On tuning into my inner knowing

A few weeks ago, I spent an evening ugly crying—first to my digital journal and then to Aubrey—spelling out all of my worst fears about myself and my life.

I crashed out, as my daughter would say.

It had been an intense parenting day. One that scared and overwhelmed me. My nerves were shot. My soul was frantic.

I’m doing everything wrong. Can I do anything right?

What’s wrong with me? I thought I would be better/wiser/stronger/healthier by now.

I’m failing at everything. I’m failing at what I care about the most.

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Since then, I can’t help but wonder if I opened the floodgates of self-loathing that almost drowned me a decade ago. I’ve been living as if I’m broken, not being able to shake the voices that got so loud that night.

Did I let the lies back in? I gave them power again, I’ve been chiding myself.

And yet…something an old counselor told me (during those earlier drowning days) keeps floating up to the surface, reminding me of something I know to be true:

It’s not that I feel too much, it’s that I feel too little.

Yesterday, I took myself outside for some reading and journaling (our family has been abstaining from screens on Sunday which sometimes feels like a chore, but yesterday it was a gift).

I wrote something that I’m recognizing as a buoy to cling to:

Somewhere deep inside, I know.
That all the tangles of lies I’ve been living by are nonsense.
That I am good & okay & human & beautiful.
That I have lots of good & true & beautiful things to offer others.
To enjoy for myself.
Spirit, help me to tune into that inner knowing more readily.
Less static, more music.

And there it is: tuning in.

The problem was that I had those thoughts, felt those feelings, or I gave voice to those fears.

The problem came when I stayed in that frantic place—flitting around from exploring issues to fretting about answers to frenzied attempts at fixing my life.

Like someone who’s too panicked to find the frequency on a radio that they keep overshooting their destination and get stuck in static and chaos.

The music is there. I just need to slow down enough to tune in. Perhaps with practice, I’ll find the frequency faster. But in the mean time, I can feel the difference. Frenzied static makes a lousy soundtrack to live by. It’s worth it to put my hand on the dial and listen, listen, listen for the right notes.

Something beautiful is already playing. Waiting for me to join and sing along.