You know the spot.
The one where you’re a third of the way through some dark portal you don’t quite understand. Maybe you’re in a dry spell. A sad lull. A frantic panic because the magic isn’t happening no matter how bad you want it.
So often, my clients will be one third of the way into their reclamation (not that these things have clean timelines or anything), and with fear on their faces, they’ll ask me, “How long will this take?” “Has anything even changed?” Then we’ll pause and I’ll say, “I know. It’s a brutal bitch and shouldn’t be so hard, but it is.” And then I’ll ask them what they can be proud of themselves for. What’s changed. What’s different. And they’ll have so much to report – way more than they even realized. And they’ll know they can’t turn around now; that they just have to keep going toward the light with fierce faith and insatiable hunger.
Sometimes we have to fight for new life.
Other times, we have to remember that the tunnel is long and we must rest on our journey.
A few days of this week I was that frantic forgetful client. Not about sexual trauma – but about the Kickstarter. My lizard brain got the best of me and I couldn’t stop spinning in fear, even though logically and even spiritually, I felt full of faith. I was under a spell of subconscious, irrational, panic and exhaustion.
The feeling was familiar – that emergency brain take-over that happens when we’re overwhelmed. The hazy fog that turns our whole lives into anxious mush until we reconnect to our natural blueprint of health. So I called up Jodi to help me do just that.
“Jo, I’m complete mush over here. Will you hold space for me as I re-make a self-care list? I don’t need pep talks, just to get my body back in order.” “Of course, Rach.” And then she did that awesome, joyful, earth-angel Jodi thing she’s so darn good at doing: quietly believed in me.
The next day, I turned off my phone and computer. I lit candles in the kitchen, played classical music, and cleaned out the bottom drawers of my refrigerator. I took a long walk, went grocery shopping, had heart-to-hearts with the Lyft drivers, made chili on the stovetop and had a friend over for tea.
This is how we survive the messy middle of alchemy. We move at human speed. We become candle light. We clear out that which has been rotting at the bottom of our psyche, taking up invisible space. We reclaim our right to not always fight. We walk in nature. We rest without alarms. We give in to the dark where it’s quiet and calm. We let ourselves feel held by it instead of running from it.
We embody trust, instead of just thinking it.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve given to this Kickstarter already. The shares, the backs, the messages of prayerful support. I’m so grateful to be together and truly trust we’re gonna make it to our goal.
If you support Sex After Trauma because you’re in your own messy middle and are hoping this book can be your guide or reminder of how to get through, know that I’m pouring every story and strategy I have into it for that very reason. It sucks to be in the messy middle alone.
Speaking of… I believe in you. Quietly. With tender joy and unwavering faith in my heart.
We’ve got this.
Big love. Endless thanks. Here’s to our collective alchemy.
PS–Is there a small and doable way you’d feel great about moving this Kickstarter along? Go right here to back today, or right here to get useful, easy, sharable images, links and promotion copy. Two weeks to go!! Thanks again, wonderful humans. Youda best. xo