February Reflection Guide
Small steps, existential acceptance, and turning toward ourselves
Hi there —
I’m feeling a swirly, emergent energy in the air, in my chest. Like there’s momentum and shifts happening right alongside some still-stagnant, still-unsure stuckness. It’s more often than not a mixture of both, isn’t it? We like to declare we’re in this kind of season or that kind of season when truthfully, it’s usually not all one or the other. There’s deep relief to be found in not needing to declare anything at all… to just be where we are, without labeling or comparing, and notice what’s here, knowing it will ebb and flow, begin and end, change and morph as time moves, as we move with time.
I’ve been practicing letting go of needing to make sense of it all, make meaning of it all, fit it all into some conjured narrative about who I am or where my life is at. This practice does not come naturally. I used to work so hard at creating an appearance of my life, even more than I worked on knowing what it’s like to not need my life to appear any certain way to anyone else but myself. I worked hard to make sure I gave off the image of being a certain way, even more than I worked on checking in to see if that “certain way” aligned anymore. I’m not sure if it’s motherhood or the last few years of the pandemic, if it’s aging into my mid-30’s or just not caring as much anymore… but releasing the compulsion to appear differently or more singularly than I actually am, than how I actually feel, than what’s actually true, has been a gift — an offering of permission to just be real.
This practice has helped so much as I’ve been moving through the process of working on another book proposal, where the outcome isn’t clear, where there is momentum and movement but also a standstill of sorts, the slow timeline of the publishing industry, the uncertainty over whether or not my new book idea will sell, the fuzzy middle I find myself in while also moving toward what I want. There isn’t meaning to be made here — there’s just one step in front of the other. There isn’t anything to prove here — just the next most aligned choice toward the reality I want to live into. There isn’t anything to label or declare here — just the quiet truth and deep desire to write this book, the small spark of belief I’m working on making bigger, the nudge of self-assuredness I’m practicing leaning on in the wide unknown. I can hold both the momentum and the stuckness. I can be with both the movement and the stillness. It is rarely one without the other in some shape or form, I’m learning. And it feels so kind to let that be what it is — to not force it into a shape it isn’t yet meant to take.
I hope this month’s guide brings you a little closer to yourself, offers a moment to connect, to check in, to look at what’s there with compassion and curiosity. That’s the whole point of self-inquiry for me — to practice being with myself and what I find, even when I don’t want to admit, look at, or acknowledge what’s there, in a way that feels like kindness, like reverence, like care. Not perfectly — not every time — not