The body is wise
“I’m writing my story so that others might see fragments of themselves.” - Lena Waithe
Today's newsletter is personal. If you know my story, then maybe you've already heard some of this. Nonetheless, I'm asking you to approach it with a beginner's mind.
Let go of your assumptions, set aside judgment, and meet me for the first time again.
I spent the majority of 2022 resting, and it saved my life. I wish I could say that I gracefully accepted this year’s call to intentionally pause. Truthfully, it felt as though I had no choice but to rest.
After a long month supporting my family and helping my siblings at the start of this year, I returned back to California, excited for a fresh start. With the holidays behind us and my family-related to-do list complete, I was planning on finally giving my business the time and energy it needed to thrive.
But when I got home, I felt as though the weight of every emotion I had experienced over the last decade of my life was hitting me all at once.
Family
When my mom, Gwendolyn, started showing signs of early-onset Alzheimer's at the young age of 55, I had no idea what lay ahead for my family. No one can prepare you for the realities of intimately watching a loved one battle a neurodegenerative disease. No one can prepare you for the realities of caregiving.
Personally, no one could prepare me to let go of the woman my mother was.
I remember one afternoon in particular, about three years into her journey. I was using children's flashcards to help my mom practice sight words. She was already losing her ability to read and struggling with some of the words. I was patient and enthusiastic, encouraging her before each new card. Only a few cards in, she gently placed her hand over mine and lowered the card.
“Enough,” she said. She didn't want to be reminded of her decline, even if that meant not taking action to slow it. She was fading away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. At that moment, I truly knew what it felt like to be powerless.
…
Throughout my mom's (ongoing) journey with Alzheimer's, I have intensely felt every heavy emotion you can imagine - grief, frustration, anger, helplessness, and overwhelm.
You name it, I've felt it.
However, until 2020, I wasn't leaning in and honoring those emotions. Instead, I was constantly trying to numb as a coping mechanism. One of the ways I did this was by trying to “help” my family as much as I could. I became the perfect sister and daughter - traveling back and forth to see my family once a month. Homework sessions, summer vacations, help with college tuition - I found a way to do it all.
While I'm so proud of the way I showed up for my family, I can also see how I buried my feelings under the almighty to-do list. A part of me believed that constantly doing would lessen the pain of slowly losing my mother.
It didn't lessen the pain, it just pushed it deeper inside of me.
Career
Over the last decade, I've also experienced deep, career-related sadness.
Admittedly, I have never been able to compartmentalize different areas of my life. My work is personal. It feels like an extension of me. I don't think this is a bad thing in and of itself … but it did make working in Corporate America extremely painful.
Now, don't get me wrong. I always earned stellar reviews, I was promoted in competitive promotion cycles, I earned 6-figure salaries, etc.
But what was externally praised often felt like internal failures. To survive in corporate America, I had to operate out of alignment with my own heart.
I had to sit with the powerlessness of hearing my boss say something racist but not feeling comfortable addressing it because I was the only Black person in the room.
I had to show up with a smile on my face while I knew that co-workers, with less experience, qualifications, and responsibility than me, made significantly more money than I did.
No one prepared me for what it feels like when you realize that you can’t participate fully in a meritocracy because you are a Black woman. It's one thing to know our history and understand the statistics. It's another thing entirely, to be a statistic.
It might sound naïve, but I simply didn't realize just how much disappointment I would experience while striving to achieve professional success. Nor did I have the space or tools to process any of this disappointment.
Again, I buried my feelings under my to-do lists and got the job done.
Feeling my Feelings
The most important thing I learned during the pandemic was how to feel my feelings.
Disconnecting from my emotions (and my body) allowed me to push through years of high-functioning depression. It allowed me to keep everything looking great on the outside, while my heart was being crushed on the inside.
In September 2020, I moved to Houston for several months to help my family take care of my mom. It was the height of the pandemic and unsafe to have caregivers coming in and out of the house. I used this time as a spiritual homecoming. I was deeply present with every emotion that arose.
I often say that this time “changed my life forever.” Recently I realized that I chose to transform during this period. I chose to go home. I chose to help take care of my mom, and I chose to be present with every single emotion it brought up.
And that choice, that presence - through one of the hardest seasons of my life - is what allowed me to change forever.
The body knows best
It’s easy to think that because you made it through something, you’re ready to move on.
But the body is wise. It knows what’s best.
At the start of this year, with my family to-do list finally complete, and caregivers in place to support my parents. With my sister moved into college and my brother running his own business. With my partner and I settled in California. With no plans to return to Corporate America, only a dream of expanding my coaching practice…
My body exhaled a deep sigh of relief and said:
Now, we can rest.
The to-do list is done.
It is safe to feel again.
She is ready to heal.
She knows how to alchemize all that we have held.
Release. She will be okay if we release now.
See, I thought that I had felt everything I needed to feel while I was caring for my mom. But that was just the beginning.
I have carried so much for so long. My body was just waiting for me to have the space, the tools, and the support I needed to truly process all of the emotions it was storing for me.
Love, what have you been carrying?
My body told me to rest, and I listened. Rest brought me joy. It brought me peace. It brought the power to cut through the stronghold that high-functioning depression and anxiety had on my life.
Now, whenever life comes at me too fast I know how to take a deep breath and find the undercurrent of peace and abundance that is my birthright.
My body told me to rest, and it saved my life.
Love, what is your body telling you?
