I read a post yesterday by the wonderful Elizabeth Halt and it brought me to tears.
She spoke of coming home to herself.
I have both known that feeling and felt so far away from it as well.
Coming home feels to me like those moments where compassion pushes through all the other stories of who we think we should be, why we aren’t good enough, what is wrong with us, why we think we aren’t worthy and says “You are Home my Dear”.
It is tuning out all of those other stories, seeing and trusting our own.
Some days lately I stop and look at myself in the mirror, or in a photo. That girl with the vintage glasses and the long hair looks somehow changed from the girl I knew a year ago. Some times I just smile at her and all the other voices of critique quiet and I feel proud of her and what she is making of herself, abandoning her previously low expectations for herself. She feels like home.
I don’t feel like that every day. That is just the truth. It is an ongoing process, not something that one has mastered and can sell you the secret recipe for self-love.
The way home is woven into the story of who we are, and only we can find the threads to unravel the parts of the story that no longer work for us.
It is writing new stories and telling the old ones they aren’t invited anymore.
It is listening for our own voice.
It is not needing to be anyone that we are not.
It is home.
Let’s try to find a little bit of home today my friends. I’d love to hear about moments when you felt at home in your skin, in your life path, in your relationship to self-love…