In appreciation of unravelling

When giving up hope is actually your best move

I've been thinking about how tender it is — that first moment we start to admit to ourselves that something isn't working. Something that used to work. Or something we were sure was going to be great. And it isn't taking us where we wanted to go.

We have such a strong preference for stability. Our nervous systems read it as safe. We settle into the groove and the brain goes, "aaah, this is familiar. How comforting."

So transition is always uncomfortable. Moving from one way of being into another feels jangly and out of sync. Even if the old way sucked. Even if the new reality is going to become something that excites us deeply.

“Moving from one way of being into another feels jangly and out of sync. Even if the old way sucked.”

Relinquishing control

There is a point where we have to be willing to relinquish the illusion of control. To let go of the part of our identity that was wedded to that stable patch. In order to become someone new.

And part of why it hurts is that it often feels like failure. We forget that it is completely normal for things not to go to plan. We feel as though finding ourselves here is somehow a moral failing.

All of it — our identity, our nervous system, our hopes — keeps us invested in making it work. In tightening our grip. In endless problem-solving. In working the problem harder. In blame,or trying to force someone else into the picture we are so wedded to.

And the moment something new and wonderful becomes possible often feels like the absolute bottom. It's the moment we finally admit that it truly isn't working — that it can't work.

Surrendering is the birth of the new

Where we relinquish hope, stop gripping, and admit defeat.

And right there, the new begins to emerge. The creative act of expanding possibilities, of exploring, of considering options that were unthinkable a moment ago. The growthy stretchy groping toward new hope, new becoming.

You know what it reminds me of? The transition stage of birth.

For many women the hardest part of labour is that last phase — the cervix stretched to its most open, the uterus working its hardest, barely a breath between the waves. It's the moment women say, "I can't do this."

And do you know how you can tell progress is being made? When she stops bargaining. When she stops running from the contractions and is simply, completely absorbed in them. A wild surrendering.

That is the same turn I see women make when the old life is unravelling. The gripping stops. And something they could never have planned for begins.

And it is glorious.

xx Heather