Nurture, Not Heal
The other day I was walking in the woods trying so hard to get a deep breath. My breathing felt stuck. Like I couldn’t get it to go down through my diaphragm. You know that really good kind of breath you get when it really just reaches the bottom of your belly? And then spills up and outwards, releasing things all throughout your body as it washes over you? I often have trouble getting those breaths.
I’ve just been so aware, recently, of how shallow my breathing often is.
Here’s a thing about me: I have pretty good self-awareness. . . and also a strong desire to “fix” things.
Those two things coupled together can cause me a lot of problems.
I’m also very determined, driven and have a history of perfectionism.
So, when I realize something, like my breathing is too shallow, I immediately think - well, I can fix that.
The thing is, I often package it up as “healing”.
Healing has a sweet, spiritual ring to it that often makes me feel as if I’m being gentler with myself than I actually am.
I’m healing my breathing. I’m healing my perfectionism. I’m healing my childhood trauma. I’m healing my body aches from my recent Lyme diagnosis.
I’m even healing my daughter from the trauma she experienced when my youngest was born and I was experiencing deep postpartum sleep deprivation, anxiety and darkness.
oof. “I’m healing my daughter.”
It’s hard for me to hear myself saying that. Because, although I have the best intentions. . . and although I am applying self-compassion. . . and although I am often being more gentle with her than ever. . .
what’s underneath the language of healing is the hidden drive to fix.
I’m trying to fix my daughter’s outbursts.
I’m trying to fix my perfectionism.
I’m trying to fix my breathing.
And the thing is, lately I’m realizing that using the language “I’m healing” is no longer empowering me.
And trying to “fix” people and behavior has been a pretty ugly road for me. It just doesn’t work. And even if it does appear to work, I’ve found uglier things come up in the midst of that type of relationship.
So, the other day in the woods when I heard myself say out loud that I’ve been working on healing my breathing, I stopped. I put my hands on my belly and said to myself, “I’m just gonna nurture my breathing today. I’m not gonna heal it.”
Here’s the other thing. I don’t have a history of nurturing myself.
Which feels like something I’ve been missing.
For me, self-nurturing feels like asking myself what I truly need and desire, without any expectation for a certain outcome.
phew. I can already breath deeper just typing that.
The other day someone said to me, “We gotta figure out this thing with the kids.” And as soon as I felt that implied pressure to ‘figure something out for my kids’ I clammed up. My mind started judging my parenting. My inner animal started roaring to protect my girls. My heart started racing with “omg I’m doing so much already, how can I figure out MORE?!”
I know healing is a life long journey. I’m not saying I’m against the act of healing. I love healing. (I also will still probably use that language sometimes). This is not really an all-or-nothing type thing, but really just a reframing for me.
When I think about a wound healing I think about it bleeding and then gradually beginning to scab and scar over. There is progression. And it seems to move linear.
Maybe that’s why I’m having some sort of blockage at the moment with the use of that word.
Because, when it comes to my daughter, the absolute best support I’ve ever given her is allowing her to fully express herself. The times when her tantrums and suffering seem to be alleviated the most is when I simply hold space for her to literally let that shit go allllll over the place and not judge her until she’s done. When I truly hold it in my heart and body that she needs to release something and to not judge her and to just be there to keep her safe and loved and nurtured. . . a deeper peace arises.
THAT's healing.
Holding space for someone’s full expression of feelings without doing or expecting anything to be different.
It’s F*ng hard. It’s THE hardest thing I’ve ever done.
And, it’s THE thing I was missing growing up.
So, when I notice my breathing is shallow now, I think nurture. How can I nurture myself right now? What does my body need?
And that answer changes. It’s totally dependent on each unique scenario. Sometimes, it’s a slow walk in the woods. Sometimes, it’s finding the sun and facing it for a few minutes. Sometimes its actually just taking off my tight pants with annoying waistlines and putting on a pair I can actually breath deep in. Who knew that’s been part of my problem?!
That’s the thing about nurturing:
I’ve found responses that weren’t directly tied to what I thought the problem was. . .
“Heal. Self-care. Yoga. Art. Community. Safe container.”
A lot of these words can feel loaded. Or, I’ve heard them used so much that I don’t even have any freaking idea what they actually mean anymore.
And yet I’ve found that language can have a profound effect on my ability to engage or disengage and the ways in which I do so. Every now and then I take a closer look at what I’m really saying to myself and how it affects me.
So, for now, it’s nurture, not heal.
I’m nurturing the parts of me that hurt. I’m nurturing the parts of me that feel lonely. I’m nurturing the parts of me that feel unseen.
Right now I’m sitting in the sun writing amongst green plants illuminated by the light in my favorite room of the house. It’s so cold out and inside my house it is too, but this sun spot is warming my bones and it’s making me so grateful. My to do list is long and I chose to write because desire is medicine and that’s something, too, I’ve been reluctant to fully adopt because of more crappy conditioning, but that I know is truth.
Right now I’m nurturing myself.
And, well it’s true - it feels really freaking healing.
But the difference is I have nothing to prove.
I just came here to cozy myself up a bit.