I received the gift of hearing these words on repeat recently. While flattering, I caught myself walling up behind my disbelief in their validity.
Almost as if I could believe that the work I do could be amazing to someone else without me, myself, being amazing as well.
As if I could believe that while the lives of those who tell me that are transformed in mind-blowing ways, I deserve none of the credit. So much in fact, that I doubt my place in this work, all the time.
Thanks to higher self (as the Yogis would say), my doubt hasn't stopped me yet. This is the part of me that stays in reality and grounded while also believing that my heart's deepest longings exist because they can come true. This part of me believes that everyone is amazing, unique and absolutely needed to show up as their best self and in full belief of their validity in order for our collective to thrive.
Because everyone includes me, I put these words on my mirror this morning.
My mirror is a congregating point for affirmations. One of my favorites is "You're Doing a F*cking Great Job!" I have a copy of this on my fridge, too, and my 9 year old little sister has it covered up the bad word with a magnet that has a heart on it.
I believe that I am amazing. I do! Ok, not all the time. A lot of the time. Sometimes.
When I'm dancing and my dance partner can't stop smiling because neither can I.
When I am make butternut squash soup for souls I love and can feel their bodies and minds ease up as they eat.
When I honor my intentions with integrity.
When I am compassionate with others who are struggling to believe in themselves.
When I'm stuck, though, self-compassion doesn't always come easy. If I see something that I know I once believed, like "You are Amazing!! Don't Stop," I can pull myself, even if just slightly, out of the muck, the muck that even the lotus has to come out of in order to bloom. I recall that, yes, I have gifts and skills that serve others to thrive. I can use those to help me thrive.
I need something more in these times, though. I need permission to feel the clingy, heavy muck. To feel the sorrow or disbelief or fear, without believing it is me. It's not me, it's just how I am feeling. I give myself permission to pray instead of meditate. To stay in child's pose or bed a little longer. To call a friend. To write. To stay in. To go out. To soak in hot springs or a long bath. To take time off. To get the fuck into the woods where I can cry, write poetry, ski, and feel completely unattached from muck while still in it.
After this, I can look at those words again with a little more confidence in their validity. I can see how I have shown up for me, for others. I can