These past few days have brought me to my knees. I’ve been humbled by a level of confusion, resistance, and emptiness I didn’t know I could still experience.

I’ve felt myself disconnecting from my partner, tempted to run away from the home we’ve built together. I’ve felt what is left of my identity — which is only the stuff I‘d chosen wholeheartedly to keep— start to go up in smoke. I’ve felt lost.

I used to think lostness was symptomatic of inherent brokenness. I used to take suffering as a cue to fix myself, or at least put on another bandaid, whack another mole, plug another hole — feeling certain I would never be fully fixed.

I was right back then. I couldn’t fix myself.

Because how do you fix something that isn’t broken?

I have since tasted the idea of not being broken, of being innately whole, okay at my core. The truth tastes good, and I have chewed, swallowed, and absorbed the nutrients into my bones.

This past week I’ve known that I’m profoundly, placidly, peacefully okay underneath the pain. I’ve known that no matter what happens — no matter what mistakes I make— I will always be okay. And that has made all the difference.

As I feel myself emerging from the fog, a few things are coming clearly into view:

  1. Human beings are amazing. When I told friends what I was working through, they made space for me to find my own way. I could feel their unconditional love and trust. They made it clear that any decision I make is the right one — that they would support me no matter what.
  2. Human beings are really amazing. When I told my partner about my doubts, he was able to put his personal pain aside long enough to help me carry mine. “This is what we mean by sickness and health,” he said, “bring your burden to me, and let me help you carry it. Even if you think it might hurt me.”
  3. It is not possible to make a mistake, because every choice I make is made by me, and I am made of the same everything that made my amazing friends, my really amazing partner, and you. Truly, I am not one small bit of everything. I am all of everything, and the ability to experience myself as just one small bit.

But here’s the key. Even when I experience myself as just one small bit of everything — a bit that is born, a bit that dies alone —that is still me being everything.

It is tempting to want to be in touch with the everything all the time — to never experience myself as separate or finite again. Before this week I’d come to believe that was the goal. Raise your consciousness enough, and you don’t have to feel alone or afraid anymore.

I’ve learned this week just how wrong I was. And I have never been so grateful to be so wrong.

I may be everything indeed, but I am also the experience of being just a small bit. I am indeed an immutable core of security, love, wisdom, connection, and infinity. But I am also the capacity to forget those things — to feel alone, afraid, empty, disconnected, and finite.

And that’s exquisite, isn’t it?

BrookeBrooke Bishop is a mentor, writer, and student of Divine Play’s Train the Trainer Certificate program. She teaches clarity to creatives, activists, and educators – helping you gain greater access to your own best ideas – anytime, anywhere. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon with her partner, where the grass is actually greener. www.brookebishop.com

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