I don’t like to write when I am in the thick of processing. Here, I mean. As in, I don’t like to write to my BLOG when I am in the thick of processing. No. Nuh uh.

When I’m processing, I’ll write in my journal or I’ll write pieces I only share in my sacred writing group, but here…this is different. We have a different understanding, you and I. Or at least, I have a different understanding of how I am here to serve you.

Something happens in my realm. I roll it around on the counter, inspecting it, poking it, prodding it, walking away from it, coming back to it and then sticking it into my oven of understanding wherein I crank up the flame of transmutation and out comes some fresh-baked perspective for me to offer you in the hopes that it nourishes and supports you in your process.

That’s how I see it.

And so, while I’ve been wanting so much to reach out to you, to speak to you, to share with you, the truth of it is that I’m still in the mess of processing some challenging life stuff. Poking, prodding, rolling it around.

The truth of it is that my father has been sick. And though today is still not the day to say more about that, I know it’s time to offer you some of what I do know to be true.

The truth of it is that the most days end with heart in my throat and a phone charged bedside just in case there’s a call, but the added truth of it is that I leave it on my husband’s side of the bed because that extra three feet of distance gives me space to breathe.

The truth of it is that I’m struggling to stay focused. I continue to bring my full self to my coaching clients, to my daughter and to my father. But all else gets about 60 scant percent of my attention.

The truth of it is that I have dropped many plates. And am certain I will drop more.

The truth of it is that I don’t quite know where to direct my anger, so I shout a lot in my car when I’m alone.

The truth of it is that I’m doing a lousy job keeping people up to date because I am tired of having finding new ways to say: time will tell.

The truth of it is that I am scared.

The truth of it is that I want to write about release and I want to write about grace and I want to write about peace and life and love and transitions. But the truth of it is that none of this process has passed through that purifying flame of transmutation. Yet.

So the truth of it is that I can only share what I’ve always known.

When someone offers you support, accept it. When someone drops by with food, cherish it. When someone brings you a new meditation to explore, do it. When someone suggests alternate nostril breathing, try it. When someone sends you a video of them singing a Norwegian lullaby, embrace it. When someone repeats Julian of Norwich’s words ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well’, believe it.

The truth of it is that it will be hard. Because your heart won’t trust it even if your cells do. Your muscles and your adrenals will raise hell and fight you tooth and nail. And the stories you will concoct about what “well” means will keep you up at night.

So allow me to tell you the truth of it.

Well won’t mean pink light and roses and sparkles. Necessarily.

Well won’t mean like you planned or saw. Well won’t mean there won’t be worry. Well won’t mean that there will be control. Well won’t mean that there won’t be tears and prayers that reach far into the night that never get finished because you’ve fallen asleep (at long last).

Well will mean that the faith that you have cultivated and the relationships that you have nourished and the love that you have listened for and the light that you connect with will sustain you. Well will simply mean okay.

And okay will be wellenough. For now.

That is the truth of it.

As I know it, deeply and intrinsically.

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