When Things Don’t Go as Planned...

First, thank you. I was so heartened by the response to my last email about the couch-hoisting adventure. I’ve never had so many messages from you all before! Your stories and encouragement brightened my day ~ and reminded me how grateful I am for the thoughtful, kind and creative souls I'm connected with.

As you know, self-compassion is the focus of my work, and it's central to how I navigate everyday life. With all the intensity of being alive these days, I’ve been reflecting about how self-compassion isn't just something that happens ~ it's something we choose. Many of us seem to think that if we practice self-compassion enough, it will just happen automatically when we need it. And when it doesn't, we beat ourselves up for that. As if it's a failing! But the truth is: while self-compassion does get more familiar over time, I’m not sure it ever becomes 100% effortless.

Often, self-compassion means making a deliberate choice ~ to stay practical and keep going even when we feel flustered, to treat ourselves with kindness even when we don’t feel particularly kind, to steady ourselves when there's a strong pull to collapse into self-criticism.

A couple of weeks ago, I had an opportunity to practice choosing self-compassion in a stressful moment ~ and it didn't exactly feel graceful or effortless 😬

I started my Thursday evening class with a plan. I had everything mapped out ~ the meditation I would share, an exercise to build safety in the new cohort, the lesson, the art journaling practice, the discussion I hoped we’d have. But there was one thing I didn’t plan for:

Half my students were waiting in the wrong Zoom room 🫣

Even though I swear I triple checked things, somehow I sent them the wrong link.

I didn’t realize it at first ~ though I did wonder why it seemed like only half of the students who enrolled were there. I started class but then thought to glance at my inbox ~ and there was a stack of emails from frustrated and confused students: “I've been waiting for 10 minutes...” “Am I signed up for this class?” "Where are you?!?!?"

My heart dropped.

In that moment, I had a choice: panic or practice self-compassion.

Well... if I’m honest, I did both.

I asked the students who were present to give me a few minutes as I scrambled to send everyone the correct link. I felt the uncomfortable heat of embarrassment rising in my chest. I wanted so badly to rewind time, to start over, to do it right. But I couldn't.

So instead, I took a breath and kept going. I reminded myself: Mistakes happen. I can still show up with care. This can still be a meaningful experience for us all.

And you know what? It was ok.

Despite the chaos, the disorientation, and my own rattled nerves, the class unfolded in a very authentic and unscripted way. We made space for the discomfort of being human. We returned to self-compassion, not to erase mistakes or silence disappointment, but to be with ourselves and each other in the midst of it all.

After class and the following day, several students emailed to say that watching me choose compassion in that situation helped them understand the practice in a whole new way.

It’s strange how the things we try hardest to avoid can sometimes become the most meaningful parts of our experience.

That’s what I love ~ and what's so powerful ~ about self-compassion, especially for us recovering perfectionists. It’s not about being perfect ~ it’s about showing up and being present, trying again, and making space for kindness ~ even in the mess.

It’s not always easy. But when I remember to allow for imperfection, to let things be what they are instead of forcing them into what I think they should be, I find a little more room to breathe. This experience made me think of a poem. I hope you find it supportive and that it helps you choose self-compassion, too:

Allow
by Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt, containing a tornado.
Dam a stream and it will create a new channel.
Resist, and the tide will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry you to higher ground.
The only safety lies in letting it all in ~
the wild and the weak ~
fear, fantasies, failures, and success.

When loss rips off the doors of the heart
or sadness veils your vision with despair,
practice becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your known way of being,
the whole world is revealed to your new eyes.

from Go In and In: Poems from the Heart of Yoga (Peaceable Kingdom Books, 2002)

This poem is a reminder that we don’t have to force our way through ~ we can soften, take a breath and create space for ourselves in the midst of it all.

If you'd like to practice with this further, put a hand on your heart and take three breaths.

As you inhale, say silently to yourself: when I allow

As you exhale, say silently to yourself: grace can carry me

When you're finished, notice how you feel.

❤️

There’s something powerful about even a few intentional breaths ~ about the simple act of allowing instead of bracing; of softening instead of resisting.

I also know how easy it is to forget to breathe and slow down. Lately, I’ve been hearing from so many people who feel overwhelmed, stretched thin and exhausted.

So if you're feeling that way, you're not alone.

Wishing you an as-easeful-as-possible first week of March (remember: Daylight Saving Time starts this Sunday and Spring is on the way!) 🌷

If you know someone who could use a little more breathing room ~ a friend who’s been feeling overwhelmed, a loved one who could use a gentle reset ~ feel free to pass this along. Sometimes, the simplest things (like a poem, a pause, or a creative moment just for ourselves) can make all the difference. 💛