Be Soft and Slow When Things Go Hard and Fast

On surrendering to the chaos and allowing things to flow naturally

Photo by Maël BALLAND on Unsplash

“Life transitions are so hard. It’s a beautiful place to be, but also a challenging one. I’m moving forward, while also failing and moving backward. I’m finding new parts of me while re-meeting old parts. It all makes sense and doesn’t. I’m exhausted, but have energy to keep going.” ~ Kaya Nova

The past six weeks have felt like a blur. I recall little of what happened and what I did, unless I check my planner. My journal cannot tell me much either as I only journaled on 14 days out of the six weeks. The only thing I can remember is how uncomfortable I felt physically during this time.

My body was breaking out. Bloating. Nausea. Changing taste buds and appetite. Ache and pain. Dermatitis. Itch and rash. Skin infection. I knew the body was trying to bring my awareness to something – internal, external, or both – but I was unable to decipher the messages.

My mind spiralled downhill with many emotions and monologues –

Confusion: I am doing everything I know that support my health. What have I done wrong? I don’t know what to do anymore.

Anxiety: What if my diabetes is getting worse? What if the medication is not working? What if there is something more sinister happening in the body?

Frustration: Why can’t I seem to be able to get healthy and feel energetic? Why is healing so hard? What more do I have to do?

Sadness: I am tired and done. Let’s watch some Netflix, maybe some cat videos, too.

Amid the self-loathing and numbing, the intuitive part of me knew, while what I experienced was real, that the stories I told myself were not necessarily true. The rumination, resistance and judgement toward my own body came from a place of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of loss, or fear of failure. I realised my body had been sensing the fear that my mind suppressed and bypassed by default. It was trying to keep to me safe from –

Unknown: I will soon be leaving the city that I have called home for 30 years to start anew. I don’t know what the future will look like. I don’t know where I will live. I don’t know what I will do for a living.

Loss: It’s been two years since I let go of a 20-year career. It’s been a year since my father died and my life was turned upside down. It’s been eight months since I decided to quit a relatively new job and move interstate.

Failure: What if it was a mistake to relocate? What if I crash and burn like last time when I moved to Sydney many years ago?

My body already knew before the mind could register.

Through a multitude of physical symptoms, it was telling me to make space for rest and recovery from packing and future planning; to allow time to process and release past memories and stories; and to walk through this season with gentleness and self-compassion.

Not once my body said I needed to go faster, fight harder, or do more. Instead, it invited me to surrender into the softness, suppleness and messiness of human nature. What it needed from me was to stay open and present in the here and now, allowing things to come and go naturally and see what happen.

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

Pema Chodron wrote in Welcome the Unwelcome, “Any experience can be made into a further blockage or can become a way of freeing ourselves.” While we may not have much control over things in life, we do have the free will to choose our experiences. Our focus, thoughts and actions create worlds.

As I continue different remedies to support my physical health, I am also consciously slowing myself down. In a world that is obsessed with speed, slowness is the much-needed medicine. It allows me to observe and make sense of everything – my being; my doing; my thinking; my writing; my past, present and envisioned future – through the lens of neutrality and curiosity.

Everything in this world is unique, imperfect, precious, loveable, and whole.

Every symptom I’ve endured is to purge what no longer supports my needs in the current and future seasons.

Every emotion I’ve felt is to remind me of my wiggly, awkward human nature (and that I am not here to grind and hustle like a heartless machine).

Every loss I’ve encountered is to spotlight the true value of things, and also to birth new beginnings and possibilities.

Every mistake I’ve made is to gift me the wisdom of radical acceptance, honesty, humility, resilience, and creativity.

Every challenge I’ve faced is to steer me toward the Pathless Path¹ of inner power, fulfilment, and purpose.

Everything happens exactly when and where it is meant to be.

All of my physical symptoms subsided a few days ago, coinciding with 35 boxes of earthly possessions being moved into temporary storage prior to relocation.

And I have found myself reciting the first few lines of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese, again and again: “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

Photo by natalia morusiewicz on Unsplash

1. Sometimes Not Knowing Your Path is Your Path by Kevin Kaiser, The Rewilded Soul