I've been reflecting a lot lately around what it means to feel safe, to be safe. How it feels, how we know when we're inside of it, how we know whether or not we can trust it. What is the texture of safety? What does it sound like? Where does it come from? How much of it is within our control? What is safety?

Since the inception of this pandemic, I've found myself on a lengthy, sometimes reluctant, path of self healing. Oftentimes this comes from that space we've all found ourselves in over and over and over again over the last 23ish months, which is that everything seems out of our control. Or, at least, unreliable. And maybe it's always been this way, and I'd been operating under the illusion that the mental gymnastics I often did that assuredly exhausted me regularly, and the stress I carried in my body, were somehow actually fruitful. 

They weren't, and they're not.

Releasing the grips around my illusions of control have brought ease into my life. One of the first times I really embodied this idea was on NYE 2020, sitting at the bottom of a ski hill, by myself, in the snow with ski boots on, kinda cold with snow falling and so much magic in the air, and having a realization that the reason I was enjoying the experience so much was because I had no expectations of it. I hadn't built NYE up in my head. I didn't even know we'd be skiing til that day. It felt so good to see my family. My kids were having fun. My husband was skiing with our nieces and nephews who can hang on the hill. And me, sitting at the bottom, after my heart rate raced up while going down the route on the same skis I bought in Colorado when I moved out there in 2006, completely in that moment and full of gratitude for the experience. 

This was after a Christmas Eve where I had huge expectations. And after eight months of a pandemic where were could no longer reasonably even expect our kids to go to school in person, at least not in the district we live in. We couldn't fully expect safety in our community after one of the cops in our district killed George Floyd by kneeling on his neck while he begged for his life. We couldn't expect safety after building upon building was smashed and burned, while helicopters flew above us with massive spotlights to find people not following curfew, while military tanks drove down our block, the same block where kids run barefoot through sprinklers and leave their bikes in the front yard overnight.

It was after keeping The Locket Sisters afloat through a lot of changes. Keeping my husband afloat after his work shifted, too. Finding out my son has dyslexia and that the way we've been asking him to learn is like asking a fish to suddenly live on a mountain.

So what then? What do you do when you realize the challenges hurled and hurled won't be going away? Do you continue to use the same methods you've always used? Should I have continued to grip with laces tied tight and coats zipped up to the nose? Even if it isn't working? 

That night at the bottom of the ski hill was the beginning of a marked shift in my entire being. From there, now that I could pinpoint that my biggest challenge wasn't the challenges themselves, but how I was responding to them, I could go forward trying a new way of approaching life. 

If my grip on everything wasn't helping anything, was it safe to release?

If my anxiety wasn't solving problems, was it safe to stop worrying?

If my mental gymnastics only made me tired, was it safe to skip them and just rest?

If I don't have the ability to control everything, was it safe to begin flowing instead of resisting?

Over time I tried this new way on for size to see if it was a better fit for me. I also began reading books about the nervous system. I gathered all the information I could on changing patterned responses and behaviors. I had no method of measurement for tracking whether or not it was working other than how I was feeling. 

Was I in a state of panic, or was I flowing? Was my life feeling out of control, or at least more stable than it used to?

Each time I encountered a space that makes you feel like you're pressed up against something, like the clock is ticking, like you can't find the ground underneath you - when I was in contact with these moments, I was no longer succumbing to chaos each time. 

I began to feel grounded. I began to hear myself more. I began to hear my intuition more. And perhaps most beautifully and comforting of all, I began to trust myself and my intuition more. I think she's been trying to speak to me for decades, but I couldn't hear her through all of the noise I allowed to encompass my life. 

Things are quieter now. Things are safer now. This new release brings me safety from myself. When I stop for long enough to listen, I am guided safely. 

It's safe to trust myself. And this is what brings me the most peace.

Warmly,

Allyssa