Release. Pause. Rise.

I have a confession: the other night I watched TV for 12 hours straight and ate icing straight out of the freaking can.

And, I’ve gotta be honest. I didn’t even feel bad about it.

Once again, I’ve earned it. Life bought me an evening of mindless binging and  creamy supreme pillsbury frosting.

I needed to be off, instead of on.

I needed to be still, instead of move.

My mind and my heart needed to pause.

My mind and my heart needed to pause. (Yes, I wrote that twice on purpose.)

But it’s so much more than that.

We all need that every once in a while.

And there was a time when that binging and junk food eating scenario was my normal operating procedure (cue divorce one).

This wasn’t even that.

This was more.

I have been pushing through with strength I didn’t know I had.

I have been devastated and shocked and confused and scared.

I have been doing what needs to be done when it’s needing to be done.  I have been strength when strong has been what is needed for those who need it. I have been tense and alert and awake and tired, so very tired. So very exhausted to my very core. And, I have found moments to cry . . . and to lean in to good and safe people.

I have been wiping the tears, releasing the fears . . . And rising.

I long for pure and uninterrupted joy and peace. Is that possible in these human bodies in this grief-stricken world?

Somehow, even in the midst of uncharted territory and unprecedented emotion, I catch glimpses of the great mystery of life in the “and” - the space where two seemingly opposing realities are both true. Grief and joy coexist. Uncertainty and hope dance in rhythm.

Beauty overcomes.

Love  triumphs.

And in these moments that many of us find ourselves in throughout the course of life, what are we to do?

Wipe the tears.

Release the fears.

And rise.

And don’t forget to allow your mind and your heart a space to pause. (Even if that means becoming one with your couch, remote, and a can of buttercream.)