No one ever told me that when we grieve, we would really, truly become more alive, darling soul. But I wish they had. I wish that the words and wisdom of my ancestors could have enveloped me from my youth - from that very first undeniable loss that rocked my world and wrecked my roots (at least for a time). It has taken me thirty years to whisper peace over the person I was then. To wrap little me in my own arms and say, “your experience is valid.” I find myself saying this often to the mothers and birthing people who choose to process their grief in my presence, now.
Some days, I feel like I should make t-shirts with these words engraved upon them, “Yes, your experience is valid.” What can make us more human than to stand within our own grief and to listen to another’s grief, too, not in comparision (I’ve been known to say that "nobody’s hardship gets to be the hardest of all”) but as a gift received… that we know each other’s pain? If we do so, do we also realize that we cannot, for one second, live as separate anymore once that pain is known?
I think this is what is most worrisome for me about our world right now, loves. The separateness. Though we are not separate…
Colorado Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson shared her story of losing her hair through treatments for cancer a few years ago. How she lost every bit of self-proclaimed feminist furriness except her eyebrows. And then, one day, her dad woke up missing an entire eyebrow. The whole thing. You can listen to her poet-speak here.
How is it even the slightest bit possible that we are separate, my friend? No matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs, there isn’t a page in any book or text out there that has said we are separate. And, there isn’t anything in the world that can keep us from being one another’s if we truly want it.
Somethings gotta give, beautiful people.
We cannot maintain this level of faux separatness in our world, not only from each other but from plants and animals and ocean and land, and expect that any of us will remain sane. One of my teachers wrote about this the other day, and I’ve been thinking of how this applies to mental health. (If you know me, you probably knew we would head in this direction. Am-I-right?) When my daughter faced the most challenging time of her life this summer, we needed all the people. And, I most certainly called them in. In greater reflection, I wish that we had realized how deeply we would need the land too, though. Perhaps a weekend in the woods would have done us more good than a night in the ER. I might even try it if we happen upon this kind of disruption again.
We are not separate from one another. Because there is no other.
Is it time to release yourself from imagining that we are separate?
I’m not asking you to find the resonant tones of every heartbeat in humanity and make them your own. I’m simply asking that maybe you unharden any parts of your heart that say we are not one.
Is it time to undo learned some behaviors?
Is it time to assess the fragility of your own soul? I came across these words from Grief Worker Josea Tamira Crossley in my inbox. She says this about the fall season, which is all about release (something I take quite seriously to continue my work with birthing people and caregivers, for the value of my own soul):
Over the coming weeks, take time to slow down.
Walk and sit in nature.
Journal.
Dream.
Feel.
Set intention for what you want to create & uncreate in the coming year.
(Fall) marks the return to the underworld time.
Leaves falling to the ground and decaying - feeding the roots of the trees.
Life seems to move underground and along with it our psyches turn to our inner “underworld.”
Do not resist this!
The downward energy will heal you, if you give it a chance.
A lot of important things happen in the dark.
Life giving things.
Germination.
It’s a time for reckoning with grief, for deep reflection, and releasing what no longer serves us.
When we give grief space, it evolves us.
It transforms us.
Time to make space so we can let go into what truly does support us.
To navigate a slowing down into nourishment and restoring our energy…
(Through) radical rest.
We live in a time where rest is becoming less rare. There are countless people on my feeds who have set down addiction and picked up rest. (And perhaps gardening, too.) Who have given up the wildness of 24/7 on call life and picked up restorative practices, including community and partnership.
It’s now been 2 years since I reached burnout.
What I knew then is what I am certain of now. We must feel our feelings. It’s not optional. We must hear our inner child. S/he or they is screaming to be heard. And here, mother ourselves. Not because we have not been mothered, though perhaps that is the case.
We must sew intentional roots. Seek out the community we desire most. We must pick up hobbies, especially art. We must, must, must find time with nature and natural things. My mini farm gifts me this option. But a small plant will do.
I would love to hear how you are grieving, beautiful humans. I would be honored to know if you’re releasing something. If you’re letting go. Are you listening?
I’m trying my darndest.
I love you,
J. 🌻Jennifer Magnano
Call to action.
I haven’t written in a while and a lot of things have happened in the world these last two months. My call to action for you today is to wear out your praying knees with gratitude or grief, joy or lament. The more we commune with the Divine, the more that our souls come alive.
You’ll need silence and solitude for this, beloved. So remember to lean on your people or into your closet for a minute or five.
I see you.
Working on a support system? I love these beautiful printables from therapist/artist Lindsay Brauman.
P.S. Week four and my first month of spiritual direction school are coming to a close. It became immediately clear that I would need to clear more time from my schedule to be my most whole and present self. Now that I am working less (by choice), I would love to spend more time sharing this journey with you. If you feel so inclined to support my writing, please feel free to subscribe below and/or upgrade to paid readership. And if now’s not the time, know you are welcome here regardless.
New here? Dear Soul Tender is a safe, inclusive and progressive faith-filled space where you can find contemplations at the intersection of caregiving, pain and peace. My promise here is to remind you of how to love well. Yourself, your kids, your neighbor, and the whole wide world.
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