t able to mask my feelings with food. I wasn’t able to binge eat nacho chips with cheese, or drown my sadness with chocolate. Somehow, binge eating rice and beans doesn’t have the same effect. I felt it all. I am still feeling so much.

I reached out to friends with requests for support, guidance and help. I sent messages and texts and made videos to them. They know that I don’t need to be cheered up or be given an answer. They understand that I just need to be heard and maybe get some advice on how to navigate.

I’ve shared this today because I want you to know that it’s okay to be in the middle. It’s okay to be in between good and not so great. It’s okay to slow down, let go, and be.

This new year is going to be one that will teach me to yield. I’ve cut my offerings down to less than half of what I offered in 2019. I will continue to offer group healing (circles and workshops) to people who are ready and excited to do the work. And when I’m not holding space for those offerings, I’ll be taking part in the offerings of others, resting, and visiting the horses. xox