Feb 26 (edited) • 🟢 Gentle Pause
ASAP - As Soft As Possible 🦊
When the storm rises, become soft.
Run your fingertip lightly over your arm.
Slow.
Present.
You are safe now. 💞
Inspired by blog I wrote, posted below ⬇️ - if it resonates with you, I would love to hear your thoughts and reflections. 🌈
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Yesterday I had a day that tested me.
I was scheduled to represent the nonprofit I work for at an in-person wellness fair. I’ve done events like this before and generally find them to be great experiences — talking with strangers, networking with other wellness folx, sharing resources.
The day was fortunately dry and sunny — a blessing, since it has been mostly rainy for weeks and we were outside. The site had provided tables, chairs, and canopies, so the effort required on my part was minimal. Still, I hadn’t slept well the night before and felt tired and sleepy as I left for the hour-long drive into town.
When I arrived, I enjoyed being on the community college campus, and I was even more pleased to discover the hosts had provided coffee and donuts — exactly what I was craving.
I don’t usually drink coffee. I’m very clear that it aggravates my anxiety. I allow myself to enjoy it about once a week as a treat. As I poured a cup, I felt a gentle inner nudge that maybe this wasn’t the best choice. But sugar is the universal panacea, and in a slightly uncomfortable setting, it felt like a welcome jolt.
About an hour in, I could tell my body was not reacting well to the sugar-caffeine combo. I was animated and jolly, and I genuinely enjoyed the event. I caught up with familiar faces — welcome connections in a place where I haven’t made many in the two years I’ve lived here. I made new connections too, spoke about my own wellness journey and business, and shared information about the services offered by the nonprofit I was representing.
I was gifted a free lunch — chili and rice — and an ice cream at the end. Overall, it was a good day.
But when it ended, I was scheduled to go into the office for the rest of the afternoon.
Uggggghhhh.
Over-caffeinated. Over-stimulated. Under-nourished. I did not want to sit in my dreary office downtown. So I made an executive decision and drove to the beach to stick my feet in the sand and ground.
When I arrived, the parking lots were locked. The beaches were officially “closed” due to high surf. But I could see people boogie boarding in the waves and others walking past the gates, so I followed the path down to the water.
While I was there, I watched first one, then another, then another solo woman my age head out into the waves on a boogie board. I was amazed. I would have assumed it was too dangerous, that only teenagers would be brave (or crazy) enough to go out in those conditions.
Instantly, I felt a wave of envy. I wanted to go in. I wanted to swim.
But I didn’t have a change of clothes. And how would I explain showing up at the office with wet hair?
So I made a quiet promise to myself: I will acquire a boogie board and fins soon. And next time the conditions are right, I will join in.
After work, I considered going back to the beach. But something inside kept directing me: not now, not today.
So I drove home. The long trek back to my garden hale in the country.
By the time I arrived, it was raining.
I let the cat in, ate a few bites of leftover stir fry, and though I had planned to spend the evening mapping out my personal work week, a growing headache nudged me toward the shower instead.
While I was in the hot water, thinking about life — as one does — an unprocessed traumatic memory surfaced.
A vivid, deeply painful memory from my young teenage self, from the final months I lived in the home of my abusers. It was a memory that colored my life for decades.
And this time, I didn’t analyze it.
I experienced it.
I cried. And cried. And told my younger self, over and over:
"You didn’t deserve that."
I’m not sure whether this specific memory ever surfaced during the years I spent in therapy. And even if it did, talking about it never reached the place in my body where it lived.
It doesn’t matter now.
What matters is that here I was — home, alone — experiencing the echoes of a distant traumatic event with no one to turn to but myself.
So I did something new.
I lay in bed hugging Foxy Roxy (my weighted stuffed Fox) and cried. And suddenly a word came to me:
Soft.
Soft.
Soft.
I needed softness. I needed safety.
So I ran my fingertip lightly over the top of my opposite hand and up my arm, the way a lover might — softly, softly. Then the other side.
This intentional, gentle self-touch soothed me in a way that surprised me. I kept tracing my arms, slowly, lightly.
It was a new and wonderful way to feel safe in my body. To somatically soothe myself the way I would soothe a baby. My own child.
I am my own child now.
I am the mother and the child.
This simple action brought me out of the past and into the present — into my own bed, in my own home. No one hurting me. No danger present. My cat sleeping beside me. 🐈⬛
Moment by moment, the storm passed.
I rested for a while, watching the clouds drift across the night sky. Eventually, I realized I was hungry, so I made a grilled cheese sandwich while listening to Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Maybe not everyone’s choice, but when music gets stuck in my head, it often soothes me to play it.
I did a little stretching. Watched an astrology podcast. And suddenly I felt tired.
No posting on Skool. No content planning. No to-do lists for the weekend.
Just bed.
And so I went.
I slept soundly and woke with the urge to walk barefoot in the wet grass under the sunshine. I spent about an hour outside picking up fallen fruit, tossing it into the bushes, raking rotted fruit out from under the trees, repairing patches of sod the pigs had dug up weeks ago — small acts I had been neglecting.
It was a beautiful way to begin the day.
I am resourced.
I am refreshed.
I feel accomplished.
There’s another chore ahead — taking the trash to the transfer station in my daughter’s van. First I’ll air up the tires since it’s been sitting for two months. (I did start it last month and repark it.)
But before all of that, I wanted to write this.
Maybe this story will help you too.
When the storms of the mind arise, we don’t have to abandon ourselves again.
We can stop.
We can slow down.
We can become soft.
The inside job never ends. More is always revealed. But today I’m grateful for the reminder that I can survive the storm without outsourcing my pain. Without avoiding. Without distracting. Without dismissing.
Just staying.
As soft as possible. As slow as possible. As safe as possible.
And today — no coffee.☕
Only tea.🫖
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ASAP - As Soft As Possible 🦊
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