The Grief is the Growth
I wake up every morning to candlelight and go to bed the same at night, post chocolate melatonin mostly for the taste, and a heavy wave of lit sage to clear away stale energy. The candles are in reverence — to both the darkness and the light, an ending and a beginning. Yesterday as I watched them burn, I honored the idea of savoring — candles burning slowly, in reverence to this moment in time, not rushing or waiting, simply savoring the darkness and the light because without one there wouldn’t be the other. Such duality can be found in everything. The sweet tastes sweeter if we acknowledge the sour. But if we don’t slow down, we can’t taste either.
Life forced me to slow down — or asked me to, and I listened. Covid closed my studios, nearly two years of psychedelic assisted therapy revealed a life time of trauma buried in my subconscious, and so I was offered an opportunity to stop “distracting” and start healing —
And the opportunity to just be … here. When we are where we are, we can experience everything with reverence, an offering. We can taste the flavors in the food we eat —we can more thoughtfully choose the words we speak, and listen, intentionally. We can move with our bodies, using our energy, more grounded, with less anxiety.
As I’ve slowed down, physically, energetically, literally — my life has shown up more rhythmically, flowing with me instead of against me. Slowing down also means choosing me, actively listening to what I need, honoring what I have and embracing boundaries, with gratitude for this moment, less doing, more being. “Let it be … “
As I savored the candlelight yesterday morning, the warm glow reflecting back at me, my eyes welled up with tears of joy, love and hope, reflecting on the journey I’ve shared here, that I so often wanted to rush through instead of lean into all the lessons offered to me. But I continued surrendering mostly, and kept going. There were times that fight showed up heavily but the dam eventually broke and I learned in real time to trust the timing of my life and just let the journey unfold. Said timeline isn’t up to me — and life often felt too painful to savor anything, but for the first time in my life, I feel the light, dare I say, I feel free.
“The wound is where the light enters.” - Rumi
Yoga has been my longest relationship to date, 21 years and going. In the past few years, I’ve found myself in chair pose daily, each class “sitting” back, hips low, chest high, I hear a whisper, “Rumi.” At first I thought this was a clue of sorts, a puzzle piece, as I’ve been putting back together my pieces like Humpty Dumpty via each memory and medicine journey — but what did it mean? Rumi was a night club I’d been to once or twice on South Beach. “Did something happen to me there?” I wondered, sifting through old memory. Until I realized, it was a sign to lean into the Sufi poet, Rumi, one of my spirit guides, whose lessons continue serving me gifts that keep giving.
“There is a voice that doesn’t use words, listen.” - Rumi
In the past eight months I’ve questioned, “Who are we without our stories?” But I wasn’t yet ready to drop mine. I didn’t know who I was without mine, because I didn’t know what was on the other side. I was gripping onto whatever I could because “beginning again,” felt too extreme. I gripped onto my former relationship, the idea of rebuilding box + flow, and the external definitions I so long identified myself by. Reflecting back on my overt sharing over the past two years, so much intimacy, I realize that while it felt cathartic at the time, it was also shared from deep inner wounding, my “need to be seen,” because for so long I’d felt empty and unworthy. Sharing was a release, it made it feel like it was less mine — as if I was reporting from the outside, looking into my life. That dissociation was in some ways how I kept going, because the pain too heavy to carry, to truly admit that this was my life.
“The pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.” -Rumi
As I descended in Alice in Wonderland style, two+ years down the rabbit hole peeling back layer after layer of subconscious memory, I could barely believe the enormity of what I was remembering. Which is why healing work is really “integration,” taking said findings and integrating them back into your life. And so, as I come out of the darkness and step into my light, I’ve been integrating — sharing less and feeling more, ascending into a new life post breakup, and post therapy, presented with an empty canvas to actually create from, and a lot of silence to dig into “Who Am I?” I leaned into different modalities — used all sorts of healing tools and modalities to bring myself back to life and in between, I’ve been listening. I’ve taken time to sit with me, savoring everything, in quiet. Waking up slowly, eating mindfully, moving cathartically, expressing openly, the gift of just being is the most giving. And yet it is so often taken for granted because so many of us can’t tolerate stillness, being with our own minds.
“IF you want the moon, do not hide from the dark.
If you want the rose Do not hide from the thorns
If you want love, do not hide from yourself.”— Rumi
But I kept sitting, leaning into, befriending my stillness. My meditation practice expanded exponentially, no books, no TV, just me. Savoring the quiet allows me to listen to my intuition and my heart speak. We have to learn ourselves to love ourselves, in the quiet. Facing me, the internal discomfort that stillness brings is where our answers lie, which is why you might very well have trouble meditating. And instead choose distraction, filling your body or your time with extra, self-sabotaging, because it often feels easier to hide from our own minds. It is in the quiet that the pain, the fear, the doubt, the self pity, the anxiety (and often the trust), reside.
When I left my relationship in November and moved into my apartment my new home, so much of me didn’t want to leave but I had to trust me. The door was open to welcome me, it felt like a warm hug, hugging me, I shared love stories with task rabbits, hung jungle wallpaper adorned with yellow butterflies, symbolic of the spirit of my late grandmother Honey. Every night, I belly flop onto bed and make snow angels before my head meets the pillow where I thank all of those who’ve held me, and send love to those I’m holding. Each morning, I rise to candlelight, before kneeling at my bedside. I always wanted an altar to pray in front of — to thank God, spirit, Pachamama, the universe, my family, for saving me time and again. And so I built an altar. Building my new home feels like my own homecoming.
But before I came home, I was hit with an enormity of grief I’ve never felt before. In the solitude of my space and my company, in the quiet where I feel safe, my descent got dark before this Phoenix could rise. Alone, my heart all but exploded. I had to combust fully to understand the depth of feeling I was capable of, I had to die to understand the capacity of living. It was heavy. I’d never felt the gravity of such sadness — I grieved for all parts of me, for all the people I’ve lost along the way — pushed away, didn’t let love me because I didn’t love me, and grieved just thinking about those I love so much that I will lose one day. I had to lose me to find me. And in doing so, I realized, the grief is the growth.
Dance until you shatter. - Rumi. And so I did. I fell to my knees and shattered again.
Take me I’m yours, I said.
Leave me I’m mine,” I replied.
I repeat this, time and again.
A reminder to give with grit,
and receive with grace.
I’ve learned we have to stay grounded in order to grow,
Find our feet before we jump,
But it’s that push pull that keeps us great,
That gives us grit, That gives us grace.
Balance comes to mind, a forever goal, The ebb and flow.
But things often go awry. So I do as Rumi says,
“When the world pushes you to your knees,
you’re in the perfect position to pray.”
Well it certainly wasn’t as animated, but thanks Frozen, I “let it go…” As my heart melted in a psychedelic assisted therapy over New Years Eve, I realized that for decades I’d been frozen. And so I melted, literally — my body was icy, I couldn’t get warm until I let the cries come out of me, and as they did, my body warmed. I “un-became” me, shedding all the layers defining me, subconsciously, the shut down parts of me still protecting my heart, ego, old stories, limiting beliefs. I fell to my knees and shattered. Ahhh, I realized, “I” was the missing piece, hiding beneath layers of sadness and hurt, frozen feelings, aka complex PTSD protecting my beautiful little heart — pure love, joy, living. As I cracked open, my cries bellowed from my belly, years of sadness and stuck energy exited me. I howled from the hollow of my bones, purging pain that wasn’t even mine but put on me, which I put on myself as a result: self blame, rage, self pity, frozen, and then my heart exploded.
As my body came back to life I had a deep knowing that I was never alone, that something greater was always holding me. I’m still here because of the voice that doesn’t say anything. And so I listened closer to the voice guiding me back home. Yep, I found God. I’ve always been a believer but I couldn’t assign it to much of anything. But slowing down and hell, shattering, allowed me to savor all of his offerings— Because life is happening for me, not to me.
With grace, my heart filled with love, my body awakened. I was exalted. I was up for 13 nights, no sleep, awoken by vivid imagery and heavy sweating. I saw my body being lifted out of all the places it was left, violently — leaving each traumatic experience, realizing that it is only by the God’s grace, that I am alive. And in faith, I know he’s always held me, it was just up to me to realize.
After I fell, I began rising, in deep reverence and gratitude, knowing that I was given this life, and experiencing the magnitude of my broken frozen heart was what I needed to realize the gift of being alive. How selfish of me to take even one breath for granted knowing that nothing is promised. Life is in real time. And with this new lease on life, I’m going to live it. I was never my pain, nor my story, but for years I’ve been strong enough to carry it and now I am soft enough to let it go and forgive me.
Forgiveness freed my inner child. I’m dancing again, singing, moving without force, letting the music move through me, listening to what my body asks of me, not questioning. My canvas is far from blank, as is my resume, but it sure feels like a new beginning — with scars that tell my story, but fading, leaving behind a massive wingspan and a big smile shining all of the love I’ve been too afraid to give and receive — love wasn’t taken away from me, just hiding in me until I was ready.
Climbing a stair master in Sun Valley, last June, the podcast I listened to invited my initial pondering. “Who are you without your story?” I looked down at my sweatshirt that read, “Mas Amour Por Favor.” Without my story, I am just love. And love is everything.
Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there. — Rumi
I’m falling in love with myself and my life. I’m not just dating me, I’m fully committing to me, marrying me, ever faithful to me and my journey. Pace over race, life in real time and so I’m savoring. Because now I know — on the other side of pain is love. On the other side of fight is flow. On the other side of dark is light. And in the middle of it all is a choice receive life’s lessons or bypass in fear of deep feeling, living on autopilot. Let me suggest surrendering, no matter the weight of what you’re carrying, in trust, as you move toward the light.
We are where we are because we are here.
We are who we are because we are.
And all of the millions of messy pieces that brought us here can be built into our own mosaics, of love, that which we are all worthy of. Trust the timing of your life.
And if you’ve lost hope, I see you. Believe me though, the grief is the growth. Face yourself to free yourself. It isn’t easy but it doesn’t have to be so hard. Slow down, savor everything, allow yourself to feel, to heal, to learn, unlearn, and love again.
Your task is not to seek for love, but to seek into All the Barriers within yourself you have built against it. - Rumi
If I can, you can. Without pain, there is only love. Start living, start loving.
All my love to you, Olivia
For YouTube Videos:
My morning prayer: https://youtu.be/tTcFrVmv_TU
I’m a believer: https://youtu.be/C0ebOCad0Sw