How Will You Begin Your Healing?
Maybe it’s not about what you do — but what you’re thinking
Since word of the COVID-19 pandemic has hit our screens and our feeds, our hearts have been heavy. Our souls have felt tired. Our bodies and our beings have felt stuck and scared.
Since the time the world has come to a screeching halt, I’ve seen people lean on one another and words of hope more than ever.
There is a particular quote by Kitty O’Meara that has gone viral that I cannot get out of my head:
And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.
The people healed.
The earth healed.
Such simple, warming words for such a weird and crazy time.
So, how will you begin your healing?
Maybe you begin healing with counting your blessings every morning. Maybe you write down five things you’re grateful for every day, in that exact moment. You don’t make sweeping generalizations of gratitude, but instead, find yourself being thankful for the little things that mean so much — like a roof over your head. Like your spouse making you a cup of coffee before you even wake up — and the two of you working in harmony under one roof, like the fact that you have the means to put food in your fridge.
Maybe you begin healing with a new routine. Perhaps you’ll rediscover the slowness of a morning, and carve out time to be one with your cup of coffee or tea. Maybe when you sit and drink, you’ll let your gaze drift to beyond your window — and you’ll notice the way the sun works its way into your home and kisses everything with its glow. Perhaps you’ll marvel at the blueness of the sky, and the joy you feel when you hear the laughter of both your loved ones and your neighbors. Perhaps you’ll realize that phones shouldn’t have a seat at your table, and your mealtimes will be full of stories instead of screens. You’ll gather around your table for card games and cuddle on the couch for a movie marathon.
Or maybe your healing will look differently.
Maybe it’s not about what you do — but what you’re thinking. Perhaps you’ll take the time to appreciate the things that you do have, instead of griping about what you do not. Maybe you’ll show up for your loved ones more, and not let words like busy stand in the way between you and your grandma. Or your kids. Or your parents, or your siblings, or your friends. Perhaps you’ll choose your words with more care — both the ones you tell to others and the ones you tell yourself. Maybe you’ll realize that you can acknowledge your pain — but choose to seek joy.
I hope your healing lifts your spirit.
I hope it makes you stop to soak in smiles and sunshine and the sounds of your loved one’s laugher. I hope you realize that there are so many things in life that you cannot change, but there are also a million little things that you can. I hope you see that complacency is akin to a slow death, and you deserve more than a life of being complacent. I hope you stop wearing busy as a badge of honor and take the time to cultivate the things in life that matter to you — like your art, and your work, and your health, and the relationships that you hold dear.
Whatever healing looks like for you; I hope you embrace it with every bit of your being.
