Embracing Complexity

“You are a complex bundle of contradictions.”**

[Image description: Abstract watercolor painting by a child with swaths of blue, gray, brown, and green with some black marker scribbles along the left side.]

“I am a person who gets overwhelmed by the day-to-day demands of parenting.”

I had this thought recently while retreating to my bedroom at midday on a Saturday.

A part of me hated the starkness of the statement—an internal defender rose to insist that there is more to me than that. True, of course. But so was the first thought.

The words echoed again and, this time, I felt their warmth and compassion. The part of me that was utterly overwhelmed in that moment was validated and accepted. I was heading to lie down. That day, the long-hidden part of me was heard and cared for.

I celebrated both noticing the overwhelm and listening to its wisdom—rest as a quiet marker of healing progress, inherently more rewarding than any gold star I have received.

Daily, I clumsily untangle my self-worth from my productivity and moment-by-moment reclaim my sensitivity as inherently worthy of attention and respect.

I make choices to honor my limitations and move forward gently toward a life that more deeply reflects my values. I believe in this way of thinking and living and am grateful to be on this journey.

And, amidst the celebrations, there is also deep, layered grief.

I didn’t find my way here by sheer force of will and vision. This change was borne of struggle—and privilege. In the depths of burnout, my body was no longer able to do the things I had expected it to do.

There is loss in that even if, upon reflection, those expectations were misguided. I don’t want to go back, but also cannot pretend that I could if I wanted.

Over two years later, with much gentler expectations, I still regularly bump up against limitations. As often as possible, I heed them, knowing that there will always be more that could be done. I have repeatedly settled into a slower pace, surprised by how life keeps moving along whether or not I have accomplished what I previously would have considered the bare minimum.

I think sometimes about how my life would be different if I had taken this approach earlier. Financial stability—secured by doing too much for too long (a privileged position in itself, even relying on trauma responses)—insulates me from the harshest realities of our broken systems and ableist cultural assumptions. My fear reminds me that such stability is not the norm nor is it promised to last. I wonder where I would be if I had not overextended. Would it be trading one trauma for another?

I also wonder what might have been. What I would have done or explored or created? What would I have felt or experienced more deeply? What might I be capable of now if I hadn’t pushed so deep into burnout?

Accepting my path, I don’t wish to change what I have been through, what I have missed, or my altered capability, but I grieve for all of it. Messily, amidst small celebrations and moving forward with more joy and purpose and love.

…

[Image description: A wooded path in autumn with sun rays glaring across the image from the top right corner. Ahead on the path, a child in a green helmet and fluffy jacket is about to bike across a bridge.

A few weeks ago, I watched the recording of a diversity and inclusion program put on by an organization supporting kids’ sensory and developmental needs. After introducing herself and the topic, the speaker offered a short guided meditation. As we collectively, across time and space, opened to being uncomfortable and accepting a painful reality so that we could have a chance to grow through it, she included a reminder that each of us is a complex being.

It was a powerful moment that came echoing back to me following the US election.

As I claim my human complexity, can I hold the same for others? Can I resist the impulse to fear or demonize thought processes and actions that I do not understand? And at the same time work to prevent or mitigate harm? How can I best use my strengths and privileges in service of collective liberation?

These are complex questions that, paradoxically, keep surfacing simple concepts as they tumble around in my head and my heart. Connection, love, compassion, slowing down, small moments, small movements, attention, nature, rest, kindness, care, joy, courage, curiosity, vulnerability, trust.

Today and always, may we grow together in courage, connection, and joy.

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**My husband wrote these words to me early in our relationship and I read them over and over. He was reacting to my varied and somewhat contradictory personal rules about eating meat, but I felt truly and deeply seen.