I love Washington, I really do. I’ve referred to it as “nature heaven” on many occasions and I fully believe that. Nature speaks to my soul like few other things do, so following my intuition to come up here was a major life jackpot for me. Ever since I got in my car back in October and took off on my latest adventure, I have felt so at home away from home. I take trips back to Orange County every month or so for work, and it just doesn’t feel the same anymore. I find myself feeling overwhelmed, claustrophobic and missing Washington.
I just got back from two weeks down south, but this was not like my normal work trip. I worked some days here and there, but a big part of my trip was for my own personal development. I had the privilege of being trained in some energy healing practices and attended the first part of a yearlong wisdom workshop that is already proving to be absolutely life-changing. It was the most spiritually dense and incredibly enriching couple of weeks of my life, and I was absolutely emotionally exhausted by the end of it. Needless to say, I was really looking forward to heading back up north.
Last time I got back from a trip to Orange County, I stepped off the plane and wept with gratitude to be back in nature and away from the hustle and bustle of the “real world.” But this time I got off the plane and was very confused by the emotions that came up. I wanted to go back. I missed my boyfriend. I missed my boss. I missed the new and beautiful people I met at the workshop. It felt weird and uncomfortable and I didn’t like it. I kinda thought I had “figured out” where I want to be for now—in Washington—so why was I not thrilled to be home?
I got home from the airport and felt pretty down. I picked a couple of stupid fights with the BF, watched too many movies and slept in way too late. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me and why I felt so depressed after such a spiritual high. So I got even more down on myself. The negative self-talk was creeping back in. My “monkey mind” was starting to come alive. This was not good. I had done what seemed like a complete 180 in a matter of mere hours.
After two days of “poor me,” I got really sick of my own BS and decided to get my shit together. I wrote out a daily plan for myself to get back on track—lots of mediation, yoga, writing, praying, positivity and GRACE. I became a disciple to my new plan and halfway through day #1 I felt like a new person. I put “grace” in all caps because my goodness, we need to get off our own backs sometimes, don’t we? Well, at least I do. I’ve talked before about how I “fake it ‘til I make it” when I’m in a dark place, but this time it was more about giving myself a friggin’ break. Allowing myself some time to adjust to a big change and not beating myself up over any feelings other than those of sunshine and puppy dogs. Grace…I always forget that one. I can be such an asshole to myself sometimes.
I am taking an online course with Brené Brown and I was catching up on my reading last night in her book Daring Greatly. Being a shame and vulnerability researcher—and just plain AWESOME—she says that transformative change in families, organizations and schools can’t happen unless we normalize discomfort. She says that we aren’t learning if we aren’t uncomfortable. The simple and honest truth is that discomfort is normal, it’s going to happen, and it’s part of the process. When discomfort becomes an expectation and a norm, it reduces anxiety, fear and shame. Normalizing discomfort. Daaaaamn that’s good.
My personal and spiritual growth is the top priority in my life because I believe that I can only make change in the lives of others when I am aligned with my true, God-created self. My personal and spiritual growth has also been the most uncomfortable and painful part of my life. It has been a series of heart-stretching, heart-breaking, ego-smashing, soul-shaking experiences, and it has not been at all glamorous. But it has also given me the most precious gifts that have helped me transform into someone I am truly proud to be.
During one of the most humbling sessions that I have ever had with my life coach, some really painful realities about myself were brought to the surface. I began sobbing almost uncontrollably and told her that she was breaking my heart. She looked me deep in the eyes with this piercing gaze of the purest of loves and said, “I love you enough to break your heart.” I don’t remember what I was wearing that day, but I will never forget how it made me feel. She loved me in a way I had never been loved before. I don’t have enough words or prayers to express the love and gratitude I have for this woman.
It’s funny because when I think back to this recent trip that I’ve been speaking so highly of, of course it was full of love and learning, but it was also incredibly painful. I cried more than I have in a long time and I felt more uncomfortable than I have maybe ever, but I came out of it a much stronger, purer, more loving version of myself. And I look back on it as one of the most magical and important times in my life.
For those who know me even a little probably know that “happy” and “joyful” are two of my most favorite emotions. I love to feel good. I love to be happy. Full of JOY is my preferred state of being. So when I feel sad, uncomfortable or afraid, I typically act out, peace out, numb out or sweep it under the rug and pretend it’s all good. For me, acting out only creates more pain; peacing out is really just running away and only postpones the inevitable; numbing out numbs the bad feelings and the good feelings (selective numbing does not exist!); and sweeping it under the rug, well, there is only so much room for so much shit under that rug before we start tripping over it.
So I’m with my girl Brené on this one; it seems like we only have one option if we want to keep moving forward in a positive way: we need to normalize discomfort. In order to learn and grow we must be uncomfortable, so why beat ourselves up over it? If we know that undesirable feelings are an inevitable part of life, why fight them? What if we looked at these feelings the same way we do weather—a gloomy day, rain when we would prefer sun, an unexpected storm? I mean, do we say, “F$%& you, storm!” and get all pissed off at the Universe for acting out? Maybe we’re a little bummed at first, but we accept it as reality. We have come to expect it. It’s normal. We don’t fight it or feel bad about ourselves because of it. Why? Because that would be insane. So why can’t we look at our own internal discomfort in that same logical way?
I think we can. And I’m ready to at least try. So who’s with me?
