In 2021 Olympic gymnast Simone Biles decided to back out of the 2022 Olympics for the sake of her mental and physical health.
It was a stunning example of what it looks like to have heathy boundaries. To say "no." To be connected to herself and what's best for her health.
Even though people were mad and/or disappointed.
Even though people said mean things about her in public.
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That same year, my stepfather's wife died from kidney cancer that had been discovered less than a month prior.
Jane and I had a close relationship spanning more than 30 years (point of clarification: my stepfather was married to my mother when I was five and divorced from her when I was 20. He married Jane five-ish years later).
When I found out she had maybe a week to live (and wasn't conscious), I made arrangements to fly to Arizona (from Connecticut) even though I didn't want to.
It was fascinating to watch myself in the 24 or so hours that all this was taking place. My brain was offering me thoughts like, "What will everyone think? They will be hurt and mad. They will think I am selfish. I need to have a good excuse. I need to have a reasonable explanation." I noticed myself feeling guilty. Then resentful. Then anxious.
The next morning, my husband said, "Whether you go or not, one thing I know for sure is that you will write something beautiful about Jane."
My body flooded with the sensations I know to be love because I knew he was right and because he knows me so well. I cancelled the travel arrangements. I didn't explain, other than to say I wasn't coming.
And then I wrote something beautiful about Jane and our relationship. Because that is who I am...that is what I do...that is what I offer...that is how I honored Jane and our relationship.
Did I have twinges of regret that I didn't go? Yes. A couple of very faint twinges. Mostly I felt (and still feel) a deep, abiding well of love that is unattached to proving anything or making anyone think a certain way about me.
(I haven’t ever said this out loud: everyone but me used the word “selfless” to describe Jane. Selfless is what we say about women who erase themselves for others. They don’t do that because their weak or because there’s something wrong with them…they do it because on a nervous system level it feels dangerous not to.)
~~~
Last year my book, You Are Not Your Mother: Releasing Generational Trauma and Shame came out.
I could barely show up for it. It wasn't just the book. There was other stuff happening: the culmination of pandemic stress, some health issues, and the fact that I was continuing to force myself to do something I didn't want to do: call my mother every two weeks.
I did a couple of events. My mouth was moving but I wasn't there. I had no energy.
And guess what? Before I fully understood what was happening, I shamed myself. Of course I did.
I needed rest. And what I mean by that isn't taking naps and going to be early (although I most certainly did go to bed early).
It meant that I cut myself a break and didn't do what was expected of me...what *I* expected of myself.
Was it inconvenient? Totally. Did I sell fewer books because of it? Almost certainly.
Instead of forcing myself to “put myself out there” I did what I could: posted on social media, recorded some podcasts, and sent emails to my newsletter list.
I quit the gym and started taking long, slow walks instead.
I got some therapy.
Eventually I quit drinking with the help of Zepbound (which isn’t the primary reason I started taking it).
More than a year later I can honestly say it was the best thing I could have done for myself. I am not going to say "with no regrets" because I don’t think it’s possible to be human and to not have regrets.
I’d rather be human.
Feminine energy expands and contracts. The contraction is unpleasant mostly because we don't honor feminine energy...we haven't for many thousands of years. We become brittle as a result.
I'm glad I gave in to it. I am more supple now.
P.S. It would be irresponsible of me not to acknowledge the privilege and support I have that allowed me to do this.