Guilt and Grace

Permission to Pause.

There's a spot for sitting at my back door.

It is familiar, grounding, my 'go - to' space.

It is not particularly elegant or beautiful. But it is my space.

It doesn't have soft cushions, gentle lighting or soothing comfort. I never thought to do so.

Yet, despite its practical function, it holds me in the only way a place of familiarity can.

I find myself here, aware of the world moving and pulsing around me.

As I try to reduce my overwhelm I am pulled to sit and to stay awhile.

Each unique rhythm in the life of others nearby filters through. Neighbourhood hums and beats of humanity, a familiar discordant or harmonious symphony of sound of intimate activity.

Raised voices drift through; a distant low, ongoing disagreement. From the nearby playing field, incessant urgent shouts of footballers offer sharp bursts of encouragement to their team. The referee's whistle piercing and slicing the sounds held within the cooler overcast day.

Somewhere closer, someone is sweeping, a rhythmical purposeful, almost frustrated tone, bringing order in their own chaos. Inside my home, an aging Labrador snores contentedly, punctuated with muffled barking, offering a sense of their inner dreamworld.

I absorb it all from my space at the back door. The world ebbs and flows and I listen.

I tune into my internal world. I feel unanchored and untethered from the world around me. There is tension in my chest as the sharp breeze whips past my cheek. I pull closer to myself.

I feel a guilt at my lack of busy. I feel annoyed I cannot fully engage with the stillness. Not unlike my position at the backdoor, neither fully in or out of either space. I try to breathe purposefully.

We are told to breathe, 'be mindful', yet each focused breath acts as a reminder that I have to work hard to be still. This feels like a tricky journey. I feel the dull compression of shame as my lungs deflate.

An involuntary extra short sharp tense exhaled forcefully, expresses my felt sense of futility and frustration as my stomach tightens. I dial into the compassion of my own humanity with a slower, purposeful breath and feel relief as knots in my belly unfurl.

"Mindfulness is a perspective that weds capacity for self-observation with your instinct of self-compassion" (Pete Walker)

I sit with all these feelings. I invite them to my coffee time at my back door.

The critical part demands attention immediately . "Coffee?!!" You should drink herbal tea!".

I see in my minds eye the rows of sachets in the cupboard, each one offering calm, focus, hormonal relief. Promises of a way of being in pretty packages. I defiantly sip the coffee. The nutty aroma feels grounding, familiar, safe.

Memories of rich conversation and connection to others. The habitual human antidote to stress.

A ritual to create space and moments. I continue to sip, taste the sweetness. I bristle at the dual feeling of sophistication and grown-upness against the internal felt sense of uncertainty. My internal voices echo :

"You need to get focused!"

"What's wrong with you?"

Whispers of cruel jibes from my playground days still ferment within.

The bullying tones morph and echo into my voice, feeling heavier and more cruel.

The internal carousal of criticism gets faster , spinning, faster, louder.

I learned that to be valuable and useful is to be productive and "fit in".

I breathe deeply once more.

Earlier a friend enquired "what are you doing today?" An innocent question, landed with weight. I squirmed, as I didn't have an answer. Actually I did . I wanted to be doing nothing, but couldn't say. Instead I dishonestly shared rough plans. I knew I had no Plan.

I held a desire instead, to feel through my day, to find my own flow.

I'm trying to unlearn rest is laziness. I'm trying to learn rest is nourishing and necessary.

Echoes of judgment from others reverberate through time into the now.

I'm trying to learn to speak my truth, to myself.

To rest is to honour myself. Yet I feel the pull to produce, perform, participate.

I breathe again. More deeply this time.

Guilt and Grace.

The space between what I think I should be; what I learned to be to "fit in", and what I wish to be is uncomfortable.

It is also real.

So I stay.

I listen.

I sip my coffee.

I breathe.

A carousel of calm and chaos.

Because maybe, just maybe this moment is exactly where I'm meant to be.

Raw, Real and Unresolved.

I breathe a deeper breath, the percussion of my breath punctuates and reverberates travelling and settling into a deeper awareness inside my body. A realisation, my way of being in the now, is beautiful, unique, pure and honest.

My little space at my back door ritual is a portal to my Self.

This is perhaps the most honest kind of productivity I can offer myself today.

A gentle reflection for you....

Where is the place you sit with yourself?

What are the voices inside you trying to say?

Can you let them speak, and still choose rest and compassion for self?

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