Why does the hurt offer such beauty?

A note for when we just need to feel

Writing is often a solitary experience. Maybe there are super humans who can write in a crowded noisy public spaces, but I am not one of them. When sound settles to the ground and I can hear the breath in my lungs, then I’m able to see the images emerging, hoping its their turn to tell the truth out loud. My body sighs, fingers tap, and my face smiles. Well, hello story. There you are.

I’m tucked into a quiet moment in my day so it’s time to send you a note.

Still Here is here. Finally. It’s a book that came out of me like a child with a mind of its complete own. It felt pointless to tell it what to do. I grabbed her hand and held on like my life depended on it. And honestly, it did.

Grief arrived in 2022 and refused to release its grip. Multiple waves beyond my brother’s death knocked me over as I struggled to stand. At some point, I gave up trying and floated the waves as best I could. Turns out, that’s when grief became a bit more beautiful. She had much to show me, if only I would trust her as my new teacher. I didn’t request this teacher but life sent her my way.

Here’s the awkward thing about grief. I would never invite her presence into my life. But when she shows up and I choose to welcome her in, I become more whole. More at peace. More curious. More loving.

Why does this thing that hurts something terrible also offer such beauty?

I’ll spend the rest of my life circling that question. All I know is that it’s been true this past year.

It’s probably because grief is just another name for love. We grieve because there was deep love. We grieve because of the lack of love in some of our relationships. We grieve how life shifted so dramatically during the pandemic. We grieve the way our bodies change. We grieve relationships we must exit for our own well being. We grieve ways of life that used to make sense. We grieve the layers of self that felt comfortable, even if they trapped us in an old life.

Writing this book offered a structure for a life experience that felt unbearable. The rhythm of writing a poem ushered the truest thing to the surface. As grief bubbled in my body, a simple sentence captured the confusing moment and that clarity helped me make sense of an unpredictable journey.

Because really? I just needed to feel.

I watched my brain try to make sense of it. To fix it. To line it all up in linear order. To predict when this terrible experience would be over. To figure out if I was doing it the right way. To quiet the discomfort knocking at the door. To shush the void demanding my direct eye contact.

Each poem was a gentle and intentional invitation to look right at the void and feel it.

My dear readers, what about you?

Is there a space in life lately that you notice you’re doing a lot of thinking and not much feeling? Is there a place you feel stuck as you orbit the issue at hand, realizing maybe your brain can’t solve it yet. Maybe it’s an invitation to feel the truth of it all. Then trusting energy and inspiration and possibility will emerge on the other side of the brave work of feeling.

I tell you all the time but this is some of the bravest work you can do. Especially in a culture that’s conditioned most of us to avoid this at all costs. It’s worth noting that feeling our big emotions doesn’t solve it all. Emotions are complicated data points in our body. They give us information about our trauma, our story, and our conditioning.

But I do know this. When we ignore our grief, determined to stay safe in the confines of our mind, we miss out on the richness and beauty of this life. We might think it will hurt less to push the grief away. I think it does the opposite. Wading right into the mess of it all somehow invites it to unravel.

And all that’s left is love.

Thank you for your incredible support this past year. You’re the best readers on the planet and I’m forever grateful to walk with you in this season. Here’s to whatever we get to unravel next!

Love is waiting. Grinning, in fact. She’s so excited to see us.

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I’d love to see you!

March 8, 2023
Stanwood UMC
A Conversation on The Grief We Carry
Stanwood, Washington

March 12, 2023
First United Methodist Church of Salem
Salem, Oregon

March 16, 2023
Spirituality & The Arts: Grief, Poetry & Creative Practice
Hosted by West Central Abbey
Spokane, Washington

March 19, 2023
First Seattle UMC
A Conversation on The Grief We Carry
Seattle, Washington

March 26, 2023
Everett Unity Church
A Conversation on The Grief We Carry
Everett, Washington