Pink roses, white roses: a gentling of my inner vision.
Today I needed that. I had to do something very brave, and I had no alternative because there was no one to help me and the consequences of doing nothing were unacceptable. And so I was brave.
The actual doing was not particularly difficult. For all that I would never make a hardy farm woman, I can be practical when necessary. Where things got most difficult for me was afterwards. I suffer from anxiety, and sometimes the greatest courage comes from having to deal with having been brave. I was mindful to take care of myself, and when anxiety symptoms began arising to remind myself quietly that they were only anxiety symptoms, nothing worse. (One of the best things I ever did for myself was to learn the physiological responses to being alarmed, so as to know exactly what is happening and why, thereby not adding to the panic.)
I'm sitting here now in my softest clothes, drinking warm tea from my favourite cup, listening to music that will draw the stress out as gentle tears, and it's as if I have wrapped myself in roses. Writing this post is perhaps more than I should do today, but maybe it will speak to someone, and so may be worth it.
Imagine a world where there were all knights and no poets. Or a world where all that grew were hardy succulents, no soft flowers. Sometimes we have to be brave, whether we feel it or not. And for many people, sometimes can mean several times a day. How ever often, how ever big or small in other people's opinion, it's exhausting, overwhelming, and can even make us feel like we will break. Comforting ourselves under such circumstances is not an act of weakness. It is being an angel for ourselves ... holding our own hand ... giving ourselves roses.