When I am overwhelmed and emotional, I’m convinced that the problem is outside of me — circumstances, people, events, the weather. These days, I’m better at riding that wave, rather than getting sucked into its undertow.
In the clear and quiet moments, I understand that it’s only the stories that cause me misery, not the circumstances themselves. Stories like “it shouldn’t be this way” or “I’m not worthy” or “it’s not right” rattle me to the core, make me lash out, even cause me to doubt my right to exist. No matter how juicy or evocative, the story is not my friend.
I’m nowhere near enlightened, but sometimes, in the middle of that storm, I remember to hug myself and offer compassion instead of insisting that my story is correct. When I let it go, I am free.