Tag Archive for: friendship

New ink, memories and finally seeing myself…

/1 Comment/in /by

I sat on our porch, overlooking the Great Smoky Mountains. We were nestled in a beautiful rental for the week, where we as a family had already made some everlasting memories. From the spectacle of Pigeon Forge: bright colors, King Kong hanging on the side of a building, dinosaurs, amazing food at Flavortown and so much for the senses to absorb, to Gatlinburg,(so much Ripley’s!) to the breathtaking beauty in the National Park, we enjoyed every single second together during Spring Break. It was a perfect mix of relaxing, laughing and holding on for dear life while riding on the many roller coasters at Dollywood. 

Our week together was about half finished as I wandered out to the porch after dinner. I had begun Theo of Golden by Levi Allen just a few days earlier and couldn’t wait to keep reading. What an astounding novel! The day had been full – seeing, wandering, worshiping as we enjoyed the outdoors, so relaxing in a rocking chair with a fantastic read was a delightful thought. My boys had gone on a hike and my youngest and her friend were giggling somewhere else in the cabin. 

Just as I was engrossed in Theo, I heard the screen door slide open behind me and the girls burst onto the deck.

They were pure joy! The giggles, care and more giggles from these two teens made my heart burst. Their “finishing each other’s sentences, harmonizing and just getting one another” connection was a wonder the whole week. This evening, they bubbled out, full of presence and quickly sat crisscross apple sauce by my feet. I smiled and closed Theo…

I watched Jasey move behind my daughter to braid her hair while my Sky held a shiny foil tube of henna and stretched out her leg. We had given them to her last year for her birthday and many times, I have watched her doodle, create and mesmerize with the “ink,”  on her friends or self. Her artistic talent is a wonder to me, whichever medium she chooses. She often will sketch in the evenings and never fails to astound us.

I can almost see her brain at work when she applies henna. I can’t describe it, but her artistic visions come out beautiful every single time. This time was no different, she began drawing a flowing, graceful, “hopeful (her words)” sunshine that I could nearly feel. She kept adding to the art on her leg and I could not take my eyes off her or her drawing. 

I am a huge believer of “moments,” becoming memories and for whatever reason, this one felt very precious to me. Maybe because I love the stories that are tattoos and the artistry. Maybe because I am truly jealous over her ability to create. I have entirely different talents. Maybe it was the dopamine from vacation, although I would say that I would’ve felt the same at home with her artistry, because I have. Mostly, the moments and her art are just magic. She finished drawing a while later, the boys returned and we got busy listening to my son strum his guitar and listening to nature, hoping we would see the black bears. 

The next day we explored The National Park again, the rivers, winding roads, lush vegetation and dappled sunlight that filled every crack between leaves and showed God’s artistry. 

I found myself torn; both awe and frustration as we stopped and explored. The bumpy, rocky and sometimes root-covered paths made keeping my balance so challenging. Even though my family walks with me, holds my hand and tries to anticipate all the help I may need, I still stumbled and before any of us realized, landed gracefully on my butt. It was too easy to feel like a burden to them.

The frustration is so real and so is my gratitude. 

My journey with my body, all the emotions, including a lot of anger, frustration and blaming my body for CP has been as long and as arduous as those paths in the national park. But it is one that I continue to traverse, because I know how much God himself calls our bodies, temples of the holy spirit. 

I listen to countless clients, friends, strangers and others beat themselves up, shame their bodies, engage in countless diets, difficulty and self hatred because of our bodies. 

I get it. And I’ve had my own emotional struggles, and have been working hard to find the love for this body that I encourage clients to seek for themselves. 

Here is the honest truth for me…it has been much easier to point anger, disgust and even close to hatred at these legs with CP than it has been to love, honor and care for them. For years….

But, God is, as always, working to redeem all the things of this earth, especially us. He has been doing more work in me than I have words for..

As I had sat watching my beautiful daughter create, and as I took in the wonder of God’s artistry of creation, (still absorbing the adrenaline from that fall), something whispered inside, “I also created those legs…and they too are a wonder…” 

The next morning, I asked Sky to create a similar drawing to hers on my leg. I just loved it so much…

She so willingly obliged. 

As she finished, it took my breath away. It was so pretty on MY leg, which made MY LEG PRETTY. 

As the morning went, dishes were drying, giggles continued abounding and plans formed for our last day of vacation. I couldn’t stop staring at the art on my leg, letting the henna dry so the picture would be deep and lasting. I walked to our room, sat on the bed and again looked down at my leg. 

“Babe?” I called to husband. His smile entered our room first, then he was beside me, also looking at our daughter’s art on my leg. “I think…”I said slowly…”we need to go the Black Orchid. I am not sure I can leave here without this being permanent.”

Before I go further, I need to tell you that I am not a stranger to tattoos. If you look back on my blog, there is an entire story about the meaning of the sleeve on my arm. 

The other thing I will say is that our beautiful son, just two days earlier had told us that he needed to add to his cross tattoo while we were here in Tennessee. He did a lot of research and had landed at the Black Orchid. He came out of there with a beautiful vine wrapped around the cross tattoo on his forearm. We were all in awe of it, the way it represented life, Jesus’s death, the beauty and new life that IS because of Jesus’s sacrifice. For me, it was also a beautiful memory of the trip, our time together and the wonder of it all. 

So…the Black Orchid was not quite as random as it seemed, though the idea of me putting a big tattoo on my leg must’ve felt that way…

Husband held my hand, the knowing look of our 24 years together on his face. I couldn’t put it all into words…and the love and life between us held the grace for the “suddeness of this idea,” and his trust in me. 

We began talking logistics, budget and the details of my hope for new ink out of Sky’s art.

“Let’s just go see…”

So, as we headed back to Pigeon Forge with a agenda for the day, I left the henna on my leg. 

For the last time of this trip, we took it all in, colors, the feeling of being dropped into a carnival, and some beautiful restored cars that were rolling in for an upcoming car show. My boys were in heaven!. 

We rolled up on the Black Orchid to find a bunch of the artists chatting outside. My son got out first, quickly getting a handshake from his tattoo artist. 

“Sal,” was quick to hear my idea. He disappeared for a few minutes after taking a photo of my leg. 

He came back a few minutes later with a price and excitement. His estimate was far less than hubby I expected. My heart just knew that God was doing something…

An hour later, my boys returned from all their “car exploring” to pick us girls up. Sal had beautifully tattooed my daughter’s beautiful design, from my knee to my shin. (And updated the very first tattoo I got in my 20’s, an icthys and the verse, “My grace is sufficient for you, in your weakness, I am stong.” (II Corinthians 12:9) The new and the old on these legs went so beautifully together.

It changes me…

I can’t love her art, see God in it’s beauty and fullness on my leg, and continue with anger, disgust and negativity about these legs. 

It represents God at the very center, his immense beauty and how he holds it all, between the sun, stars and moon with such gorgeous tenderness, even me (and this body with CP).

There are a couple Disney references, because of course there are! The lanterns, an image of how the king and queen (from Tangled) never gave up on their daughter (My Jesus is even truer, has never given up on me, these legs or this body). Also, the lanterns are the beginning of Rapunzel’s new dream (finding peace in this body is mine…).

Put it all together, on my leg and it is a vision…

It is an exercise in me not shaming these legs or trying to hide them any longer. It is deliberate beauty, from just below my knee to my ankle that certainly will get noticed because my artist is amazing and deserves that. It is release from a lifetime of complication and negativity, literally finally embracing the sun and how glorious it feels. It is the continued redemptive work that God himself does in my heart, body and soul, every minute of every day. 

So, I came home from Tennessee with so much more than beautiful permanent artwork on my leg – though that in itself is pure joy. I came home with a million fantastic memories, the awe of other parts of country I had not yet seen, more love and gratitude than I thought possible and the healing and new perspective that only God can give. I am forever grateful for it all.

Be sure, God is here for you. He sees, with such gentleness, your biggest insecurity and shame. And he LOVES you with it. He just loves.

I pray you see yourself with all the beauty that he created you with. I pray we can all remember that we are all fighting our own battles, that kindness and beauty heal so much more than hate and that you are always worth the work of healing. And the next time you are standing in line, somewhere, anywhere and you notice tattoos, ask. There is probably an incredible story embedded in all that ink.

xoxo

Both/And

Psalm 34

 

Every moment, a gift.

/0 Comments/in /by

I am not entirely sure when I really understood that we are not promised tomorrow or even really the next hour…

It may have been with the death of my beloved Gram. She was there, always there when I needed her. Until the knock on the door, the news that she’d died very suddenly without warning in the night.

Maybe it was going through the many deaths of high school students in my first social work job after Hope College. The loss of Gram gave me empathy for the students I met who grappled with the instant losses of friends, whether through car accidents, unknown illness and other reasons. I understood the shock on their faces, the anger, inability to understand a sudden, mortal reality and the pain of things left undone.

Yes, I really began to understand it then. But on a September night 25 years ago, the reality of our mortality hit me like a tsunami and I’ve never been the same.

A boy I loved, some extremely poor decisions by others and the instant death of 3 people taught me both how very fragile our time on the earth is and how every moment is a gift.

I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that my beliefs are also wrapped in the fact that I do not believe in entitlement. We just are not really entitled to anything as we live here. Not our health, our livelihood, our loved ones. I personally am not entitled to walk across a room like everyone else. But that I can walk at all? Well, THAT, like everything else I am given, is a gift.

My breath, my heartbeat, and my health. The sun on my face and the rolling clouds. My marriage and healthy, amazing kids. That I get to learn more about trauma and treating it every day; that I get to hear people’s hardest moments, deepest fears and greatest difficulties? Gifts, along with the moments of change, triumph and peace that come with the hard work of engaging in counseling. That those enduring unimaginable loss tell me that they feel hope? Gifts.

My son strumming Blackbird on his guitar or asking me to go for a ride in the Jeep he rebuilt? My daughter giggling with friends while making cookies or learning a new TikTok Dance? The love of some of the best teachers on the planet? Absolute gifts. Trying on homecoming dresses and having your older sister join the fun just because? A lightning show and pouring down rain? My oldest soaring to new heights as her life continues to unfold. The look on my love’s face, well, anytime? GIFTS. 

You may think I am sappy or really sentimental and emotional…or shake your head with bitterness, “must be nice Stacy.”

Here’s the truth. This perspective for me is the real deal, because I see, hear and experience the hardest moments and absolutely, don’t want to take a moment for granted.

I had a few very hard days this summer when I honestly wasn’t sure if my muscles were going to calm down and stop spasming. I was scared and longed for peace. Thankfully, thanks be to God, they did. But even as I am still re-learning how to walk, I am so grateful for how I came through those days. Even when I am irritated that I am STILL re-learning, I must return to gratitude that my muscles are not hurting at the level of those days, currently.

Though it will sound cliché and a lot like the chorus of an Aerosmith song, I really don’t want to miss a thing. I don’t want to miss a minute of my son’s senior year because there is a drumbeat telling me how fast this time goes. I don’t want to begrudge these hot days (even with, ahem…hot flashes,) because I am all too aware of the cold that will come here in Michigan. The late nights waiting for teens to get home, the moments with aging family members. I don’t have enough time for it all, I can’t be present enough and yet, I don’t want to miss anything about the people God has blessed me with, the life I am given and the moments…that all matter.

Before you think me as that idyllic mom or human, know this. It is not perfect. I expect too much sometimes, lose my shit in other moments and make big mistakes. I say or do the wrong thing, struggle with my own insecurities and get impatient. (We all wish we could miss those moments!)

Yet, the not missing those either is this: I get to be humble, apologize to my sweet family and give them a model of a really human mama. I get to pray with them, ask forgiveness and learn from them. We get to testify to the fact that grace abounds, that God’s grace IS SUFFICIENT and that HE is the giver of every good and perfect gift.

I always dreamed of raising kids in way that these were not just things we said, but instead, the real life reality among us. I am so profoundly grateful that I think we have.

We love people, believe in the good, life-giving presence of Jesus and because of it, every moment truly IS, A GIFT.

I don’t know where life finds you as you read this post. Maybe some roll their eyes and think I am saccharine. Maybe others have met us and see some version of this or DON’T. Maybe my hope and belief in the good makes you angry because, you think it is BS. And still others might wholeheartedly agree.

Whichever it is, or maybe another altogether, I want you to know, I think you are a gift. I pray you see, feel and know how important you are to others and to GOD himself. I pray you experience gifts every moment, the blessings and love of others, the sovereignty of Jesus and the hope of all that is yet to come.

I think I hear Aerosmith playing in the background….

Both/And

XOXO

Starting to remember…

/0 Comments/in /by

If you read my last post, you already know that there was some serious both/and going on for me last week, with Jesus, with living with CP and with the work I get to do with clients. I have a pretty cool follow up to share…

With all my wrestling last week, reading the book of Mark again (different at this point in my life,) and struggling with some pain and frustration due to re-learning my body post-pump implantation, I was pretty weary. I came to Friday which in some ways is my Sabbath after a busy week. I’ve been struggling with some insomnia due to some muscles and joints over-compensating for the new learning and still trying to figure out my balance. I was frustrated that God was “silent” about these issues, at least from my limited perspective, and there was a lot more output last week and a lack of input on my part to recharge. Friday was a perfect emotional storm for me (bless my dear husband!)

After some fantastic “therapy” with my dear friend and hairdresser, Kim, I spent some time trying to connect with Jesus, but felt stuck. I tried to journal, but just felt mad. I tried to work out and that only seemed to frustrate my already frustrated body.

Hubby was so wise, listened as I finally cried, “what if this is the best it gets?” I was referring to this “new body,” post-pump surgery.

“It’s not, we’ll get it figured out. Go see Luke.” He hugged me tight.

Luke is my physical therapist. He is the best combination of listener, encourager and coach in regards to recovering or relearning this body. I have seen him off and on for many years, as CP is not a one and done in terms of rehabbing. He is so familiar with my body’s quirks and is able to push me when I need it, reframe my frustration and cheer me on with the efforts of recovering. I am so thankful he is on my team. He also loves Jesus, which is an added bonus.

I warned him as he entered the room I waited in that I was going to cry today. He smiled and stated, “I’ve got Kleenex.”

I gave in to the frustration and weariness of the day, the fear that this was my new normal and also shared my wrestling with God. I lost count of the Kleenex I soaked for a few minutes.

He was reassuring as always, saying to me, “it is too early to know what your body will do with all the changes. We will keep working on it. I don’t believe this is as good as it gets for you.”

I sighed, thankful that he believed it and we got to work. An hour later, I walked out a bit easier, grateful for his perspective and professionalism, ability to help me understand these muscles better. I also always feel like these appointments are a gift from God (even though the efforts sometimes make me swear under my breath.)

After a stop at my favorite gift shop for a tiny bit of retail therapy, I felt another nudge in my spirit.

The wrestling as I was reading Mark had me stuck and I was not ok with that. I sat in my car in the sun and dialed my dear friend and Pastor, Ross. It was another few minutes of God-appointed conversation.

My tears again flowed easily, but as I fought my vulnerability, I also was grateful to be known and safe in my humanness. Ross is a great listener, encourager and friend. He also brought me the wisdom of his years of studying the Word, giving me perspective to chew on related to faith healing, my feelings of
injustice that God felt silent and encouragement to continue working it out with the God of the universe. He prayed for me with the compassion of one who knows, had no judgement for my “tantrum,’ for lack of a better word and just showed me the heart of the Savior in those few minutes on the phone.

Our evening was filled with friends who are family, the laughter and fun that were exactly what I needed.

The next day, I just rested, read, wrote and then another evening with dear friends. God was meeting all my needs with these interactions, prompting me to rest and just be. Behind the scenes I believe he was knitting together reminders of his presence, his love, care and meeting of my every need with the people in my life, his love and truth.

Sunday morning found me trying hard to get moving and get ready for church. All of the sudden, as I walked from my room to the bathroom and then the closet, my legs seemed to “remember” how to walk…

I stopped, taking in a breath. Before that moment, my movements had felt so forced, awkward and not my normal. But in that moment, my legs seemed to just take a few steps without me instructing every step. I looked at my husband who was also getting ready.

“Watch me walk a second, does that look normal?” I asked Matt. He nodded, then I asked him an even weirder question.

“Show me how you walk across the room.” Funny, he didn’t even flinch. He smiled at me, maybe shook his tush a bit and showed me again how to walk. In that moment, the tumblers in my brain seemed to fall into place a bit. It was both so strange and so miraculous. I have been waiting for this body to go back to normal, or at least find a natural pace without the lifelong spasticity I’ve had. Why this particular morning?

I think part of it was God’s very grace in saying, “I am not going to take CP from you. But I am here with you, I know you are kind of at your wit’s end. I am going to answer your prayer for relief differently than you are asking for. But I will always answer you. I am always in this with you.”

I felt the angst that had been building inside me since Friday at least (and probably longer), begin to dissipate with the feeling of Jesus’s presence in my steps. I felt the peace I had been seeking start to push the frustration from my body and a little bit of confidence in my steps move in and replace it.

In the few days since, I have not had to work nearly as hard for each step, emotionally or physically. I have been able to be kinder and more mindful with this body, trusting that the knowledge of how to walk is still there. Some of the overcompensating tendencies are settling down, which means also the pain that comes from overcompensating is mellowing as well.

I am stunned with the way God answered my prayer for relief this time. It is not the miracle that I hope for, that one moment I will have CP and the next it is gone. But, it is a miracle in its’ own way, that this body does indeed hold memory and that things are improving.

Thank you Jesus. Thank you for the permission to be angry, weary, lacking understanding and not holding it against me. Thank you not giving up on me. Thank you for the people in my life that show me more of who you are and meet me in the right ways and time because that is your prerogative. Thank you for relief that is different than I hoped, thank you that your ways are so much higher than mine will ever be. Thank you for the grace and mercy of new steps and that you are always in it with me.

I pray that you see God in the most unexpected places today, in the love and presence of people who are with you and are the very representation of Jesus. I pray that if you are feeling hope or hopeless, that you experience the presence of power of Jesus in the most amazing ways: the safety of loved ones, old things made new and surprise answers. I am praying for you…

Both/and

xoxo

Sometimes, it is good to howl….

/3 Comments/in /by

(Oh my heart…be brave my soul.)

“I can feel something welling up, deep in the pit of my stomach, a clenching I don’t have a name for. I have spent too many days, NOT caring for myself, AGAIN. Between family needs, schedules and even the joy, I have yet again, put my own needs on the back burner. As the days blur together, I can feel something building up inside me, something between anger, exhaustion and sheer overwhelming emptiness….”

“I don’t know the point in saying, “I am angry. Of course I am angry! It is endless. But it won’t change…I need to just get over it. Except, I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I say to myself, I am over it. I don’t understand it….”

“I will never be able to stop crying if I let myself start, it is too big, too painful. I will never stop. I just need to keep busy, keep going and keep working.”

“It was such a long time ago, it doesn’t matter anymore, right? I thought that if I just ignored the pain of what happened to me, I would forget. But I haven’t, I can’t. still, this many years later, when I close my eyes I can see and feel it all just like it is happening right now. I don’t know what to do anymore…..”

These sentiments are just a tiny glimpse into the daily life of brave clients…if these walls could speak, there is so much more.

Oh my heart….be brave my soul.

In this career I hold dear…(and maybe not just my career, but this very life), God has let me witness both so much tragedy and so much profound beauty. I don’t think I can truly describe it adequately.

Professionally, It came first in the form of children at my first internship when I supervised visitation between kids who had been removed from their parents care for a multitude of reasons. Even when the reasons for removal seemed the most legitimate, the kids AND the parents were doing their brave best in the most heart-wrenching situations.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

When I got my first job out of my undergrad, I began working with teens in a grassroots relational ministry. I was young, idealistic and introduced to the joy and heartache of life in ministry, earning the right to be heard while supporting teens and families in about every possible scenario over the course of 7 years. Standing with teens at a visitation of one of their beloved friends as they tearfully asked me, “what does she look like in that casket?” The gleaming dark wood casket was closed and raised up on the the opposite end of the funeral home. The kids moved slowly together, a dazed look, shock and pain raw, unable to wrap their minds around the sudden, tragic loss they were instantly thrust into.

Sometimes, you can’t do anything but howl…

I began my MSW program and came to understand the concept of family systems differently than ever before. I lost a dear friend one week after my program began and over the next year, learned what grief truly was. It was one of the hardest, growth years of my life. The the next year, after a lot of soul searching, prayer and the uncomfortable feeling of the right thing not always being the easiest thing, I began an internship at Hospice. I was changed in every single way, the holiness and tenderness of this calling – from my supervisor who taught me about peace and hope through her life, how to care for clients through her expertise and authenticity and boundaries through her intentional approach to nearly everything.

An unforgettable client taught us all about living while she was dying, gave us unique and needed perspective as we were stunned, huddling around TVs on my first day there, 9/11/2001. She sat on her small deck that morning, overlooking a pond, waiting for the temperature to rise enough to release the butterflies she had watched over from being caterpillars to beautiful, painted ladies. I will never forget her calm demeanor talking about war, global events and life experiences she’d lived through. She was sad, but not stunned as we watched the Twin Towers fall. She described “other, difficult things, saying, this too, shall pass.” Somehow, I believed her, even on this day.

Oh, my heart…be brave my soul.

I began my second internship at a counseling center, learning about resistance, court-mandated clients and how to let clients own their own problems and outcomes. My heart broke, while sitting face to face with a parent whose child had been removed after the child was hospitalized with a broken arm. The parent was “sure I haven’t done anything wrong.” I was distraught, faced with providing positive, unconditional regard and feeling this childs pain. I was also pregnant with my first child.

I sat across from many during those 6 years, learning as much in the pain as I did in the growth and change. I became a clinician, who has still, so much to learn. I learned to trust myself more, that many things will not be fixed or even made better. Sometimes, all I could do was witness a client’s painful truth and the difficulty it requires to exact lasting change. A boy who’d been in countless foster homes had such a difficult time coming, being vulnerable. Week after week, I asked my supervisor “how to help him.” She reminded me that often counseling takes a long time, which could mean years and most likely, I would not be the one to see it. She gave me the analogy of how one therapist might plant seeds, another watering the same seeds and another, seeing a flower bloom. At the time, I really wanted to be that person to reach my client (I wasn’t), but I have held that analogy close for many years.

I vacillated while becoming a mom of 3, between Hospice work and agency counseling. I met a widowed parent raising multiple teens who had “hoped it would all go away after the funeral.” Two years later, it still hadn’t and we needed to go back before going forward. We went through.

Another parent, in a moment, had to navigate shock, selflessness and courage while shifting very quickly into complex, traumatic grief and loss.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

In my life, outside of my career, I experience inspiration through everyone I meet…A young boy named Bill whose smile lit up a room; how he bravely fought a brutal, debilitating disease and his family showed me the meaning of grace in their care for him. Em, allowed me into some of her most vulnerable days and thoughts, taught me that CP was NOT all there was to me and the meaning of “rising above.” Les, who has for over 25 years inspired me by being the very definition of tenacity, fearlessness, loyalty and love. She and her spirited friend, Monica taught me sacrifice and the horror of gun violence in front of my eyes – so much worse than it seems in the movies. Mason and his beloved family, lesson after lesson in beauty, sacrifice and the love of Jesus. J and J, P and T who live out the redemption of dreams deferred and God’s sovereignty unfolding. My dear friend Shelly who teaches me more about the sacrifice of motherhood than I can comprehend. This list is not even the beginning…and there are so many, too many to list.

oh my heart…

In all the journeys, the pain, the beautiful and the in-between, I’ve learned this: the only way through, is through.

We used to read Going on a Bear Hunt to our kids, at least 55 times a day when they were little, until all 5 of us had it memorized.

“You can’t go over it…you can’t go under it, you have to go THROUGH it!” We would yell that refrain! It became a metaphor for both hard things in our family and in my clinical work. I even bought a small board book of Helen Oxenbury’s version and set it on the table for clients. It never failed to evoke an moment of understanding or even tears sometimes as the message became real.

Be brave my soul….

Psalm 13 (my very favorite and an amazing biblical both/and) says:

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

Both the heartache and the praise, fear and trust. Yes, Lord God, be in, both, with and for us. Loss and hope, agony and trying to find something akin to joy. This is real and true, the purpose in the calling, at least for me. As I teach it in my work, learn it for myself and pray for the grace and mercy we all need, I also know this: holding the both/and is the truest path to peace I have ever come to. Because I know God understands AND loves me in both.

May we take care of ourselves: take a walk, call mom (or dad,) attend a class and learn new skills. Seek counseling. Breathe deep, smell the flowers, blow out the candles. Pray or meditate. Walk slowly, speak only kind words to ourselves. Lean into our people, the ones who know and love the authentic versions of us. And may we allow ourselves to go through.

“Crying releases stress hormones, swearing increases pain tolerance. Anger motivates us to solve problems. Silence and smiles aren’t the only way to respond to pain. Sometimes its good to howl.” Anonymous

I often close sessions with “be kind to yourself” and full disclosure, how my own therapist closes with me. Sometimes, I add this – howl if you need to, cry, and rest. Most often, those are the very paths that lead to the best parts of healing.

Both/And

Psalm 13