I’m getting a bit of a late start this year on my new year traditions. And I’m ok with it. My word for the year last year was gentle. This year, it is a phrase… gentle pacing.
As in listening to my needs above all and allowing myself the time I need to fully process whatever I need before taking action.
As in mindfully guiding my inner child instead of being impatient.
As in prioritizing my physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional health for the long haul.
As in allowing myself to hold space whenever needed.
As in letting my heartbeat guide my rhythm.
As in allowing myself to operate at the speed of me.
I’ve spent most of my adult life hustling to the priorities of jobs, family, partners, and emergencies. That part of me is deeply entrenched in capitalism, poverty mindset, gender roles, religious training, and trauma. That part of me sacrificed authenticity at the altars of shame, fear, and grief. Giving myself this gift feels both like a revolutionary act and an act of privilege. Both of these feelings stem from deep experience and are neither entirely wrong nor entirely correct. Like all truths, the both/and of subjective experience and objective fact are equally valid, and I do myself a disservice by not honoring both.
This year I give myself the gift of gentle pacing without guilt or shame.