Category: self-care

Hummingbird

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

Hummingbird

Feeder hangs empty.
Buzzing hummingbird seeks food
for tiny belly.

******

The feeder sits empty,
a chore not yet accomplished,
not yet in the rhythm
after being away.

The feeder hangs 
beyond my reach,
requires retrieval of both
ladder and nectar.

Sometimes it’s too hot,
sometimes too wet,
sometimes I’m just
tired. 

Tiny bird body
buzzes from one feeder
to the next,
searching for sustenance.

I see the need.
But still I sit,
tied to the chair
by my own buzzing busy-ness.

Tiny bird body
tries again.
The buzzing
feels frantic.

This time, I rise
from the shackles 
of the chair
that binds me.

After all,
what is more important
than the hunger
of this one tiny being?

Was he watching?
Did the sweetness
of the nectar
fill the air?

Within seconds,
tiny iridescent body returns,
dips his beak
again and again.

Vibrancy lives in you,
little one.
Bright, quick, sweet —
la dolce vita.

Messenger of joy,
sate your hunger
here.

Body Wisdom

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 1 Comment

Last night, I participated in a “breathwork practice for integrating embodied presence.” <https://workwithlibby.com/breathwork/> As I settled into the practice, an email exchange with my mother earlier in the day came into my awareness. 

She’d written about her many worries that day: four separate situations and people ranging from why the orioles aren’t taking as much grape jelly to the unpredictability of which day the person who mows her lawn will show up. My mother is 92 years old, lives alone on her “farm,” often sleeps poorly, and feels guilty if she takes an afternoon nap. 

I responded to a variety of things in her email but also commented on her worries, expressing my hope that she might let go of what she could and trust that she is held in God’s loving embrace no matter what. 

Her reply defended her response. She’s a “realist,” wants to understand the world around her, being informed helps her understand things better. As I continued the breathwork, I realized my mother felt judged by my encouragement to let go of her worries and trust that all would be well.

I recognized my words to my mother were actually words to the part of me that is like my mother, an attempt to manage and “correct” my own anxieties. For years, I’ve known that when my body feels tight across the back of my shoulders, I am worried about something, feeling anxious. In the past, the tension in the back of my shoulders was like hardened concrete, and it took a long time for it to crack apart and — eventually — soften.

As the breathwork practice continued, I breathed into the tightness I was feeling in the back of my shoulders. Not to make it go away, just noticing and breathing.

I asked myself the question often prompted by my therapist. What does this part of me need to hear? This part that is like my mother, carries worries and anxieties, creates tension across the back of my shoulders. In response, I assured this “mother part” — and my shoulders — that I was here, I was with her, I would stay right here.

It was as if this wise, integrated self was sitting with this “anxious mother part” of me, holding a reassuring hand to her back, talking softly in short phrases, holding her with my presence.

Gradually, the tightness across the back of my shoulders loosened, and the anxious, worried feeling abated. The “mother part” of me and wisdom part of me were quiet, present in the softness. 

I regret trying to manage my mother’s feelings. I wish I had simply acknowledged her worries. I tried to “fix” her. Of course, I want her to feel less anxious. She’s worked hard, still works hard. She deserves to rest, to feel good about herself. But that’s not for me to manage. I hope I can “come alongside” her feelings with more awareness in the future.

As for me, it’s helpful to recognize that I still try to manage my own worries and anxieties. I am still judging those feelings, rejecting them. I may always have that impulse, both to manage and to judge. Yes, I have other choices now. And judging and rejecting aspects of my being are not helpful to the process of opening up my life to more joy, more freedom. Being aware, being “with” … always helpful.

I’m grateful for the opening and the insight afforded me in this time of integrating embodied presence. And I’m grateful for increased awareness of this “mother part” of me. 

Integration. Embodiment. Presence. Powerful words. I continue to marvel at the wisdom my body offers me.

Loving me

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

“I want to be the best version of myself.”

I’ve read it, heard it, nodded my head in response.

Yes, of course I want to be the best version of myself. 

Recently, however, I’ve wondered. Do I?

What does that mean, “best” version? Would it be acceptable if I were the truest version of myself? The most vulnerable version of myself? The most spontaneous version of myself? The most present version of myself?

What if I just showed up, steadfast in simply being who I am?

Sometimes I am exceptionally intuitive. Brilliant, even, in my insights. “Wicked smart,” someone told me. (I quite liked that comment.)

Sometimes I am exceptionally dense. Dull, even, in my mental fog about a topic or a person or a situation. (And honestly, if you told me I was being rather dull today, I don’t think I’d be saying thank you for your truthfulness.)

Am I a better person when I am tuned in to my intuitive nature than when I am absorbed in the fog of past trauma? Do you like me better? Do you run away from being in relationship with me when I am furious to the point of ranting and raving for at least 20 minutes?

I no longer care to be the “best” version of myself. It implies another side of me that might come across as the “worst” version of myself. 

Today, I am a little bloated. It’s possible my waistband is a little tighter this morning. Perhaps I’ve enjoyed more helpings of certain foods lately. Does this mean I have indulged? Is this a sign that I must quickly restrict myself from further enjoyment of a particular food, even to the point of suffering? Am I a better person if my waistband is not so tight?

Lately, I’ve been considering a different set of questions. I don’t enjoy feeling the tightness of my waistband. I prefer a little more ease in the fit of my clothing. I could offer myself some time to inquire about this. 

Food has been a source of emotional comfort to me in the past. Have I been feeling a need for comfort lately? Is there something troubling me? Something I have been ignoring? Even avoiding? 

Have I been taking care of what other people need from me to the point of ignoring what I need from me? And if I recognize the “yes” in response to that question, then what do I need? What have I been ignoring? And how might I offer a time of listening to that being within me that is feeling sad or ashamed or afraid? 

I don’t need to start restricting my calories in response to my tightened waistband. I need to take the time to listen to the younger version of myself. The one who needed solace in a time of deep distress, the one who felt she was alone, the one who tried to do better in a world that measured her worth by being good. 

I am not alone. I have nothing to prove in order to be loved. I can be here for myself, standing alongside that little one who needs solace. I can solace her, until her breathing slows and her heart softens and the darkness dissipates.

I do not need to be “better” than I am. Or to be the best version of myself. There is no better version of myself than the person I am this very day, this very moment.

I am already all I need to be. Yes, still becoming. Still learning to find my own belovedness in the midst of life as it is. Sometimes bumpy. Sometimes confusing. Sometimes a little disconcerting. 

In the light of self compassion — authentic self-care — the tightened waistband is of little concern. It is a signal that I am needing something more. More time, more rest, more art perhaps. More listening. More noticing. I might choose to wear something with a different waistband for a time, while I settle into who I am in this very now.

I don’t need to be the “best” version of myself. Only the most loving toward the parts of me that need my attention.