Last September, I could feel myself shifting, growing. My business was growing, and my energy was changing. It felt as though my consciousness was being pulled out of my head and my ability to charge forward in spite of myself, and traveling down through my feet, into the ground beneath me. Traveling beneath the soil, my energy became horizontal and I could feel myself (and my femininity) lowering into a new vibration. Slower. More intentional. Readying myself for the possibility of the baby that seems to be constantly tugging at my ankles as I pad around the house.
All of the sudden, if I wasn’t careful, I became exhausted easily. My out-of-orbit rhythms became tattooed beneath my eyes like dark rings of discontentment. I could not longer wind myself up and set myself to a task. I could no longer drink all of the coffee and plow through my to-do list.
My work stopped being about doing and started being about feeling.
When I say work, I do mean the literal work of tending to this space – the curation of classes and group experiences, the coaching calls, the healing work. But, I also mean the work of being a human on this planet. The presence of mind as I navigate my daily life.
A couple of things become startlingly clear…
I was going to need to scale back.
I was going to need help.
I tried to wrap my head around the latter for weeks and months, as I attempted to give myself permission to receive help.
The prayer was simple: Help. Strategic camaraderie. Allowing myself to be witnessed and supported. Someone that I can trust. Someone that I can totally adore. Someone who will tend to this space as lovingly as I do.
But the ask unraveled me. Who would I be if I didn’t do it all? Was it possible to really (truly) ask for help? Could I entrust my beloved business to someone else’s capable hands?
It took me months to realize that the boulder in my way was the truth that I had been married to the idea of earning my keep. For years, I have showed up here, overextending myself and enjoying it. I have responded to every email, accounted for every dollar, written thousands of words a week, and worked with hundreds of women, all by myself. This site, this business, was my best thing. My labor of love.
But, as things were shifting in my life, my perception of my role needed to shift as well.
I am a (recovering) control freak. I have always been an overachiever. I have prided myself on doing too much – on my ability to follow through. Truthfully, I loved these things about myself, for a time. But, if I wanted to grow – if I wanted to allow myself to grow – I needed to open myself up to the vulnerability of asking for help tending to this space.
The truth is, though I love it dearly, I am not my job.
I am not the items on my to do list.
I am not money earned or bills paid.
I am the ocean and the sand and the light-hearted feeling of divine belonging in the world around me.
I am a spirit, with tangled hair, just wanting to be acknowledged.
I am divinely feminine and deeply rooted.
My worth is inherent.
I am strengthened – not diminished – when I allow myself to ask for help.