It is your duty, and your duty none other than to arrive in this space exactly as you are. Not as you wish you would be. Not as you think you should be. Not as it feels everyone else around you might be. But as you are. Without force, without fix.
Here, you are not required to melt into a mixture of approachable emotions. You are not asked to morph your current state into one more outwardly pleasing. You are not asked to speak, act, do, or be a certain way. How you meet this space right now, exactly as you are, by being nothing but undeniably you, is already more than one could ever wish.
Though the harsher, darker edges of worry, fear, stress, and sadness may creep in the shadows of your being, somewhere deep down you recognize these feelings are not all of you. The anxiety that knocks, sometimes pounds, on the doorways to your mind is not obligated to enter as a welcomed guest. You have the final decision of who comes, who goes, and who freely passes by.
Here, in this moment, cradled by this unscathed space – I would like to give you permission.
I would like to give you permission to let the thoughts that dwell heavily in your mind, knotted by self-criticism and constant conviction, to unravel. Like pulling the loose thread to an old, worn sweater, I give you permission to cut tethered ends. I give you permission to weave a thought that fits your spirit a bit truer, trying it on for size in this moment moving forward. Maybe today, the new sweater you knit in your mind is as simple as –
I am as I am. And as I am is enough.
I would like to give you permission to come up for air. Take a full breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth, every next one holding you a bit longer than the last. Allowing this breath to envelop you, nourishing every inch of your being, I would like to give you permission to stay and visit with this long-lost friend for as many moments as you’d like.
Know that with each inhale in, and each exhale out – in these breaths alone, you are doing enough.
I would like to give you permission to soften. Your eyelids can travel to a close, inviting in the rich greyscale that lives beneath. Your jaw can unclench, allowing your lips to part slightly – maybe releasing a gentle sigh of relief with as the grip of unspoken, or misspoken, words unfastens. Your shoulders can travel away from your earlobes, letting the weight of worries you wear slide off of your back. No longer yours to hold, no longer yours to carry, no longer yours to be bogged down by. I give you this full permission to soften into every inch of your being – honoring that how you land today, is enough.
I give you permission to curl in, pull the covers over, and turn your vacancy sign off.
And then I give you permission to rise once again. To unbecome and rebecome as many times as you need. In this moment, that courage may feel intangible. But my friend, I give you permission to look at your track record. You have made it through every hardest moment of your life before. You have done nothing to deserve this mistrust in your abilities now.
You don’t need my permission today.
But to you, I will give it.
Over and over and over again, I will give it.
Because if you don’t believe it quite yet – I do.
That you, as you are, as you feel, are enough.
In tension, in ease, and in all the many things that live between;
You are so loved.
This world, my world, would not be the same without you here.
7 thoughts on “I would like to give you permission”
Alright, I think you said you’re new to writing, maybe unsure what to do. Think I might be tempted to say – I don’t believe you. But I do trust you. I hear bells ringing in your words. Beautifully stated, beautifully written. You have a good heart.
Tell me how love walks this earth. Think you’ve just done that.
My teacher once defined love by saying – love is the unconditional granting of beingness – with affection. I resisted that second part for years. I’ve since given up trying to stand apart outside the room.
What’s next then. Faith? Perhaps not as commonly thought. Not to fill so much territory on your blog, I’ll post a song that I think goes right to the heart of Faith on my own website – just to be companion of this here.
Wow. This is incredible writing and it makes me feel so completely seen. You have taken apart all the ways I hide and unraveled them into a pile. I want to weave something new. I want to transform those old beliefs into beautiful new ones, but I know it takes time. It takes courage. It takes reading words like this and letting them sink into my soul (bathing in them). Thank you for this. I’m probably going to return to this time and time again. It’s remarkable.
This means so much coming from someone whose writing inspires me immensely. You are not alone, my friend. It takes equal parts grit & grace to shift away from the stories we tell ourselves that have grown too big and too untrue to fit us here and now – and somedays I’d rather avoid it altogether. When old patterns have already been paved, the temptation to travel with less resistance is overwhelming. But we don’t. Because it matters that much. Courage is an understatement. Thank you for reading, for sharing, for being.
It does matter that much. I’ve had times in my life when I’ve stopped trying and lived in avoidance—those are some of the darkest times in my life. I’d rather be fighting, be the fool stumbling over my unraveling dress, than to sit stagnant again with my pain.
I couldn’t agree more, Bridgette!
Who comes back, days and days and days later, reads again. Me, I am one. Not because I needed to, but because I wanted to, another warm shower at the end of a day. When I read this first time I thought, yes, this is all familiar to me, but yes, hearing rather than thinking makes a real difference. It is good to be part of a chorus such as this. Blessings to us, one and all. I am still moved, listening. I am glad to be movable.