Sometime around September things started to slip. I slowly forgot to do the things that keep me sane. I started consuming large amounts of cheese. I stopped reading Grace Jones’s memoirs to read online gossip. My physical yoga practice shifted to meditation and I stopped making my little shatavri smoothies. It’s now November. I can’t make a clear business decision to save my life.  I’ve developed irregular physical pangs and stopped sleeping through the night.

For me this is what grief looks like. I go from a well oiled self-care machine to a surly mucus filled mother who doesn’t shower and hates talking in the morning. I want to sit here and say it’s important to know what your little signs that you are slipping into darkness, so you can stop. But sometimes, I wonder if stopping is really necessary.

Today, I welcome the darkness. During my sons naps and morning mediations, I welcome all the tears I haven’t cried and all the I love you’s I never got to say. I also find space to hear all my disappointments and frustrations why I feel this bottomless pit of longing I can’t seem to crawl out of.

Rather than trying to nourish or sweeten my way out of my pain, I think I will feel it. I know once I feel it, I can receive what it has for me and move on. I am learning that no matter how long I sit in child’s pose, no matter how much tincture or rescue remedy I consume, shit just hurts. It will continue to hurt until it doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s just life. We go through tough times. We only stay in the tough time when we deny our own suffering. Trying to stave off the pain of grief doesn’t help at all.

The only thing that seems to help is finding compassion to be where and how I am; knowing that in this moment I am doing my best.  My best is all I could ever ask of myself.