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About Being Alone

Feb 25, 2022 | Women's Wisdom

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about being alone: the difference between actually being alone and feeling that way. .

My daughters live in two different states. I work as a solopreneur/soulpreneur, exclusively from home. I am single. There are moments in which the independence and isolation get the best of me, when I truly acknowledge how much time I spend with just me. And in such places, and sometimes, I feel sad.

It hardly takes being alone to feel alone.

I felt alone for long seasons in my marriage, in so many aspects of single-parenting, when working in corporate jobs, even pre-Covid in social contexts, gatherings, and groups.

When I do feel this way, there are two things I have learned to do:

Tell myself the truth.
Remember that I am never truly alone.

I am good about pushing hard(er) feelings down, marching forward, staying focused on to-do’s, keeping a positive attitude, persevering. In so many ways, I’m grateful that this is the case. And…there’s a dark side. It is very easy for me to not give myself the permission or space to actually feel. It’s WAY easier to just keep busy, to keep all the plates spinning, to distract myself with pretty much everything else so that I don’t have to feel much of anything. Because, let’s be honest: to feel is hard!

It took me a long time (years and years and years) to learn that my whole world would not fall if I let myself feel. But sometimes I still forget. Until I don’t. Until I feel the lump in my throat that will not subside and the tears that threaten to spill. Until I let go. Until I sit with all the uncomfortableness — all that feels unsettled and unknown and confusing. Until I can finally release and rest in all that just is — without needing to fix it or patch it up or make it better. It’s hard. And it’s generous. It’s grace, really.

There’s a second reason I sometimes feel alone — and why most of us do as women: we’ve been disconnected from the women upon whose shoulders we stand. Maybe disconnected is the wrong word. Maybe more accurate is that we’ve never been connected to them in the first place. That breaks my heart (and infuriates me).

I am reminded of a passage in Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ book, Women Who Run With the Wolves:

I once dreamt I was telling stories and felt someone patting my foot in encouragement. I looked down and saw that I was standing on the shoulders of an old woman who was steadying my ankles and smiling up at me.

I said to her, ‘No, no, come stand on my shoulders for you are old and I am young.’

‘No, no,’ she insisted, ‘this is the way it is supposed to be.’

I saw that she stood on the shoulders of a woman far older than she, who stood on the shoulders of a woman even older, who stood on the shoulders of a woman in robes, who stood on the shoulders of another soul, who stood on the shoulders . . .

The absence of this awareness, this truth, this endless and accompanying presence, is but one of the insipid and invisible impacts of patriarchy: keeping us isolated and alone, keeping us disconnected from ourselves, keeping us from acknowledging and allowing our own actual emotions, keeping us from connection with and appreciation of, even reliance on each other.

Sisterhood is important because we are all we have to stand on. We have to stand near and by each other, pray for one another, and share the joys and the difficulties that women face in the world today. If we don’t talk about it among ourselves, then we are made silent by the patriarchy, and that serves us no purpose. ~ Ntozake Shange

Because I’m not willing to be made silent (or made to feel isolated or overly emotional or too much or not enough), I intentionally and gratefully reconnect myself to the stories and the women who remind me of what is MOST true: that I am not alone.

But far beyond just me, I believe, deep in my bones, that these stories and women are for you: when you feel isolated or overly emotional or too much or not enough; when you long for wisdom and guidance and direction and focus; when you need permission to let yourself feel; when you desperately need to be reminded that you are part of a bigger, larger, and longer story that is powerful and amazing and proud; and yes, especially when/if you feel alone. Because you aren’t. Ever. Not really.

These are my endless and fervent hopes on your behalf:

Tell yourself the truth about how you feel (especially when “alone” is the word you’d use to describe such); believe that you are worthy of the deepest and most honest emotions — always.
Remember and believe that you are not alone. Because you aren’t. Ever. Not really.

Easier said than done, I know; but no less valuable, significant, or true.

*****

It is my privilege to remind you of just how powerful (and allowed) your every emotion is AND that you’re not alone. These truths and more are what I write about in my free Monday Letters. Subscribe. And these ARE the conversations that matter, that I hold and offer in my one-on-work with women. Learn more.

Musings on Being Single

Nov 5, 2016 | Women's Wisdom

On days like today I wrestle with what to do. It’s a Saturday morning. Little requires my time or attention for this day or the next. No daughters are home. Nothing is scheduled. No work remains undone or even beckoning. On days like today I wonder if I should just stay home, light a fire, read a book, maybe do some knitting and watch a movie; or if I should take myself to a coffee shop, laptop in tow, order an Americano “for here” and wax eloquent (hopefully) on my keyboard, smile at a person or two, maybe even engage in surprising, but welcome dialogue.

Perhaps this is an odd wrestling. But as a single woman it is an ever-present dilemma: to be wholly satisfied with the life she has created and to rest within such or to venture out, allow herself to be in the company of strangers, be seen instead of safely tucked away.

Of course, it’s not one or other. It’s always both/and. And it remains a bind.

In truth, I am wholly satisfied with my life: my home, my schedule, my friends, my daughters (of course), my work, my writing, my presence in the world. And, it is achingly lonely at the same time.

I am not alone. Not at all. People love me, support me, spend time with me – and I them – willingly, enthusiastically, gratefully. But it is not the same as being in relationship – intimately connected in conversation, in activity, in limb, in love.

Believe me: I know the opposite all too well – being in relationship and alone.

Relationship is hardly the exclusive and fail-safe anecdote to loneliness, and, in truth, can sometimes perpetuate it more excruciatingly than any amount of alone-ness. And maybe it’s because I’ve known all of these – healthy, beautiful relationship, being alone in relationship, and being alone, period – that I have some context, some perspective, some broader lens through which to view the nuances of each. Perhaps.

Or perhaps I’m just restless, finding it difficult to allow and appreciate being with just me.

No. That is not it – though it has been, to be sure. I do appreciate me – who I am, how I am, all that I think and feel and understand and don’t. And it’s this that I want to share, this that I want to be seen and worshipped (yes, worshipped), this that I want to offer in the most lavish and luxurious of ways.

I’m not certain that going to a coffee shop today will enable one bit of this. I’m relatively certain it won’t. But maybe there is something to be said for living with intention, stepping toward that which one desires vs. waiting for it to come knocking on your door (or messaging you through a ridiculous-and-nearly-always-disappointing online dating site).

Maybe.

I haven’t decided yet.

For now, I’ll stir the fire I lit between paragraphs three and four, pour another cup of coffee, look out at the endless rain and final falling leaves, and wonder a bit longer…

For such a time as this.

Apr 8, 2014 | Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Sometimes if not oftentimes, the circumstances in which you find yourself are the last ones you want. You look around and wonder how you got here. You look back and see a few crumbs that help make sense of your current reality, but when you look ahead in the hopes of spotting a guiding light on the horizon, there is nothing. You swirl in a messy, oft’ painful, no-matter-which-way-you-turn-it-sucks reality.

You want something to shift so dramatically that all the pain, all the frustration, all the darkness, all the fear just evaporates. And you want all of this to happen exclusive of you having to step in and make it happen. *sigh* I say “you,” but believe me, I know this all-too-well.

I feel a sense of helplessness, the lump in my throat, the tears that brim and threaten to spill. I want relief, answers, clarity. And none seems forthcoming. In this place, it is easy to feel immobilized; no action feeling better, somehow, than having to step forward. I stay stuck. I wait. I hope. I might even pray. But despite it all…

…it appears that the only person who can bring about the needed change is me. At the end of the day, the work is mine. The steps are mine to take. The decisions are mine to make. The movement is mine to compel.

I don’t like it.

Truth-be-told, the temptation is strong for me (and I’m guessing you, as well) to feel excruciatingly alone in such spaces and times, but if we listen, we’ll hear a whisper that gently and insistently reminds us that we are not.

“Hear me,” it breathes. “There have been other women who have known these binds and seemingly no-win situations. They see you. They hear you. They know you. And their stories surround, sustain, and speak – reminding you that, like them, you will survive; that you will make the right choice; that you do have the capacity to step up, step forward, stand tall. Because you are their daughter, their lineage, their kin.”

For me, there are times when these whispers are corporate: a choir of women’s stories that hover and hold. Today, as I’ve chosen to be still instead of spin, it’s a single voice: the clarion call of Esther.

She was a woman who had an entire book named after her in Scripture (one of only two who can claim that distinction). And though the well-known aspect of her story is that of being a queen, it holds far more dark realities than golden ones. An orphan, raised by her uncle. Forced to join the king’s harem when a violent roundup of all young girls was made throughout her village. Prepared for a year to provide the most exquisite of sexual favor and delight. Paraded before the king at his fancy and whim. Indeed, chosen to be the queen. Frightened by the discovery of a plot to kill an entire nation of people through genocide. Aware that to not act would cause the death of thousands and that to act would certainly cause her own.

It was in this place, backed into a corner, and completely overwhelmed by what was required of her, that her uncle spoke these words:

…if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

For such a time as this…

This is the whisper that Esther breathes into my confusion, reluctance, and reticence. It is her voice I hear when I keep wishing for a savior, a fix, an easy-out. And it is her face I imagine when I take a deep breath and realize that it is up to me to do what needs to be done – no matter the risk, the cost, the consequences. She is the one who assures me I am up to the task.

I would wonder if Esther’s whisper might be exactly the thing you need to hear right now, too; if maybe you find yourself in a place that feels trapped, damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t, and impossible to come out of without battle scars. I would wonder if maybe you need to be reminded – by her and by me – that you are not alone. And I would wonder if taking ownership in the fact that you are the lineage of a queen who dared greatly, risked profoundly, and dramatically changed the course of events, might just give you the courage you need to choose, to move, to speak, to act.

The circumstances in which you find yourself, though not preferred, are the very ones that invite you to be you. For such a time as this…

The pain you know and the fear your feel are the very emotions that declare the necessity of your perspective, your\ heart, your voice. For such a time as this…

The risks inherent and the nearly-certain costs you will bear are the very realities that compel you to rise up to your full stature, your royal identity, your core strength and step forward. For such a time as this…

And in all of this, not alone.

Esther whispers. Countless other women encircle and chant. The Sacred Feminine swirls, surrounds, and supports. And the blood that courses through your veins carries everything you need to do what must be done. You know this. You’ve got this. You are here for a reason.

Is it hard? Yes. Is it scary? Undoubtedly. Is it necessary? To be sure. Do you-and-me both continue to wish that something else, anything else could happen to shift the earth on its axis and prevent what we are called to do? Mmm hmm. But that is not to be your fate – or mine.

“…And who knows but that [we] have come to [our] royal position[s] for such a time as this?”

May it be so.

*****

Here’s a post I wrote a few days back that tells of Queen Vashti – the woman whose bold stance created the context for Esther’s story in the first place.

And if you wonder whose voice whispers on your behalf, you can order a SacredReading from me. One card. One story. One woman. Just for you.