Safe container

I had a moment of grief. Right before that, an extended moment of regret. A longing to go back to something, but I stopped myself from acting on it and let it simmer.

I went outside the next day with a destination in mind, only to feel my gut pulling me elsewhere. So I let it.

I missed the bus stop I had originally planned to get off at and stayed for a few stops longer. Got off and started walking towards an area I consider to be “of the past.” Meandered until I stopped in the middle of a random street under a beautiful tree.

Tears gathered in my eyes. Grief arrived and passed through me, with it went the regret and longing to return.

Who knew that letting go of an old version of self would take this long. That grief would come in ripples, often at times when I’m feeling steady. Some feelings can only surface when we feel safe enough to unclench. I’m writing to remind myself that I can trust my own judgement even if it came with loss.

Trust that you know who and what environments you need to support your transformation and expansion. Even if it means that you must be alone for a while. Even if it means floating around as you expand. You might meet your past over and over again, until every inch and nerve in your body stops choosing familiarity.

A remnant of my old self believes this to be cold. It is not.

In these tender periods, we need a mixture of people and environments for support. We need the close friends and siblings who love us regardless of who, how, or what we want to be. We need people who can sit with the discomfort of our change and uncertainty without making it about themselves — people who can keep their center and be okay without it anchored to us for a while.

We also need people who can support us in ways people who know us too well, cannot. Sometimes, the best support comes from those who have space to meet the half-formed, shapeshifting, new version of us without the lens of preconditioning.

We need relationships and spaces that are safe containers for our transformation — not pulling us towards contraction, nor boundaryless amplifiers of expansion.