The tenderness of emergence

An ode to spring

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A song I’m loving:

Spring’s salve, 35mm film

I feel myself thawing after what has been a long, underground, soul-altering winter. There is a tenderness in this thawing: the harshness softening. Bracing morphing into welcoming. Rigidity becoming fluidity. Yet in this opening, I also find myself clinging to what was, to what I knew, to what felt like a familiar place to burrow. The darkness, the cave, the turtle shell… all of it felt like such necessary protection for the versions of myself who needed protecting. Tucking inward felt like home. It was known, but it wasn’t home. So cozy… yet also so lonely, dull, lacking the vibrancy I know exists outside of the dark, the kind I am starting to feel growing in my own body, my own self.

As I find myself unfurling from hiding and moving into the expanse of Really Being Here, fear creeps in. What will protect me if I truly let myself thaw? What will keep me safe if I emerge from the cave, if I step out of the shell? Who am I when I’m not hiding? Who am I without my shell on? Do I have what it takes to find out? Do I have what it takes to step further into the wide unknown, into whatever is next, without the extra layers of protection I long thought I needed? Can I find safety with my arms stretched wide open, my heart bare to the world? Is that what home feels like?

Here are some prayers/offerings/reminders I wrote to my own fear, to the parts of me who want to stay tucked in the bud instead of living into my own truest becoming. I need them; perhaps you do, too.

• Not all parts of you will be ready to emerge at once. Some parts of you need to stay tucked away for awhile, cozy and waiting until it’s their time. You don’t need to rush the parts of you who aren’t there yet. The parts of you who are ready can usher the rest of you outward when the time comes… and it will come.

• Being fully seen by others might bring rejection. They might leave. Your core fears might come true. Yet what resides within you is a depth of okayness that no one can take from you, whether or not they stay. You will keep growing this depth, this solid foundation of self-attachment that makes way for being your truest self with others regardless. And your fear won’t assure you there will be plenty of people who stay, but it’s true: there will be plenty of people who stay.

• Feeling more comfortable in Winter, in stagnancy, in stuckness, in hibernation… doesn’t mean that’s the only place, way, or time you can thrive. There is power to be found in discovering who you are beyond who you’ve been comfortable being. There is beauty in letting new facets of yourself emerge in place of the facets you’ve long known how to cling to but didn’t necessarily need anymore.

Spring mist, 35mm film

• You can take baby steps. Small shifts. Micro moves. You can go slowly, tenderly, with the kind of care that comes natural to you. You can trust your pace. You can take in the view along the way instead of looking down in fear. You can notice the places you step out more confidently than you’re used to, the veering paths you surprise yourself by walking down, the choices you make that bring you closer to the vitality you seek. Look at you, doing it. Watch in awe.

• You’re allowed to make the wrong decisions, fail, mess up, start over, get in over your head, need help, need your own depth of compassion and forgiveness while you emerge. You’re allowed to emerge and realize your emergence needed to take another direction. You’re allowed to emerge and recognize what still isn’t working. Emergence doesn’t require perfection or permanence. It just requires your willingness to keep going, to keep unfurling into your most real shape.

• It isn’t all serious. You can take the process of emergence and the bigness of metamorphosis seriously without taking yourself so seriously. Keep saying “that’s what she said” to your husband; laugh when he rolls his eyes, smiling. Keep making up silly songs to try to lull your daughter back to the car. Keep reading and listening to things that don’t “help you grow”. Keep enjoying things for the sake of enjoying them. Take it all a little less seriously.

• Your fear isn’t a sign something is wrong or gone awry. It’s just a reminder you’re still alive, still here. It’s just a reminder you’re doing something tricky, something new, something unknown. It’s just a reminder you’re letting yourself wade into uncertainty — the place where possibility lives.

Unexpected blooming, 35mm film

• The core of who you are will always remain, even when other parts of you change. The essence of you will stay. The subtle quirks of you will stay. The deepest energy of you won’t budge, even as you morph into new versions of yourself. It’s nice to remember not everything changes when we change, for better or for worse.

• Small, simple acts of care are not small, especially during times of change and emergence. Your weekly batch of granola is an act of care. Setting clothes out the night before is an act of care. After-dinner family walks around the block are an act of care. Journaling instead of going on your phone in the morning is an act of care. These small, daily choices add up to a sense of feeling cared for by yourself. It matters more than it might feel in the moment.

• Other people might not understand who you’re becoming, or why you’re choosing what you choose, or what you’re doing during your seasons of emergence. The good news is that you don’t need anyone’s understanding to live into your truest next chapter. You don’t need anyone’s permission or validation. You don’t need anyone’s green light. You get to go. You’ll find those who can meet you there.

• You don’t need to trust what you don’t yet know; you just need to trust yourself to be with what’s ahead. You trusting you matters so much more than you being completely certain about what’s next. You trusting yourself to meet what’s coming means so much more than you being able to predict, control, or hold certainty over what’s coming. You can trust yourself. You can trust yourself.

Simple beauty, 35mm film

• The tenderness of unfurling will open you up to the hurt of the world, yes. But when you are less In Yourself, you get to be more In The World. You get to connect more deeply. You get to witness more fully. You get to be part of something outside of your own inner life. You get to affect change. You get to be of service. You get to delight in the joy of others. You get to sit with the pain of others. You get to live, fully. Facing the hurt is worth the bigness of fully living.

• You can always tuck away when you need to; tucking away can become a place of respite instead of a constant resting place. Another season of moving inward will come when the spiral continues. What a gift.

• You will be emerging into different iterations of yourself for the rest of your life. This isn’t your only shot, your one single chance to become who you really are. Your becoming is a forever process, continuously unfurling, ever-evolving, never finished. What a relief to know you don’t need to do it all now. What a relief to know there are countless more opportunities to step just one tiny step further into yourself. What a relief to let the unfolding be a forever thing. There is always more. There is always space.

Thank you, as always, for being here.

△ This sticker on the bulletin board in my office

△ The Edge You Carry With You

△ Wake up grow up clean up show up

△ This courage.

△ The beauty of this book

△ How to write the tough stuff

△ The ethereal sweetness of this new album

△ The wild purple iris blooming everywhere on today’s walk —

With care,
Lisa