I’ve made a commitment to myself to up my game in terms of writing. That means, getting up each morning and writing in my journal, sitting down to write a blog post at least once per week and writing a few lines before bed.
These are baby steps. And about all I can handle right now. When I sit down and think about writing, I can sense so much yearning to be expressed that it feels overwhelming and easier to just close the laptop and go fold some laundry.
I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes because there is so much feeling in the world that wants to be expressed. I’m not sure I can hold it all or that I dare to let it spill out onto the page for people to see.
I opened a journal this morning to begin this daily practice that I’ve committed to. It’s one of a handful of journals that I’ve been writing in over the past five years, and the only one that has appeared since we moved. I guess the others are still waiting to be unpacked.
The last entry was dated October 7th and I know it was not from a week ago, but a year and a week ago. In reading it, I was struck by the fact that it could have been written last week, in terms of the topic and the current state of affairs of my inner life. Does that mean I’ve gone nowhere in the past year? I saw that thought flash across the inner critic screen in my mind and let it roll on by. I chose not to be hooked - for now.
It plays into the story I have of needing to be fixed, made better. “Transformation or Bust,” we might call it. You might think a story like that would propel my into overachieving and a constant state of doing, but instead it tends to freeze me in a small perseverating circle of repetitive movement and mumbling, at least metaphorically.
Maybe this is where the closing the laptop and searching out the laundry comes in - a way of staying safe and relatively comfortable.
I keep picturing the bearded lily that has bloomed in my front garden this week. She’s out there in full bloom on a morning when the thermometer reads 32 degrees. That can’t be comfortable.
And yet there’s nothing apologetic in how she is showing up - regardless of being late to the party and freezing her petals off. Her blossom is a gift to the world and no less beautiful.
There’s a metaphor in there for me, I am sure. Something about putting myself out there, regardless of what everyone else is doing, not worried about imperfections or the risks of being seen or being ignored.
A coaching colleague who I worked with briefly a few years ago is in her last days, saying goodbye to her family and her life as she’s always known it. I can hear her telling me to get over myself, to stop wringing my hands and start writing - because the world needs my words just as much as it needs a bearded lily on a cold autumn morning.
Where are you holding back your gifts? What might be wanting to emerge and how can you invite it forward?
These are baby steps. And about all I can handle right now. When I sit down and think about writing, I can sense so much yearning to be expressed that it feels overwhelming and easier to just close the laptop and go fold some laundry.
I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes because there is so much feeling in the world that wants to be expressed. I’m not sure I can hold it all or that I dare to let it spill out onto the page for people to see.
I opened a journal this morning to begin this daily practice that I’ve committed to. It’s one of a handful of journals that I’ve been writing in over the past five years, and the only one that has appeared since we moved. I guess the others are still waiting to be unpacked.
The last entry was dated October 7th and I know it was not from a week ago, but a year and a week ago. In reading it, I was struck by the fact that it could have been written last week, in terms of the topic and the current state of affairs of my inner life. Does that mean I’ve gone nowhere in the past year? I saw that thought flash across the inner critic screen in my mind and let it roll on by. I chose not to be hooked - for now.
It plays into the story I have of needing to be fixed, made better. “Transformation or Bust,” we might call it. You might think a story like that would propel my into overachieving and a constant state of doing, but instead it tends to freeze me in a small perseverating circle of repetitive movement and mumbling, at least metaphorically.
Maybe this is where the closing the laptop and searching out the laundry comes in - a way of staying safe and relatively comfortable.
I keep picturing the bearded lily that has bloomed in my front garden this week. She’s out there in full bloom on a morning when the thermometer reads 32 degrees. That can’t be comfortable.
And yet there’s nothing apologetic in how she is showing up - regardless of being late to the party and freezing her petals off. Her blossom is a gift to the world and no less beautiful.
There’s a metaphor in there for me, I am sure. Something about putting myself out there, regardless of what everyone else is doing, not worried about imperfections or the risks of being seen or being ignored.
A coaching colleague who I worked with briefly a few years ago is in her last days, saying goodbye to her family and her life as she’s always known it. I can hear her telling me to get over myself, to stop wringing my hands and start writing - because the world needs my words just as much as it needs a bearded lily on a cold autumn morning.
Where are you holding back your gifts? What might be wanting to emerge and how can you invite it forward?
Jessica Curtis is a professional coach who helps people cultivate intention and live from a place of meaning and authenticity. If you think you could benefit from working with
Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation.
Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation.
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