An Honest Update

Amor Fati: The discipline of embracing every event as necessary for your path.

Dear Friend,

I’ve been quiet here for some time. I have found myself in a space of free fall, if you will. Two weeks ago, my marriage of twenty years, officially ended. These past several years have been a deeply harrowing season of my life.

Of standing in the ashes of something I never wanted to burn down, and knowing it was the only healthy path forward.

Of being there for my precious son, while also learning how to be there for all of me, while so much of my familiar falls away.

When I was in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety, I remember being envious of the trees.

For their roots and the network that is accessible to them.

How those that surround them can sense when they’re in despair and will rally to send the needed nutrients to better resource and replenish the tree.

That trees have a built-in system to know when another is hurting without the one in pain bearing the responsibility for the distress signal.

In this season of navigating divorce and profound loss, I often find myself sitting with that same ache. The longing for support, connection, being seen and not being solely responsible for every f*cking thing.

To finally safely exhale.

Fully.

Loneliness, anger, grief and deep sorrow are too frequent visitors.

And they ask the impossible of me.

To welcome them.

To sit with them.

To allow their expression, uninhibited.

To feel them.

To not be afraid of them.

To stop running.

To put down the distractions.

To be curious about their presence.

To want to embody their teachings.

Wanna know why it feels so impossible to grant them this?

Because it means surrendering to my inability to fix what needed to break.

That I have to witness my young son’s heartache over now living in two separate homes.

That I’m no longer there for every “good night” and “good morning.”

That I now miss out on “firsts” and other priceless moments with him that are absolutely irreplaceable.

I have to relinquish my perceived control of my life, plans, hopes and long-held dreams… that no amount of over-functioning could ever begin to save.

I have to bravely face my own truths of what I survived and trust the brutal decisions I made.

I’m learning to hold space for myself.

And maybe the hardest part? Letting my care be enough.

It all feels like more than one heart should hold.

I believe it was Glennon Doyle (or maybe Elizabeth Gilbert?) who advised to only write from our scars, not our wounds.

It’s hard to imagine all of this ever healing enough to scar, but I have started to wonder if learning to sit with that from which I only want to run, and release that to which I so tightly cling to, maybe it could begin to heal?

So, here I am.

Messier than ever.

Also more open than ever.

And braver than ever.

Before I leapt, I thought that would be the hardest part. Deciding to actually jump. Come to find out, it’s being in free fall, while cultivating the conditions for my wings to sprout.

This beloved poem by Rumi recently made its way back to me and reminds me of what’s necessary to continue to heal:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Thank you for being here.

To being brave enough to leap,

Adrian Hygge, FNP 🖤