permission

Ginormous thank yous to Felt Tip Feelings for this! Print your own HERE.

I’ve started to write three different posts over the last week and a half or so.

And then something happens to derail me. A therapy session that stirs things up and makes me reconsider my own stubborn prespectives. My honey coming home after a tough day at work, angry and depressed and wanting to run away to Massachusetts. A string of dark, cloudy days. A brief glimpse of the news. A fierce need to turn off the world and work on my book or slip into an afternoon nap. The beginning of a war. A wave of grief.

I know I’m not the only one who is exhausted right now. I could make believe that I’m having a flare up, which wouldn’t necessarily be a lie. Or maybe I’ve been getting a bit too wild and unruly on the exercise bike. Or perhaps I’m just responding to the rhythm of the seasons and doing my own version of hibernating.

But ya’ll. C’mon. The world is a mess of uncertainty. Our faith in humanity is constantly being tested and our deep down core values are being attacked. Our nervous systems are fried and our collective heart breaks on almost a daily basis. I think most of us can agree on these things. Atleast the majority of us can, according to the polls.

And yet life still barrels by at an unsettling pace. We still have to show up to work, do the grocery shopping, wash the laundry, drink our water and exercise every day, walk the dog, take the kids to school, somehow keep it together, tend to the things that we can control (or that we think we can control). Cognitive dissonance at its finest.

If we’re lucky, we grab onto opportunites to laugh and experience joy. Be on the lookout for beauty. Push ourselves to dream. Connect to and be held up by our friends and families. Ask for help. Even if these things feel like luxuries at the moment.

But rarely do we give ourselves permission to wallow. To weep. To fall apart. To stare at the ceiling in bewilderment and be flooded with questions. To scream into a pillow. To let the dirty dishes pile up for a day or two or three. To truly mourn our losses.

To feel ALL the feels.

Because we don’t have time for that. Or because it feels like a sinking ship. Not strong or resilient enough. Shameful even.

I call bullshit.

What ever happened to “appropriate responses?” What ever happened to vulnerability being the courage to be authentic, even in the face of a shitshow? What ever happened to daring to be openhearted, even when it hurts?

I’m asking because I really want to know. I want to know why there’s so much pressure to be okay. Why so many folks are should-y when it comes to how we’re supposed to react to our current state of affairs. Is it wisdom? Is it optimism? Is it survival? Or is it pretending that we know what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes, or expecting others to peer through the same exact lens that we are peering through?

I fell in love with the above permission slip made by Felt Tip Feelings when I came upon it yesterday. There’s both acceptance and agency within the permission to be fully ourselves from moment to moment during hard times, whether we receive it from someone else, or offer it to ourselves.

It reminded me how years ago, when I led circles, I gave each woman a permission slip:

Today was supposed to be a writing group day, but due to cooties and work obligations, we had to postpone. So I’ve decided that today, I’m giving myself a permission slip.

To be wild and impractical and unpredictable. To tune out. To piddle. To write if I want to write and not begrudge myself if I don’t (of course, I’m here, so…). To take a day off of the exercise bike but to still drink so much water that I have to pee every fifteen minutes. To savor the almost 80 degree weather even though it’s only the beginning of March (gulp). To let the sunshine pull me back from the drenches. To hold onto tidbits of hope. To give my honey lots of grace. To give myself lots of grace. To find out where the nearest rage room is. To count the minutes until the weekend. To create some semblance of organization in my studio. To take a nap. To giggle at Cyrus’s silly shenanigans and let the tears come if they may.

How ‘bout you? What would your permission slip say?