When it rains, it pours
I was supposed to be running a half marathon, but my body has different plans
By Hannah is a free weekly newsletter exploring personal and planetary well-being. If you want to become a supporter of the newsletter, please consider subscribing and sharing. If you enjoy my writing, I invite you to support my work by becoming a paid subscriber. Your support keeps me writing, thank you.
The weather has been wild and stormy the last few days, and anytime I go outside and feel the wind rush through me, I feel it release any heaviness that lingers within me. It makes me want to laugh hysterically because the sensation of a gust of wind whipping through my hair and body makes me feel so alive. It always humbles me that a simple gust of wind can lift me out of my thoughts and into the here and now.
With this aliveness, also comes the dip in the hill. These dips are often met with shame. As with the complexity of human emotions — and being human — the journey is more of a meandering one. Today I was supposed to be running a marathon but my body had different plans. I had grand plans which started great. I was running consistently, feeling stronger, and my goal was within reach. Then, my body (or my mind) just stopped…working. What I mean here, is my body stopped being resilient, and capable of pushing itself to the limits I had set. It’s frustrating to commit to something, to then be unwillingly brought to a halt.
Once again, I sit down and ask myself: what is the lesson in this? In moments when things don’t go to plan, what is the invitation? I’m sitting here, gazing out the window as the rain pours, as it has been for nearly two weeks — making it impossible to run on my usual trail route. Could I have run even if I wanted to?
Sometimes the timelines we set ourselves is not the timeline which life has in store for us. In my last post, I shared about the importance of a slow season. Life has a way of pivoting us when we have the blinkers on. I didn’t see it, but perhaps I was pushing my body too hard when what I actually needed was rest or a longer timeline.
It’s easy to become devoted to a timeline that suits what our mind thinks works best, that we leave out the equation of the body. But our body also has a sway on our timelines and how we embody ourselves in the world. During this time in my life, where there is a noticeable ‘dip’, I’m trying to cultivate leaning into the aliveness of life, even if they’re in more soft and tender ways, rather than through loud and exciting means. An example of this is savouring my first tea of the day. The days have been wet and cold here, so in the morning, making a cup of hot herbal tea to warm my hands and my body has been such a joy.
wrote in Ten Things, part six, something which deeply resonated with me: ‘Sometimes, taking time to care for ourselves is this small, this ordinary, this quiet.’ In this season of my life, taking care of myself has looked like the small acts; it’s not been the meditation, yoga, or deep inner healing work, it’s been: making a cup of tea for myself, showering and getting dressed, and having my partner cook for me. Small, simple, yet powerful acts of self-compassion for where I’m at in this moment.For those who are also in a tender space at the moment, I invite you to find solace in the small moments of care. Although they may seem mundane, how can you turn these ordinary daily acts into moments of healing and care for oneself?
Journal Prompts for tender days:
What small actions can you take today to show yourself care and compassion?
Who in your life makes it easy for you to show up imperfectly?