Lost and found, part two
35 things I've learned (& unlearned) in 35 years
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A song I’ve been enjoying listening to:
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the difficulty of news this week. If you are angry, afraid, enraged, in grief, in shock or not surprised at all… I see you. I shared some of my own personal thoughts that have arisen here. So grateful to all who are fighting, taking aligned action, and holding one another up. May we forge forward.
As I shared in part one of this letter, losing and finding ourselves over and over isn’t easy. It can be downright dreadful at times. Yet continually unraveling old versions of myself in order to find out who I’m becoming, again and again, has allowed me to glean understanding and learn (& unlearn) more about grief + love, about life, about being human. It’s given me a taste of what it means to be alive — really alive. It’s given me insight into everything I know and, even more so, all I don’t know. And it’s reminded me that I never need to have it all figured out — I’m not supposed to — and the unknown holds possibility as much as it holds fear.
Today is Mother’s Day and I turn 35 on Tuesday. Both feel extra significant this year and, for the first time since I can remember, I’m not rushing myself to process this very moment in time. To mark this transition and space, though, I’d like to share 35 things I’ve learned and unlearned in 35 years — 35 things I’d go back and tell my teenage self — 35 reminders I will be carrying with me as I continue traversing the ride ahead, wherever it may lead me. I hope you find something that connects with wherever you may be on your own journey, too.
Being lost often feels like complete annihilation — and sometimes, it is. The things that need to come apart at the seams tend to during seasons of being untethered. Yet the destruction of what no longer fits makes more space for who we really are, what we really want, and what truly matters to us. In this way, we can trust that being lost will only lead us closer to ourselves.
Healthy repair is everything — more than trying to never argue, more than never disagreeing, more than getting it right every time and more than all our failures & missteps. When we are committed to repairing with those we love, our imperfections and humanity are allowed and re-connection is possible.
Get to know what makes you come alive and be relentless about making time for it, centering it, allowing it. It matters.
It’s easy to hold past versions of you, past mistakes, and past slip-ups against yourself forever; it’s harder to find the lesson, forgive yourself, and move forward; the harder thing is often the thing we actually need. It’s worth it.
Let people help you. Let people see you. Let people in.
There is no avoiding getting hurt — and avoidance tends to hurt just as much as the things we’re avoiding. But confronting the pains of life creates a path forward — a path that teaches us we can actually tolerate the hurt in order to also be able to witness and be with the goodness of it all, too.
The creativity asking to be let out deserves to be let out — even if it isn’t “productive” in the way we’re taught to be — even if it doesn’t lead anywhere other than an enjoyable moment — even if it isn’t “good” — even if it isn’t for anyone other than you. Let it out. Let it out. Let it out.
You aren’t meant to obtain a lifetime’s worth of wisdom or experience by the time you’re 30, or 40, or even 50. You aren’t behind. You aren’t failing just because you haven’t gotten there yet, wherever there may be. It’s okay to be here.
Use the fancy mug on a random Tuesday. Light a candle for no reason. Don’t hoard specialness — let it be for any occasion or no occasion at all.
It’s okay to be moved by life — to be brought to tears by both beauty and tragedy, to feel rage at injustice, to be affected by things. It’s okay to feel; it might be the most natural thing in the world. What a sign you’re paying attention. What a sign you’re a living being, breathing, alive.
Notice when you’re making things more serious than they need to be; don’t be afraid to lighten yourself, your experiences, and your feelings when it feels too heavy. It’s okay to find ease where it resides. Lightness doesn’t lack depth.
Something new is always available to us when we remember nothing is permanent. Lack of permanence is a sign of possibility.
Not everything is yours to fix, take responsibility for, or try to change. Not everything needs to go on your personal to-do list. Stay rooted to what’s yours.
You will find things, people, and places you didn’t even know you needed — things you couldn’t have possibly predicted. Stay open to the unknown.
Sharing your story can be a deep part of healing — no matter what anyone else thinks of you sharing your story. Only you get to decide how sharing or not sharing supports or hinders you.
It’s okay to miss people who aren’t meant to be in your life anymore.
That thing you’ve been waiting until you feel good enough to do? Do it. The doing of it is often what leads to finally recognizing your inherent enoughness.
Not everything needs to hold deep meaning. Not everything needs to be processed. Not everything needs to be gone over & over & over. You can let some things just be what they are. And you can let some things go.
There is nothing wrong with doing things just because you enjoy them. Not everything needs to be helpful for other people, supportive of a greater cause, or with the aim of improvement. You’re allowed to just enjoy things.
Speaking of improvement… that is not our job. We aren’t meant to be improving all the time. You aren’t meant to be constantly up-leveling. You are a human being, with cycles and seasons and ebbs and flows — your job is to live, and living doesn’t always require a “better” you. It just requires the you that exists right now to fully be here.
Buy the clothes that actually fit the body you have. Gift yourself comfortability. Stop holding your current body hostage to something that doesn’t fit.
Grief is a lifelong companion to become acquainted with — not something to try and hide from. When we invite it in, it can shape us in profound ways.
Your life will never be as fancy or cool or exciting as that one person who lives the fanciest and coolest and most exciting life. The good news: it doesn’t need to be in order for your life to be special, meaningful, and enough in its own ways.
You can never do everything; you can always do something.
Never and Always are rarely the most accurate terms to use.
There will be people who don’t understand you, and you might think your job is to make them understand… but your job is actually to settle into the understanding you have of yourself — to let others have their misunderstanding.
You can change your mind. Change course. Change beliefs, ideas, desires. Change paths, ways of being, ways of seeing. You can change.
The thing you feel most ashamed of might also be the thing that allows you to most deeply connect to, empathize with, and understand others.
You aren’t selfish for enjoying your life, even when others suffer — nor are you ungrateful for having a hard time sometimes, even if you have a lot to be grateful for. We exist on a spectrum. We are multidimensional.
There isn’t one right way to do most things. You’re allowed to find what works for you, and what works for you is allowed to be different than what you’ve been taught or what has been modeled to you.
Laughter is medicine. Play is medicine. Goofiness is medicine. Bad puns are medicine. Childlike wonder is medicine.
The grief of change is worth the alignment, integrity, and wholeness that comes with changes that bring us closer to who we truly are. Every change comes with loss of some sort, but loss is something we can move through… staying stuck in what isn’t working or bringing joy hinders us from moving at all.
Relieve yourself of the pressure of thinking you need to be the best at anything. The only thing you need to be the best as is being yourself, and you already have quite a big head start at that.
I will probably forget most of these things over and over, and have to remember over and over. Forever. You might, too. How human of us.
You can always begin again, over and over, forever.
I’m feeling extra tender today, as I’m sure many of you are. There are tears in my eyes as I write this. I’m thinking about how I can tend to that infant pictured above — who still lives within me somewhere. I’m thinking about how I can honor all the ways we mother ourselves, others, and the world every single day. I’m thinking about my daughter. I’m thinking about the things mothers need that our society fails to give us — the things humans need that we’re taught have to be earned. And I’m thinking of how each year, on Mother’s Day and my birthday, I can give myself extra space to feel all the things I long thought I wasn’t supposed to feel — that I have permission to feel now. How we can all do this for ourselves, in all the ways we need to.
May you feel what is yours to feel, fully, without shame.
May you hold the complexity of grief + love simultaneously.
May you give yourself permission to validate what you’ve been holding.
May you honor what rises within you on days like this.
May you trust your own experiences, your own lived truth.
May you receive nurturance, love, and care — especially if you always give it.
May you let yourself celebrate every version of you who has gotten you closer and closer to meeting who you truly are.
May you find possibility in the unknown — in what has yet to unfold.
May you know the lovability that has always been within you.
If you feel like sharing, which one resonated with you most? What would be at the top of your list of things you’d like to go back and tell your teenage self? Share below if you’d like to. Thank you so much for being here.
This week’s sparks are mostly dedicated to all the mamas in this community:
△ The Best Advice About Motherhood
△ This book — starting it today
△ The Tension of Being Both Mother and Artist
△ This video made me laugh:
△ Why You Should Write, shared this week in my Motherscope Writer’s Club:
△ This episode of Quitted featuring Martha Beck
△ I Cherish My Grief for the Mother I Never Expected to Have
△ What Moms Really Need on Mother's Day
△ This, from Kate Baer
△ Valuing Mothering as Care Work
△ This post from last year, on mothering yourself:
Lastly, if you’re reading this on Mother’s Day… whatever today may mean to you… I hope you can be extra gentle and loving with yourself.
With care,
Lisa
As always, thank you so much for your powerful words 🙏🏼 I always feel so honored and so grateful to be able to share this space and read your words. So many of the things listed resonated with me. I am learning a lot of the things you listed right now, and while I wish my younger self knew some of these things, it wouldn't have been "absorbed" at the time. I have been so disconnected from myself for so long I am just learning some of the most basic parts of me (labeling my feelings, feeling feelings, etc.).
I'm sorry today is such a hard day for you. I can't even imagine the complexity of what today brings for you. Thank you for sharing your pain and modeling what it looks like to also show yourself compassion through it.
Thank you for your work Lisa. You are such an inspiration.