As tears stream, I know that I’m not the only one who’s ever felt this way. However I am the one with a blog called a dancer in the rain. The blog with the message being “It’s not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain” and the lesson comes from the fact that we are all great at giving advice and #livingourbestlives when things are going fine or when life’s hiccups are brief and you just need to hold your breathe ever so slightly until the scary moment passes.
But what happens when you’ve held your breathe to the point of asphyxiation? You can’t breath. You just want it to stop. When you’re in the midst of the most violent storm, being tossed around dangerously. Your grasp keeps slipping, you don’t know how much longer you can hold on.
And what happens when you have the moral obligation to practice what you preach. Not to sit waiting for the turbulence to be over but to learn to embrace it. To somehow allow yourself to be flung overboard, sucked under with the hope that then and only then, the pain will be gone or… maybe. Just maybe. You’ll be spat out on the other side of grief.
When you can finally… finally… breath.
And your friend gifts you a book on surrendering and you know this just might make a divinely inspiring story. If you GO THERE, let go into what you fear the most.
Surrendering. Losing control. Handing over. Crossing the path into not knowing. And being okay with that.
It’s rough when the tough times are in fact fuckin’ horrendous times!
Leaning into the places that hurt, when the hurt is so messy and confusing there’s no defining it. That wherever you land along the scale between hope and despair, knowing that light will still meet you there.
It’s easy to make excuses for “You have been here before & you survived” by telling yourself, “but this time it’s different!”
And maybe it is.
Because maybe you are.
I stopped praying for what I wanted and I started praying for the greater good for all. Secretly, hoping my unselfishness would swing in my favour. Now I’m just like “Stuff it, I’d prefer things to work out the way I see them as being less painful. To whatever consequence. Short term gain is better than this current pain!”
What should I rename this blog?
As my environment moves from Winter to Spring, may I not be so damn hard on myself. May I have more light than dark. May this be a season in believing beyond what I can see and trusting that even though I haven’t felt brave, I have been.
That I am.
That I have turned bitterness into compassion and anger into love.
And that even when I feel empty, I have such a deep source of love.
That I am such a deep source of love.
That I am.
The depth of my love is honoured by the depth of my pain. Would I ever want to love any less if this is the price I have to pay?
Noticing that through this process, I’m being shaped. I am paddling a little further each day. And with grace – that I might someday, even if only when looking back, have something weirdly wonderful and somewhat wise to say.
As the heaviness lifts, giving way to a moment of peace in the uncertainty and with grace – allowing the light to briefly peak through.
9 thoughts on “With grace.”
Beautiful and so relatable.
Thank you x
So inspiring – you are showing such vulnerability and strength at the same time. Love – what a word. Who knows the meaning?
There is strength in vulnerability and vulnerability in strength.
Beautifully written, so inspiring.. Can resonate in every way…. xx
Thanks my friend ♡
You are so inspiring, my friend!
“There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.” – something we’ve believed in for ages. This beautiful piece reminds me of it. Your words are so true and many can connect to it. ♡
This post couldn’t be written any better! Thanks for sharing the wisdom!
‘Be the one who knows deep down that the heart can really break. Be the one who shelters love from tears and wind and rain, and knows just as the storm will pass, so also will the pain.’ Hugs, Dani! You’re amazing! xxx ❤️