Hello Lovely,
I'm not sure what to write about today. Well, there's always the weather. It's been quite cool in our parts. In fact, this weekend we had lows in the 20's. Thankfully, I covered most of my garden so there wasn't too much damage. But, I'm glad I did, otherwise the plant babies would have not survived. It's finally beginning to warm up to more average temps. I'm looking forward to planting the rest of my garden out. I planted beans earlier this week, but I need to get tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, and peppers in the ground.
This week has been emotionally draining. I'm beginning to recover, but honestly, it's going to require some time. I've been thinking a lot lately, during this Great Pause about how I'd like to stand in this world and how I wish to show up.
I'm so tired. Of seeking validation for my worthiness from others. I'm so tired. Of feeling shame or rejection for who I am. I'm so tired. Of feeling misunderstood. I'm so tired. Of not feeling strong in my core. Who would I be without these feelings and thoughts? I imagine the possibilities of joy and love that can be felt when not burdened by the stories that I tell myself. This is what I've been stewing on the past couple of months at home. The lightness. The release. The deep breathe. The sigh. The peace. The contentment. The compassion. The joy. The knowing that no matter what, I belong here. To myself. Deeply. Truly. That my higher self is unshakable. It is as sturdy and as wise as an ancient forest.
I'm going to continue on this journey. Picking apart the thoughts and feelings that do not serve my higher self. To recognize when the stories continue to play in ways that perpetuate shame. To sit with it all and to discover that no matter what, I'm going to be okay. One moment at a time.
And so, I think I'll end here and blast the rest of this post with images of spring in Appalachia. There is a family of phoebes residing in a mossy nest off one of our gutters. It's always so fun to watch a pair of birds build their home, set on eggs, and then busy their days with caring for their babies. These hatchlings will soon be fledglings. The porch will be quiet once again without their endearing cheeping. A few days ago, a hummingbird nearly flew into my face. I was holding a red bag which must of sent her the message that I had nectar to offer. Lately, I see them drinking from the Columbine blossoms. The wood thrush have returned and grace us with their ethereal songs as bookends to our days. It's officially "dapply sunlight dancing through the forest" season. I can't believe that less than a month ago, the woods were barren. Sleeping trees. Sleeping perennials. And now, just like all the springs that have come before, we see the life that was always there, quietly, majestically, growing in a way we couldn't see.
