Self-compassion for when personal space is limited
I think a lot about space—the space in my home, the planets, and the space I reserve for self-discovery. Like many people, I often crowd out the very things I stand for as if my value of them gives me the right to diminish their importance as I please. I tout the importance of giving the inner calling an outer voice, then schedule myself so tightly that my creativity better come out as jet mode on the garden hose. I decide I am going to achieve balance by focusing on five rings in the circus at the same time rather than one or three. Most of the time, I’m able to achieve “it”—the wildly ambitious experience of satisfying most desires, most of the time.
And then I crash.
I’ve been crashing for decades. I remember being in high school and pushing myself so hard to get the highest marks possible that I would rework every paper one more timeto get it from an A to an A+. After months of that, I would fall apart and cry that my life was unmanageable, which would release massive anxiety. I’d be exhausted, but empty, and then go back to similar behaviors as soon as I felt strong again. Maybe a learned behavior from a borderline, perfectionist, absolutist mom. Years of work allowed me to reduce the severity of the pushes and crashes, but I’m still a binge writer. I’d prefer to lock myself in a room for five days to pen an entire book than write for one hour a day for three months with the same outcome.
Judge me as you will, but these days I accept that it’s the rhythm of my life. And I’ve come to embrace it as part of being an artist, part of being a recovered addict, and part of simply having no firm idea of what’s right and wrong, so going with what is natural.
Space for self-discovery is how I label “time where I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it’s not a have-to task.” It’s the inner version of walking into an artist’s loft and following my whim without thought. I might pick up a paint brush or a pencil, I might put music on and see where and how my body moves. I might lay on a yoga mat and start breathing to see what happens next, I might drive to a trailhead, leave the phone in the car and follow my feet. I might put my kids in the car and start driving, having only decided on a direction. I might eat ice cream for dinner.
The point is I give myself permission to be free.
I haven’t been doing that these last few weeks—a lot has come up, all generous, positive, beautiful changes. I reunited with co-workers who I hadn’t seen for years in person for an epic weekend of connection, tears, belly laughs, and late night singing by a fire (I’m incredibly lucky to have the most amazing work family). I was invited to see Silk Sonic with an old friend and we danced our butts off to soulful seventies-style funk. I pushed through months of reporting to prepare for my company’s mid-year planning inside of a weekend. And I found and bought a house! We are moving from the South Bay of L.A. to Lake Arrowhead. An unexpected conversation that led to being in an unexpected escrow three days later.
Needless to say, my space for self-discovery has been limited by a rhythm stronger than my own. Life itself.
I will get back to balance, thank goodness I know how. I’ll get back to days without destinations in the very near future. For today, I’m going to crash. But not in the poor me, my life is unmanageable way. Instead I’m just going to recognize that I need to slow down a bit, pick and choose what’s really important to do today, and hover in more of a B- than A+ level of productivity. My inner artist’s loft is always available and I have the key.
How do you reserve a place to feel free? How do you return to balance?
