BIG FEELS ON BEING A BABY BIRD:
You poor thing.
My massage therapist says after assessing the way my hips play codependency off each other.
Of course you’re in pain.
And I’m so glad that I can be a wet baby bird on this massage table; bedraggled, helpless.
It should be a mandatory part of every massage: the therapist validating each ache and pain you’ve ever had. The best ones always do.
Yes, this pain in your shoulder is connected to the part under your ribs and that part is connected to your hips. Of course it all hurts. Of course of course of course.
I’m coming off of three days of migraines. A long and painful weekend. I have an app and I’m learning the patterns of my pain. Every trigger that I uncover, like an archeologist dusting off bones, I say, “Of course,” like I knew it all along, a glimmer in my eye.
I was thinking yesterday about how the question, “Do I deserve love?” is the wrong question.
I think the right one is: Am I open to love?
Then I thought of another wrong question: “Do I deserve rest?”
I think the right one is: Am I open to rest?
I was relieved at the simplicity, then immediately ashamed that this was maybe very obvious and certainly not original. I imagined telling someone else and hearing them say, “Of course, of course, of course.”
Isn’t it silly that we demand life’s answers to be complex enough not to embarrass us when we speak them out loud?
I let myself be a wet baby bird this weekend, taking a cue from the pain, asking myself if I was open to rest. The answer, as simple as the question: of course.
I watched baking shows and had a three hour nap and thanked my partner for making me food. Still bedraggled, but open to love and nourishment and a warm nest and the stars over head—as good as it gets for any poor thing.
(Or any rich thing too, for that matter)
Talk soon,
Natahna
______________
The Recommends: The snack, Bear Paws Banana Bread Cookies. Don’t make me fight about it.