There's Something Happening Here
Once More Unto the Void
I’m supposed to go to a hockey game tonight.
Supposed to being the emphasized word here because that was the plan. That would still be the plan except that I changed it, and not because of anything external…
I’m at capacity.
Today, I looked at my weekly planner, and I felt overwhelmed—not because there’s too much to do. In fact, right now it’s at the bare minimum on purpose:
Hockey Game
Sacred Circle Readings
Work at the shop
Health appointment
Dinner with a friend
It’s so limited, and yet I’ve cancelled or rescheduled what I could because it feels like enough to take care of myself and my animals in this moment. All I can seem to bring myself to do whenever I can is listen to my records and color, or watch my comfort shows (Downton Abbey, The West Wing, my favorite episodes of Doctor Who).
It’s not depression. It’s not anxiety or agoraphobia, even though I crave the sanctuary of my house and loathe the idea whenever I have to go out.
Everything feels otherwise normal.
But my nervous system is at capacity, and I have to trust what I’m experiencing and make adjustments from moment to moment, because I never know, moment to moment right now, how I’ll feel.
I’m used to that. Having a chronic illness, I’ve learned to adjust my whole life to a new normal. I realized that a few months ago at a doctor’s appointment when I realized I might be world’s apart from where I was ten years ago, but I’m thriving now because I’ve redefined for myself what that looks like.
This isn’t that, though.
Because I’ve been feeling this for a while now.
Last year was all about expansion. This feels more like containment—saying no to things I would love to attend but that feels like too much, or a nearly-empty week in my calendar that still feels too full.
Last summer, I took a break from my businesses and spent a month taking roadtrips and going to concerts and generally socializing with friends—I wanted to be out in the world—part of the world and basking in the sunshine! Then in the autumn, that shifted to something more internal, and I was called to take a bit of a sabbatical—putting anything on hold that wasn’t urgent or client-based with the intention of returning in the new year. In the meantime, I went to work at my close friend’s family-owned shop for some more physical—rather than cerebral—activity. And I’ve loved it. It has become the perfect balance for the energetic work I still have such a passion for.
All the while, I’ve been making adjustments—upgrading my website, curating my programs and offers, tinkering with my next novel, and organizing the containers of my work in a way that feels so intuitive and healthy not only to my physical business, but to me, as its operator.
It’s been balanced. I’ve been happy. I’ve been fulfilled.
This isn’t any of that, either.
I spent most of January knocked out by an unxpected illness, which took the better part of February to recover from, but in that time, I’ve felt motivated again—moving forward with exciting projects and implementing new ideas. I have big goals and even bigger dreams, but for the first time in my life, it all feels doable in a healthy and effortlessly balanced way, rather than the force of expectation or obligation.
But still… something feels off. Like I’m still preparing for something I can’t name. Like I’m once again finding myself in the crucible of becoming, only instead of burning down with the old, I’m quietly cocooned here, being energetically reshaped and realigned to something—someone—I can’t yet see.
I can feel her—the new version of me. I can feel her right at the periphery of my awareness, right on the edge of my energetic field. But she’s not to be chased or rushed, and so I rest more often than usual. I plug away, step-by-step, at my books and my projects and these dreams.
I color. I listen to music. I watch my comfort shows.
Because I’m at capacity. I don’t have room for anything else.
Maybe this is the lesson.
As we continue to hold space for the world, we have to remember to keep holding space for ourselves.
Want more words?
Read my books!
Available at www.montourscity.com and www.susandawnspiritual.com