Self Compassion

“One of the qualities that you can develop, particularly
in your older years, is a sense of great compassion for yourself.”

John O’Donohue, Anam Cara, 2023

I’ve been feeling blah. It’s more a low grade anxious irritation. Reluctant to self diagnose seasonal affective disorder, I’ll call it the “Christmas cranks.” I’m quick to snark at my husband, impatient with the world around me, bewildered with the heartless rationales lobbed back and forth attempting to justify the ongoing carnage in the Middle East, and lest we forget, Ukraine. I’m worried about family and friends struggling with serious health conditions, and in awe of those soldiering on despite. My kitchen candle and morning prayers mere to the weight they shoulder. I’m sad about the turn in friendships, this year counting several who may be no longer, one I dreamt of last night. I miss Annie, not as acutely, but this morning, where was she to hand off a favourite, a crunchy piece of burnt toast? I dreamt of her this week, and when I do, which isn’t often, I’m always aware that she has died. My new-to-me-car’s battery died on Wednesday (thankfully a mild morning for the AMA to test and replace it in my driveway), and while an expense in a month of many, I know it’s but a fraction of the tight belts many are suffering. Some days I feel tired despite being able to sleep deeper and longer, maybe even replenishing stores from summer when ambient light and worry about my trek created many short nights. I’m thinking given the season and that we have friends we haven’t seen in ages, I should invite them for some Christmas cheer, or at least a dinner. But being in low supply, I don’t have the gumption.

Once a wise man suggested this low-grade irritation is a symptom of my care for the world. What a tender reframing for an emotion I’d been feeling ashamed for having, a reframing especially necessary to remember during a season when we may feel worse for not feeling merry.

“Anger is the part of yourself that loves you the most. It knows when you are being mistreated, neglected, disrespected. It signals that you have to take a step out of a place that doesn’t do you justice. It makes you aware that you need to leave a room, a job, a relationship, old patterns that don’t work for you anymore.“

Unknown source

Snow fell midweek, muffling city sounds and bringing a holy softness and silence, making it easier for our neighborhood now white hares to stay hidden, and for me to find moments of inner quiet. Baking muffins and cooking dinner yesterday afternoon, I listened to a beautifully curated winter solstice program hosted by Paolo Piertopauolo on CBC. The song, “The Difficult Season,” from the Music on Main 2017 Winter Solstice concert caught my ear for its truth-telling lyrics and the reminder of a more prevalent intentional making space for the counter-cultural story that invites and acknowledges a myriad of emotions, feelings and responses to this season. One that welcomes and honours grief’s persistent, though at times subdued, presence in our lives. Like this balm from the late John O’Donohue, in yesterday’s Marginalian from Maria Popova:

“There is a quiet light that shines in every heart. It draws no attention to itself, though it is always secretly there. It is what illuminates our minds to see beauty, our desire to seek possibility, and our hearts to love life. Without this subtle quickening our days would be empty and wearisome, and no horizon would ever awaken our longing. Our passion for life is quietly sustained from somewhere in us that is wedded to the energy and excitement of life. This shy inner light is what enables us to recognize and receive our very presence here as blessing.”

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

And this:

“The light of love is always within us, no matter
how cold the flame. It is always present,
waiting for the spark to ignite, waiting for
the heart to awaken.”

bell hooks

Wooooooosh…..
blowing on the spark
from my heart to yours, igniting
much love and kindest regards, dear friends.
Let us be tender with ourselves and each other.