On releasing and realigning
A few months back, I committed myself to writing you a bi-weekly newsletter, sent to your inbox every other Sunday. I traveled to the East Coast this past week, and when I finally slowed down to catch my breath on Sunday afternoon, I realized that what I really needed was some space for integration. Instead of looking at my computer screen, I decided to practice what I preach, listen to my body, and take some time for rest. For me, this meant reading a book at a bar, ordering food from Union Market, catching up with my partner, and then falling asleep before 10PM. It was glorious.
So I'm posting this one day late, and guess what? The Earth is still spinning, and we will all live to see another day.
In this moment, I'm sitting at a bagel shop in Washington D.C., reflecting on the past month or so, along with where I currently find myself in the non-stop whirlwind of life.
I love autumn and the change in energy it brings--a gradual shift in color, temperature, texture, sounds, and mood. It's my favorite time of year, and I appreciate the lessons that nature gifts us as the seasons transition. The Earth holds up a mirror, letting us know that, no matter how much we push against it, its time to shed old tendencies, release what's no longer serving us, and realign with ourselves.
And while the autumn season feels magical, the transition between seasons can seem to drag on. There's a strange lull in time that happens for me around the equinox, and I've felt suspended in the lingering days. Summer claws to hang on for a few more jolts of wild energy before autumn grants permission to let it all fall away. I find myself hinged in a state of uncomfortable transition--not quite ready to say goodbye to the sun, but also eager for the slowness that comes with shorter days.
Things are in flux, and I feel stuck between two seasons of myself. I haven’t yet made sense of what it all means.
In my state of self-reflection, I started to notice an anticipatory grief that's been humming beneath the surface, preparing for an impending loss that I can't quite put my finger on. My body told me that that it was time to let go of something and prepare for a new beginning, but I wasn't sure what was asking to be processed, or what new version of myself I was headed for. The long transition into fall has asked me to sit with it, to surrender to its stagnancy and heaviness.
If I've learned anything on this healing path, it's that grief is a necessary ingredient to transformation. Grief means that something is waiting to be released and realigned. Most of all (and worst of all), grief will follow us until we sit with it.
Here's what my “seasonal grief” is showing me (or how I’ve made sense of it thus far). Arrangements that used to work for me (even a couple months ago) are no longer working. I've outgrown certain situations and relationships.
I'm grieving old parts of my identity--the parts that get off on money and status and power and the need for "more"--that I'm ready to release.
I'm grieving old connections that will never show up in the way I need.
I'm grieving the release of rugged individualism and an unsatiable craving for collective care.
I'm grieving that the dominant culture is literally killing us, and I don't yet see another way forward.
I'm stuck in the muck, not yet knowing what's to come. And as much as I want to run from it, the only thing to do is just sit with what's coming up. I need to trust that the uncomfortable feelings are for my highest good, and they will catapult me into the next version of myself. That the death will create space for rebirth. That this state of uncomfortable tension is temporary and necessary, and it is helping me alchemize the balanced and equitable world that I want to live in.
I believe the same to be true for all of us.
Moments of transition can feel like standing in a long hallway, waiting for a door to appear. It can feel terrifying and lonely, like there's no way out. But what I know to be true is that these hallways, these seasonal transitions within ourselves, are passageways to our own becoming. All of this creates space for whatever is coming next.
It is all part of evolving, changing, and growing on purpose. And it is perfectly okay.
Sitting with grief, and allowing ourselves to be suspended in a state of transition, can bring up a lot of hard emotions. When we feel bad, we're tempted to believe that we made a mistake, or we're headed in the wrong direction, or that we need to force a desired outcome into submission. But I'm learning that, even if it feels shitty, it doesn't necessarily mean we're dong anything wrong.
In reality, feeling bad might actually be a sign that you're doing everything right. It shows you're paying attention. That you're leveling up. That you're dissolving old parts of yourself. That you're changing old patterns. That you're realigning with your true nature and who you are meant to be. That you're opening up space for something more beautiful and true to emerge in the coming season. It's hard work, and it doesn't always feel good, but it's a necessary part of reaching new possibilities.
If you're feeling lost in the transition, if you're grieving the death of something and not sure what's on the other side, if you're feeling smack dab in the middle of who you are and who you're meant to be…
I guess I just want to tell you: I'm right here with you.
The more you bear witness to what you need to release without guilt or harsh judgment, the more quickly new beginnings and opportunities will reveal themselves.
The transition into fall is the universe's way of gradually slowing down our nervous systems so we can go inside ourselves. We're being given the time to let go of what's no longer serving us and integrate new parts of ourselves. It's our reminder to reset, release, and realign with our truth.
These moments require closer attention and presence, and adjustment is necessary as we shed and prepare for a new beginning.
With this seasonal transition, I invite you to turn inward. To sit with the discomfort. To resist the urge to fix, rebuild, push, or "do" anything. To get curious as the old layers reveal themselves. To sift through what needs to be released and what you'd like to carry forward. To prepare for your becoming. To marvel in the natural unfolding of your own evolution. Because the dying leaves are beautiful too.
It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense yet. It’s all happening, even if you can’t see it.
And yes it is hard, and yes it most definitely worth it.
Nicole is coach, business mentor, and entrepreneur living in the Pacific Northwest. She specializes in life coaching and business mentoring for individuals, entrepreneurs, and creatives.
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