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Time to Stop

I have spent the last year on warp speed.

About this time last year, I decided I wanted to move to Vermont. 3 weeks later I was visiting, interviewing for jobs and searching for an apartment. 3 weeks after that I had moved and started my new job. Since then I’ve worked my arse off, paid off debts, explored, made new friends, worked on my health, published another books, wrote another book, kept running my business part time while working full time, and basically never stopped going, doing, striving, planning, and blasting full steam ahead.

For the most part it’s been amazing. I love this beautiful place I live. I’ve met some truly heart-and-soul good people, I’m in a decent financial place, I love love love the women I get to work with, I’ve learned so incredibly much about myself and about life, and I have felt more alive than I had in a long while.

And some parts of it have been hard. I keep hitting roadblock after roadblock for my professional licensure. My sweet, much adored cat had to be put to sleep. I miss my close-knit and amazingly supportive community in Asheville. My health has taken some hits due to a wacky, sleep-depriving schedule. Two women I dearly loved died in October.

In mid-December, I finally hit a wall. Too many changes. Too much grief. Too little sleep. Not enough time taken for creativity, writing, and rest.

And I have been struggling since I smashed headlong into said wall.

Off balance. Off center. Ungrounded. Unclear. Weepy. Irritable. Frustrated. Anxious. Panicky.

I’ve been desperately trying to figure out what I want, what I need, and where I’m going. I’ve spent precious time and energy reserves frantically trying to “fix it” without really even knowing what “it” was.

Today, after spending half a day crying and feeling overwhelmingly frustrated after yet another roadblock in my professional licensure, I realized that my desperate, frantic attempts to fix things are only making it worse.

It’s time to stop.

It’s well past time to stop.

As much as it might help sooth my anxiety and need for resolution, planning and figuring and plowing mindlessly ahead isn’t going to get me where I want to be.

Because I don’t know where I want to be anymore.

I’ve been so busy doing and striving and getting things done this past year that I’ve lost all sense of me and my direction. The guidance of my heart, which has never lead me wrong in life, has gotten lost, buried under all the noise of going and doing and my mind’s desperate attempts to figure things out.

Moving to this place was where my heart told me I needed to go. I do still believe that in terms of a living environment, I am supposed to be here in Vermont.

Everything else? Well, who knows.

What do I want to do professionally? Other than write books? I honestly don’t know anymore.
My personal life? I’m not even sure I know what a social life is anymore.
Health-wise? My body is screaming at me, but I can’t seem to understand what she wants or needs.
Financially? I’m making it work and that’s a relief, but it’s not sustainable for too much longer.

The one and only thing that became clear today was that I need to stop.

Stop trying to figure it all out right now.
Stop trying to push to make things happen.
Stop trying to plan for every contingency.
Stop trying to have all the answers.

I need to stop.

To sleep. To rest. To grieve losses I haven’t allowed space for grieving this year.

To give my heart time and space and quiet to let what is next and what is mine rise up within me. To allow that grounded, inner part of me that always has the answers the space to light up my next steps.

Sometimes, when things go sideways and get fucked, it’s time to stop.

Time to let it be messy and broken and massively uncomfortable.

Absolutely no part of me likes sitting in this messy, broken, uncomfortable space.

However, I’m not at all a fan of the cranky, irritable, emotional person I’ve become recently. I don’t feel like me anymore – and I miss me. I miss that sense of utter clarity of who I am and where I’m going and what I want.

If finding myself again means sitting down in the messy, broken, uncomfortable ruins, then I will sit. I will stop. I will let my heart find it’s voice again.

Because sometimes the most productive and helpful thing we can do in life is to stop doing.

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