Sweetness

When the grief that rips through my heart takes my breath away. My mind starts to race. Fear jumps up. Terror anchors to my skin.

There is not enough time. I need to change. I need to learn from my Mum. I need to heal my cancer yesterday. I need to be stronger. I need to be bolder. I need to be better. I need to be more motivated. More powerful… more, more and more.

In those moments I make big plans. I will never have coffee again. I will never watch TV… I will go out into the world. I’ll be more present with my children. I’ll be 100% vegan starting now. I’ll be raw vegan. I will exercise today. I will visualise. I will be kinder. I will drink all my water. I’ll get to bed early.

In those moments when grief takes hold… I promise myself that I will magically become a different woman instantly.

Those moments… sadly do not lead to success or instant transformation. They annoyingly just leave me with more guilt and shame about my inadequacy and failure at implementing what I know is required and essential for a happy and healthy future. Essential for any future at all.

I have heard people talk about the power of decisions. It sounds wonderful. Brilliant. And I deeply wish I was powerful enough for my decisions to hold. A weakness in my mind, a lack of motivation… whatever the reason it is what is.

I had one of those moments yesterday. I let myself run with it. And got a few fleeting hours, everything was wonderful and full of hope.

Then the failure hit.

And I must once again focus and find hope in the small wins and the slow progress.

For however long I may have on this earth… I would prefer to be consistent and confident in my path.  I would prefer to make plans that work. Not consistently fail at what works for another.

I eat vegan dinners.

I fast on average 13 hours a day.

This are my small wins.

They have only become a part of my daily life through small tiny imperceptible changes.

I need to be thankful for any change. All change.

I choose to see the sweetness of my slow journey. No longer seeing my path as inadequate. But seeing it’s beauty.

Humility lives on my path.

Compassion lives on my path.

These are great things. They deserve appreciation. And appreciation for my path is a tiny, small imperceptible change I can make. Seeing my path differently and feeling good about it. That I can do.

I can do that… in a small slow way. Like writing a blog post about it.

The tiny steps continue.